Bethel News - August 19, 2011

Dearest Daughters,

Having biracial children, Lola (Sarah) and Lolopop (Joel) made a conscious decision to raise us as Filipino as possible. Lola was born in the United States, doesn't speak the language, cook much of the food and is not Catholic (which is a big cultural aspect of being Filipino). So, raising us "Filipino" entailed surrounding us with a community of Filipino aunties and uncles, seeking out the annual Manila Fests around Northern California and teaching us a few words and phrases that my dad picked up in a Tagalog class. Other stuff too: buying books, teaching us to respect our elders, sending a rice cooker with me to college. And more!

I knew my dad was white, I knew I was part white, but most of my childhood I claimed to be Filipino, because that's the culture I identified with. Also, I didn't want to be the only "white girl" in my grade in predominantly Asian south Stockton. Then in middle school, when we moved to Marin County, I didn't want to be one of "those kids" who were cruel middle schoolers at a school aptly called White Hill; "those" mean kids also happened to be white, which in retrospect I can't blame them for. But imagine my culture shock and the associations I made between my first immersion in white society and being treated so meanly, made fun of for my smelly lunches and self-concious when the envelope to collect money for weekly pizza day circulated around homeroom. (I'll add for a point of reference, there was NO subsidized school lunch program at White Hill. Lunch was "catered" two days a week--pizza and burrito days--the rest of the days everyone brought their own lunch. The school I went to before had almost 100% participation in the free or reduced lunch program. My parents made enough money that we never qualified for free or reduced lunches, so we were accostomed to bringing our brown bags. But the fact that NO ONE at the school qualified for a subsidized lunch, shows that socio-economic issues were also at play.)

"What ARE you?" they'd ask.

"A human."

"No. I mean where are you from?"

"My mother's womb?"

"You know what I mean. Like what nationality are you?"

"My nationality is American. I was born here."

"No like what ARRRRREEE you? You know!"

"Oh! I'm Filipino."

Blank stares. Perhaps, they were considering what Filipino is or why I'm obviously so stupid. Perhaps both.

Sometimes after telling perceptive people I was Filipino, I always got that "what else?" look. Whereupon I'd give my admission of mix-ed-ness.

My parents always told us, "You're not half of anything. You are one hundred percent Filipino and one hundred percent white. One hundred percent American. One hundred percent loved." The math doesn't work out too well, but you get the sentiment.

Were Lola and Lolopop teaching me to deny my "whiteness"? To deny years of history of inequality and casseroles? Quite the opposite. My parents' intentional decision to stuff Filipino down our throats was simply because whiteness would be stuffed down our throats EVERYWHERE else. We'd get the language, the food, the history, the values, the music, the actors, and all the white-American cultural norms at school, at the grocery store, every time we turned on the television.

It wasn't my parents' job to teach us how to "fit in" to politically popular, socially accepted, normative hegemonic American society. Unless we were autistic, which, turns out, we weren't, then we'd navigate that territory on our own. It was their job to provide opportunities and spaces for us to learn about, embrace, be proud of and explore our full identity. Similarly, my Lola and Lolopop gave us both of their last names. Both my younger brother and I have the same middle name, my mom's maiden name: Reyes. As well as having my dad's last name: Gibbs. They told us we could write our name however we wanted. Lauren Reyes Gibbs, Lauren Gibbs, Lauren R. Gibbs, Lauren Reyes-Gibbs. L to the RG. It seems like a silly and perhaps loose analogy, but my parents provided me a name, provided me every opportunity to learn about and shape my cultural identity, then they said, go forth into the world, with the name, with the identity of your choosing.

Dearest Daughters, you also are "mixed." You look mixed, to me. But, you also look Filipino. People will treat you how they see you. Nevertheless, I will give you every opportunity, in the way my parents did, to explore your bi-cultural-ness.

Likewise, rasising daughters, I think it's important to stuff dinosaurs, trains, robots, etc. down your throat. Though, I'm being just as sexist by accepting the notion of genderized "boys" toys, books and activities, it follows the same logic that my parents took twenty-seven years ago. The world will teach you about princesses and baby dolls and pink. It's my job to provide every opportunity for you to explore parts of your identity with which the world isn't so forthcoming.

