Pussy Hats And Profanity In The Pulpit

We live in bizarre times and things are shifting fast. Clergy need to keep up. If anyone thinks that now is a time to rely on the same “let’s love one another rully hard” secular readings and to avoid stinging and damning tones when called for (and they are called for), they’re not dealing with reality. I understand. I’d like to not deal with reality myself. We all would.

However, the radio talk show host Tom Ashbrook (“On Point” on NPR) negatively inspired me (despired? Perspired?) today when he hosted a show with guests who were promoting the idea that conversation between disagreeing Americans is going to be a big help in the coming regime. I disagree. I mean, I wish, but I don’t think so. I think that we should stay in conversation with partners with whom we can work together, but admit that there are many places where conversation is not only not advisable, but counter-productive. I was talking to a close friend the other day whose best friend genuinely believes that Michele Obama has a penis. The friend lives in a retirement community where everyone is consuming the same garbage “news” and confirming the stupidity for each other. They want to believe it. That’s what racism does; it lays a foundation to believe that hateful crap. I was so disappointed in Ashbrook when he didn’t confront the pro-Trump spokesman on the show who dared to say, “It wasn’t until the Democrats needed to oppose him that anyone thought Trump was racist. It’s an elitist charge and they’re crying wolf,” bla bla bla. The guy himself was African-American, which is no reason to not call him on his pure bullshot. I was washing dishes and hollering back at the radio.

Anyway, what I said to my friend about her dumb buddy, “Move on. If she’s that stupid and credulous, you’re better off keeping in occasional touch and using your energy to focus on legislation in your [southern] state.”

We need to be prepared to shake the dust off our sandals, darlings. Direct orders from You Know Who.

I do not have the time of day to consider vile points of view that are carefully constructed euphemisms for racial hatred, xenophobia and misogyny. I’ve listened enough and I know what those people actually mean although they’re too sly to speak frankly. We must be willing to say what is real and be among the few who do not aim to obfuscate for ratings.

I’ve been talking about this a lot but it’s urgent: we as clergy, especially those of us who preach and pray in public, need to find an appropriate tone for where we are right now.

Business as usual will not suffice.

Anyone who engages in upspeak when speaking difficult truths, get rid of it? Like, okay?
Anyone who tends toward the syrupy, get out the salt.
Anyone who monotones through their sermons, hire a vocal coach to learn how to modulate and engage. Now is the time.
Anyone who dimples and smirks, cut that shit out. Smug smiles, too. They must go. Excise them mercilessly and find a new face. Public ministry is a persona that you have crafted either intentionally or unconsciously and yes, you can alter it!
Anyone who uses stentorian bombast to grant false heft to a hastily prepared sermon, just talk to us. Back off the INTONNNATION. Just talk to us.
Anyone who quivers at the thought of offending someone in the pews, buck up. You know you were not called to keep people comfortable but to speak truth. We all have to do more pastoral conversation to stay close to our people right now. Take some risks. Some may bristle but others will feel more deeply connected to the Church. And remember how our people care for each other. It ain’t all us.

All that said (and Lord, yes, I am working to determine my tone myself, and rehearsing sermons in new ways because this old dog has got to keep learning new tricks), I want to tell you that I will not be preaching in my pussy hat next weekend.

The reason is that I believe no direct — or even funny and ironic — reference to Donald Trump’s crass and vile rhetoric belongs in the pulpit.
I believe that God is Truth and Beauty and that the church should not introduce profanity into the liturgy under any circumstances. I will not say pussy, or ass, or any swear word in my pulpit — not ever. Not while quoting someone else. Not ever.

Here’s why: I believe that the shock of hearing profanity in the church takes worshipers out of the moment out of the place, ie, the sanctuary of God.
I also think that cussing is generationally acceptable. I swear now and then with my parishioners because they feel comfortable swearing with me and vice versa, but those tend to be younger than seventy. I am aware that for elders, a swear word may sound on the ear with a truly jarring shock and I do not wish the sanctuary to become a place where people are unpleasantly shocked. Challenged, sure. Shocked, no.

Several clergy of my acquaintance read this poem in their worship services recently

“Revenge” by Elisa Chavez

Since you mention it, I think I will start that race war.
I could’ve swung either way? But now I’m definitely spending
the next 4 years converting your daughters to lesbianism;
I’m gonna eat all your guns. Swallow them lock stock and barrel
and spit bullet casings onto the dinner table;

I’ll give birth to an army of mixed-race babies.
With fathers from every continent and genders to outnumber the stars,
my legion of multiracial babies will be intersectional as fuck
and your swastikas will not be enough to save you,

because real talk, you didn’t stop the future from coming.
You just delayed our coronation.
We have the same deviant haircuts we had yesterday;
we are still getting gay-married like nobody’s business
because it’s still nobody’s business;
there’s a Muslim kid in Kansas who has already written the schematic
for the robot that will steal your job in manufacturing,
and that robot? Will also be gay, so get used to it:

we didn’t manifest the mountain by speaking its name,
the buildings here are not on your side just because
you make them spray-painted accomplices.
These walls do not have genders and they all think you suck.
Even the earth found common cause with us
the way you trample us both,

oh yeah: there will be signs, and rainbow-colored drum circles,
and folks arguing ideology until even I want to punch them
but I won’t, because they’re my family,
in that blood-of-the-covenant sense.
If you’ve never loved someone like that
you cannot outwaltz us, we have all the good dancers anyway.

I’ll confess I don’t know if I’m alive right now;
I haven’t heard my heart beat in days,
I keep holding my breath for the moment the plane goes down
and I have to save enough oxygen to get my friends through.

But I finally found the argument against suicide and it’s us.
We’re the effigies that haunt America’s nights harder
the longer they spend burning us,
we are scaring the shit out of people by spreading,
by refusing to die: what are we but a fire?
We know everything we do is so the kids after us
will be able to follow something towards safety;
what can I call us but lighthouse,

of course I’m terrified. Of course I’m a shroud.
And of course it’s not fair but rest assured,
anxious America, you brought your fists to a glitter fight.
This is a taco truck rally and all you have is cole slaw.
You cannot deport our minds; we won’t
hold funerals for our potential. We have always been
what makes America great.

First of all, THERE IS NO REASON TO MALIGN COLE SLAW LIKE THAT.
COLE SLAW IS AWESOME AND I AM SO OFFENDED ON ITS BEHALF.

No, but seriously. I like this poem a lot. I think this poem kicks ass. I LOVE the line, “You bought your fists to a glitter fight.”
But I am pretty sure I would not read this poem in church. I might have a young adult read it, as I think that the voice in the poem and the freshness of a much younger person than I would be a good match of reader and material. But I would still hesitate. That’s just me. I would continue to try to find powerful material that is accessible but not shocking or dismaying.
I am glad that some preachers took the risk to read this poem from the pulpit even though I think I myself would be cringing a bit as a worshiper if I was in the pews hearing it. I don’t know. I might be more sympathy-cringing on behalf of those who almost never hear the f-word spoken aloud.

What do you think?

Looking forward to hearing you weigh in.