So, though, he is a Disney character and makes noises and flashes lights, I will continue to embrace your love of Buzz Lightyear. We will make super hero capes and attempt to find clothing that isn't pink. We will build towers and crash trains into them. We will read books about construction vehicles and sing songs about Dinosaurs. And you'll rebel, I'm certain. And want to wear frilly dresses and fake eyelashes (though you really don't need them). You'll choose bologna sandwiches over chicken adobo. Which is totally fine and is YOUR decision.

And that's the point.

Love,

An Addendum to my Master Plan for Raising Mixed Children posted on Dearest Daughters on July 22nd, 2011 by Lauren Gibbs-Beadle

Dearest Daughters,

I hate to be a buzz kill and continue to post about such "serious" things as raising mixed children, but I'm sure our Auntie Amy was not our only reader (present or future) that has questions, concerns and takes exception to what I post on this blog. To appease the silent masses, I have a few more thoughts on the subject. Two things.

We all want our children to thrive.

I think that all parents can agree they want to give their children the best possible chance at survival in the world that their station in life can afford. That's why we feed them and educate them. Teach them how to communicate. How to behave. Enrich them. How to make good choices. Surround them with good people.

So, that when we send them off to kindergarten, let them take public transit alone for the first time, permit them to have a boyfriend or girlfriend, kick them out of the house, even. Basically, when we're not around, they'll not only survive, but thrive.

This, in part, is why "being Filipino" should be a part of our daily lives. My children, more so than I, look Filipino. And despite what some would like to believe, this is NOT a colorblind world. Nor should it be. My children's heritage, ethnicity, culture and appearance should be a point of pride. Not of contention. So that when they go into the world, they will never be made to feel ashamed--actively (i.e. by overt racism or stereotyping) or subconsciously (i.e. by media). They will be proud of who they are.

To claim their Filipinoness is NOT to reject their whiteness or their Americaness.

The fact is: they are fourth generation Filipino Americans with a third generation hapa-Filipino American mother and a Filipino transnational, transcultural adoptee father.

This a post-modern world. We can all be BOTH/AND. It's not a zero-sum game. We live in a world of abundance, not scarcity. Our hearts are big. Our love is limitless.

It's what I got. So, pardon me, but I'm gonna give it.

In addition, as I noted in my previous post, my experience of "being Filipino" was limited by my mother's experience. Like me, Lola's parents wanted to set their children up for success. In that time, this meant eradicating one's home language and culture, with the illusion that this would make them more "American."

So, am I Filipino in the way my high school friends are? In the way recent immigrants are? In the way Filipinos in the Philippines are? In the way my husband is? NO WAY!

Once past the second or third generation of immigrants, especially with the loss of language, everyone is basically acculturated into American society.

Do I got about my day, walking, talking, breathing Filipino? Yes and no. I'm not a Filipino proselytizer, if that's what you imagine. I don't go around chucking lumpia at white people and refusing to speak English at the grocery store, which would equate to silent protest since I don't know Tagalog. But, I'm also not under the illusion that some of my experiences haven't been shaped by the fact that I'm Filipino. My mother, brother and I have been followed in stores. We've been refused service and stared at. Our ability to pay has been questioned. And it's not all woe-is-me negative effects. Waking up every day, conscious that I'm a woman of color is also a gift. I like the way we "do" family. I communicate differently, navigate social situations differently, respect my elders, care about community process rather than individual results, have a healthy fear of my mother haunting me after she's gone and am accustomed to seeing men cry and embrace each other.

So, for my children, simply being raised by me will make them Filipino, however Americanized. The festivals and food, in some ways, could be considered superficial fluff and not true culture. But, it's less about passing on actual culture and more about actively providing experiences, space and tools for my children to develop their identity, rather than passively letting the media and other institutions do it for me. If my children were white or passed for white, that would suffice. (This my friends, is what white privilege is all about. You don't have to consider or even understand anything I'm trying to say. You can just go about your day, buy greeting cards and baby dolls that look like you and never once consider how your life might be different. And you'll still live a good life and be a good person, no worse for the wear. Ignorance is bliss!)

But my children are mixed, so it does not suffice.

And like everyone else, I will not be passive about my parenting. Some people choose TO or NOT TO expose their kids to religion or violence or homelessness or Mexican food. I'm sorry, but that's what parenting is: making good choices for your children, helping them make good choices, until they don't need you to make good choices anymore. Otherwise, what's the point of parents? We should just have baby factories and let them live on an island by themselves. Reality show alert: Baby Island. Also, may I remind you? Lord of the Flies and they were all British boys--social experiment controlled for ethnicity, culture and gender.

I over think many things, but this is not over thought; it is intentional and it is authentic. And I hope that if you cannot understand it, you can accept that my parenting choices are not a threat, that they probably really don't affect you, and that you can trust that the world, your world, won't be any worse for having me and my daughters in it. (Guilt, I think, speaks all languages).

Love,

¹⁰ See, today I appoint you over nations and kingdoms to uproot and tear down, to destroy and overthrow, to build and to plant.” ¹¹ The word of the LORD came to me: “What do you see, Jeremiah?” (Jeremiah 1.11)

This is a great call story. It is typical in the fact that like other prophets, Jeremiah does not feel qualified to be God’s messenger and God quickly reminds him that God not only finds him suitable, but will provide what he needs to get the job done. Also like other prophets, Jeremiah refers to a weakness as his greatest defense of not accepting the job . . . in this case his age and ability. What is wonderful about Jeremiah’s call story is that God reminds him that God not only created him and therefore knows him, but also believes that Jeremiah is a sufficient vessel for this work. Unlike the Presbyterian ordination process, there is no training program and no hoops to jump through. A simple ‘yes’ will suffice.

The job that God has tasked Jeremiah with is not a small one. What I find interesting about this interaction between God and Jeremiah is the question that God asks him, “What do you see, Jeremiah?” I believe in many ways God continues to ask us this very same question: what do we see? In many ways as Presbyterians, I think we are asking ourselves this very same question. In recent months, there has been much attention and discussion over the future of the Presbyterian Church U.S.A. denomination. Whether it is the group of pastors who signed the “deathly ill” letter or the group that planned the Next Church Conference, the questions at hand are “what is the future of our church?” and “what do we do about it?”

It seems to me that no matter whether you are hopeful or discouraged about the fate of the Presbyterian church, one topic of conversation that keeps cropping up whenever the future of the church is discussed is — what to do with all the “dying” congregations out there. Some believe that we should just suck it up and close them down, therefore using the assets to fund new church developments and other ministries. Some believe that it is a reality of our new future: smaller ministries and congregations — which is not necessarily a problem, but a need to recalibrate our focus.

For as long as I’ve been a member of the Presbytery of San Francisco (8 years) and actively involved in a committee that supported local congregations, we keep running into this question – how do you kill a dying church? Some of the many challenges we face are:

Especially after the recent downturn in the economy, many congregations both large and small were faced with assessing the health of their congregation. And not only congregations, but our presbytery as well. No longer did the Presbytery budget financially support racial ethnic congregations, start up new church developments, invest in redevelopment congregations or support mission activities. Instead, the Presbytery tasked the congregations to partner up. Easier said than done! Especially when more and more smaller congregations are needing financial assistance and more and more larger congregations are cutting their mission budget.

To put all of this into context, the Presbytery of San Francisco is divided into three areas: San Francisco, East Bay, and the Peninsula. I live and serve at a church in San Francisco. In this 7 mile by 7 mile city, we have 22 Presbyterian churches. 22! And by any measuring scale, only a handful are considered healthy and vibrant. The state of the congregations in San Francisco was low on the totem pole of issues to address for the Presbytery, especially when the Presbytery was already overwhelmed with balancing a deficit, redesigning the staff, congregations “graciously” departing for other denominations, and finding a new Executive Presbyter. So, I took to heart what the Presbytery always reminds us: WE are the Presbytery. Since I am a part of that WE, I decided to be a squeaky part. I approached our San Francisco pastors gathering about my concerns. I talked incessantly about it to the chairperson of Committee on Ministry (who happens to conveniently be my husband) as well as the Transitional Executive Presbyter. From these conversations, the San Francisco Urban Strategy Team was formed that consisted of San Francisco pastors. Our task was to figure out how to address the state of all the 22 congregations in our city. Like Jeremiah, this was no easy task. Because what we saw when we looked out over our city and through the eyes of our congregations was a lot of mistrust, misguided energy, feelings of isolation, and lack of empathy for one another. Especially for some of the smaller congregations, they did not trust any outside help for fear that they would be shut down. So getting connected to these congregations was not going to be easy.

When we looked at our task, what we realized is that the question we are asking is all wrong. The question shouldn’t be “how to kill a dying church?” or even “what constitutes a dying church?” The question for all the churches — big and small, healthy or not — should be “what legacy do we want to leave here in San Francisco?” — a question not to answer only as one congregation, but as a collective 22 — a question that helps us all reflect on how our congregations engage in ministry and mission in our community. On June 18, this is the question that all the San Francisco Presbyterian churches will be invited to answer. Using a similar process that I used at a recent leadership consultation, each congregation is required (with the support of Committee on Ministry and the Transitional Executive Presbyter) to have two people attend the gathering – whether it be one elder/one pastor or two elders (what we don’t want is two pastors). From 9am to 5pm, we will spend a lot of time getting to know one another and each other’s context and congregations as well as worshipping together. Mainly because, although we live in a geographically small city, we don’t know each other at all and building relationships is the key foundation to a healthy, vibrant ministry. The goal of the process is to level out the playing field so that small churches has as much impact and power as larger congregations, so that racial ethnic congregations have voice, and so that our diversity is not an issue but an asset. We will then spend the rest of time being in conversation and answering the question “what legacy do we want to leave here in San Francisco?” We will have a facilitator to guide the process as well as an artist whose task is to observe the spirit of the conversations and the content. The hope is that what will come out of this gathering is a document and a visual piece that states what the legacy of the collective San Francisco Presbyterian churches will be.

It is this document/visual piece that will be used for another team (people more experienced in assessment of churches) to assess and evaluate all the churches in San Francisco. Hopefully, since all the churches had an opportunity for input on the value all churches will be evaluated on, it will decrease the issues of distrust and refusal to cooperate.

I share the journey of this process only because I have found it difficult to find any resources that address this matter — a matter that many congregations and presbyteries are facing. I have interviewed many executive presbyters and pastors about how they handle this issue and have found no luck in finding concrete processes. I am also tired of talking about the matter which in turn makes me feel frustrated and paralyzed to do anything about it. This is my attempt to try something and see if it works. I don’t know what the end result will be of this process, but I am hopeful that it at least invites everyone to the table of discernment and is a process that is not meant to be judgmental, but instead transformative.

I’d be interested to hear what processes you have been a part of that addressed this issue or any suggestions you have as we continue to discern the legacy we feel called to leave behind as well as live into.

Details of the process that was followed at the June 18 gathering can be found here.

⁸The Lord called Samuel again, a third time. And he got up and went to Eli, and said, ‘Here I am, for you called me.’ Then Eli perceived that the Lord was calling the boy. ⁹Therefore Eli said to Samuel, ‘Go, lie down; and if he calls you, you shall say, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.” (1 Samuel 3.8-9)

I am in a profession where the term “call” is used frequently. When used as a verb, “call” is about feeling that tug between you and God toward something that at first may not seem practical, desirable, or even expected. When used as a noun, “call” can be synonymous to a job, occupation, ministry, or church – hence the term “seeking a call.”

For me, “seeking a call” simply means trying to figure out what to do next. And lately this task has felt like an impossible mission. I have always admired – or if I’m to be honest, jealous of – those that seem to have a clear sense of their calling. Take my husband for example, he feels very called to be a pastor. Although there are times when he struggles with the type of church or ministry he feels called to serve, he has certainty that his call is that of a pastor. I wish that was the case for me. I have always felt called to a place, such as seminary or my current congregation, but I have never felt confirmation or an affinity to my call as a pastor. This may not make sense or may seem odd, but welcome to my life.

I have always loved the story of Samuel being called. In 1 Samuel 3.7, God calls Samuel before Samuel even knew who God was and yet Samuel had the capacity to hear the voice of God during a time when God’s voice and God’s visions were rare. In the depths of slumber, Samuel awakens to the sound of someone calling his name, “Samuel! Samuel!” And quickly he responds, “Here I am!” Quickly, he seeks out who is calling him. I can relate to Samuel’s call story because there have been times when I have had a revelation and it was like being awakened from deep slumber. But that is where the similarities end. Unlike Samuel’s immediate response of jumping out of bed not just once but three times, I need a few alarm clocks, a splash of cold water, and maybe even a steaming hot cup of coffee before I can manage to roll out of bed. Maybe it’s because I have never been much of a morning person. Ask my head of staff. He treats my lack of morning charm as a disability and eventually excused me from early morning worship services.

About three years ago, I had a wake-up call. It was an unlikely place to have a wake-up call. For one, it was late at night. It was about the seventh hour of a very long meeting, where Presbyterians gather every other month to vote on essential issues and catch up on the business at hand. This meeting was quite a controversial one as we were examining for ordination Lisa Larges, a gifted woman who has been in the ordination process for 25 years. Why 25 years, you may ask? Because Lisa Larges is gay and the ministry she was asking to be ordained is an organization that seeks full inclusion of GLBTQ people. People for and against lined up at the mic to ask Lisa questions about her sense of call and her theology. One question in particular struck me. Well, not so much the question, but Lisa’s answer. The question was, “You have been in the ordination process for 25 years, why? What keeps you going after all these years?” She answered, “I ask God that question every morning.”

It was in Lisa’s answer that I woke up. I sat in the pews convicted of my own sense of call or my lack of taking my call seriously. I didn’t wake up every morning asking God what I am called to do. I didn’t question whether what I am doing is the path that God is calling me. Not that what I am doing now is not what God has planned for me, but because I didn’t have to struggle or fight or be put in a position to question, I wasn’t intentional in discerning my sense of call. The last time I remember struggling and deeply considering my call was when I decided to go to seminary.

Since that time, I began to do just that – question, listen, wait, and wonder. I tried new things and opened myself up to new opportunities, curious to see where it would lead me. It was fun . . . for a while. I felt challenged, rejuvenated, affirmed, and scared (in a good way.) And then one day, someone asked me a question that I have been wrestling with since the day it was asked. It doesn’t matter what the question was. But my search for the answer has got me waking up every day asking God that very same question plus a dozen more. It is this process of questioning that has taken what was an act of being intentional about my sense of call to a process of discerning what IS my call. I do not necessarily expect a clear answer or even for God to complete the sentence, “Theresa, you are called to do _________.” But can’t a girl get a tug of conviction, a night light of guidance, or a crumb of a clue?

Last Sunday, I was preaching on Matthew 15.10-28, where the Canaanite woman cries out to Jesus to heal her daughter. In light of Jesus’ refusal to address her needs, she replies, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” (Matt. 15.27) And because Jesus recognized her great faith, he changes his mind. It isn’t clear if this Canaanite woman fully understood who Jesus was or what he was all about, but like Samuel it didn’t matter. She not only responded swiftly, but deliberately. She saw the abundance that Jesus had to offer, enough to pursue it, demand it, and not let Jesus’ inability to see her get in the way of acquiring it.

While I’d like to blame Lisa for this whole call discernment process I am currently in – I am thankful for God using her to inspire me, convict me, and motivate me to start questioning again. I’m thankful that God doesn’t demand that I have to have it all figured out . . . know enough, do enough, be enough. God meets me where I am. And like the woman, all I need to receive is a paltry morsel and a few leftover crumbs to experience the fullness of what God has to offer.

These crumbs of God’s goodness become for us the gift of hope and renewal and life. But are we curious enough, do we recognize the miraculousness of what Jesus has to offer . . . enough to pursue it, demand it, and go after it? That right there has been my call process in a nutshell – in pursuit of clarity in hopes for a crumb of revelation in the midst of the abundance of what God has to offer.

What has been your call process? What is God calling you to do? How are you living out God’s call for your life?

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1 John 4:19-21

An Addendum to my Master Plan for Raising Mixed Children **posted on Dearest Daughters on July 22nd, 2011 by Lauren Gibbs-Beadle**

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1 John 4:19-21

An Addendum to my Master Plan for Raising Mixed Children posted on Dearest Daughters on July 22nd, 2011 by Lauren Gibbs-Beadle

An Addendum to my Master Plan for Raising Mixed Children **posted on Dearest Daughters on July 22nd, 2011 by Lauren Gibbs-Beadle**