While, I haven’t been a part of this movement, I’ve been observing them from the edges.  And, when I heard about the eviction, I was anxious.  I saw the UC Davis footage, I read stories about violent evictions in other cities—I was worried about Occupy Philadelphia.

The Interfaith Clergy group called on Philadelphia pastors to go to City Hall on Sunday night, to stand as a witness and reminder that we are called to the way of peace.  So, my colleague and I headed downtown.

It was obvious that we were clergy—some people would walk by us, and thank us for coming, but mostly we were relegated to the edges of the event.  We were marginalized, and that was ok.  We were observers, not participants.

When the Eagles football game let out, we saw more movement around the Occupy Philadelphia encampment.  Disappointed sports fans were coming up from the subway, and streaming into the square.  Many were intoxicated.  A few were very angry with the Occupiers.

One group of young men concerned me right away.  I heard them making plans to pick a fight with the protestors, to get themselves on the news.  They were convinced that they would be hometown heroes.

I watched them scheme, and as I did, I stood up, and looked directly at them.  As they moved towards the Occupiers, I continued to try to catch their eyes.

And then, distracted by activity at the other side of the square, and I lost track of them.

I found the young men again, because they approached me.  They were large, muscular, intoxicated guys—and I’ll be honest—I was scared of them.  I forgot my own role until one of the men extended his hand to me and said, “Sister, I don’t need forgiveness or absolution.  I just need you to know that I’m about to do something you aren’t going to like.  You can’t change my mind.  But I’m probably going to say and do some things you don’t want me to do.”

I stuttered and stumbled over my words.  “Uh.  Ok.   Please be safe.  Please be safe.”

And then, they disappeared into the crowd again.

Several minutes later, the young men returned.  “We blame you for this, Sister.  We couldn’t go through with it, because you were standing there…watching.”

These men weren’t much different than the protesters.  These men had all been unemployed at some point during the recession.  Dave, an experienced electrician, said if the Occupy movement started last year when he was out of work, he may have been out there with them.

What confused and angered these men—and what made them want to hurt people—was that there was no leader and no clear message in the movement.  They believed that the movement made poor, unemployed people looks lazy.  “All these people sitting around—what’s the point?”

My colleague and I listened, laughed and shared stories with these new friends, there on the steps of city hall, between the Occupy Philadelphia movement and the police on the street.  The in-between place was not a comfortable one, and if I knew what I would encounter that night, perhaps I would not have gone.  We stood where no one else wanted to stand— at the place where opposing sides meet to argue, fight and plan revenge.  But, the in-between place is exactly where the church needs to stand, as a guidepost to our better humanity, as a reminder of our common status of children of God, as listeners, story-sharers, and reconcilers.

It’s been five years since YAR got started.  When I first started reading, there was a decent balance between men and women commenting and posting.  And there were a lot of questions about who this group was, who it included and excluded, and what this group wanted to be.

Looking at where the group is now, and using my powers of deduction, I see a lot of white, cradle Mennonite guys posting on this site.  I wonder what happened to the women.  I don’t see them posting much.

That’s leads me to my question for this group–when I look at the suggested taglines for YAR, it makes me wonder if these taglines maintain an exclusive vibe to them.  The biggest culprits are the ones that really made me laugh–”Quilting outside the lines” and “Not necessarily naked”.  I almost voted for one of them, but then I realized that this feeds right into the insider problem of the Mennonite church.

At the convention this summer, I was very aware that besides the obvious tension around sexuality, there is an ever-present anxiety about who is in and who is out.  There seemed to be an underlying tension between people of color who have adopted an Anabaptist perspective on scripture, and dyed-in-the-wool Mennonites who consider hymn-singing to be mandatory part of the tradition.

But, I wonder, here on this blog do we want to perpetuate the ongoing problem of insider-outsider issues by adopting an insider tagline?  Or do we want to live into something more radically open?  Clearly, you know how I feel about it.  What do you think?

My son’s response was surprising, and a little funny—“Mom, who invented power? And I’m not talking about electricity here!” I’ll admit that I was proud of his question and his outrage. I’m glad that he can recognize that power is being abused, and used to perpetrate violence and hate.

I reminded my son, who is prone to violent flashes of anger, that power is neither good or evil, what’s more important is the way you use the power you have. Case in point, a ten year old raging about needing to practice his cello certainly wields a lot of power in our house. So can his loving response to his little sister who just needs some big brother hugs.

I’m not the kind of person that meets with my state representative or writes letters to politicians. It’s not my style—I’m not articulate under pressure. I do better with some time to craft a statement, or in one on one conversation. But yesterday, I went to the Pennsylvania State Capital to support the Dream Act, and to oppose the attempts of legislators to make it more difficult for my undocumented friends to live in country we all love. I sat in hearings where we heard testimony from law enforcement, and from tea party activists, who called my friends “aliens”, “illegals”, and “those people”. They said that my friends didn’t care about this country, but only wanted to drain our welfare and social security system. They said my friends were murdering, raping, and stealing from citizens. The testimony was so distorted, so shockingly racist—I couldn’t make it up if I tried.

During the hearing, I sat next to an especially smug Tea Party representative from the Tea Party Immigration Coalition. After his disgusting portrayal of undocumented people in his testimony, he returned to his seat next to me. It took all I had to maintain my respectful composure as I sat next to him, especially when a woman who grew up in North Philadelphia testified about her experience as an undocumented person. As she shared her story, he huffed and puffed, he groaned and mumbled under his breath. It was worse than sitting next to a bored teenager in church. I took it on as my cause to love the hell right out of him, and to remember that even angry, racist, fearful people needed Jesus.

In Exodus 3, Moses saw the burning bush, and turned off the path to get a closer look. When he heard God calling him from the bush, he responded with three of the bravest words you could say to God—“Here I am.” While Moses had his issues—stuttering for one—he certainly was in a unique position to speak to Pharoah. As a former member of Pharoah’s royal court and as a Hebrew, he was poised to be able to speak to the Egyptians in their own language, and from their own shared experiences.

I had one of those “Here I am” moments yesterdaday. Sitting between a tea party activist and an undocumented activist, I realized that I can contribute to this conversation. I have the power—as a privileged, white ally, to speak. I don’t like using my power—I certainly don’t feel especially articulate (Moses and I have that in common!)—but in the face of the Holy One, the God of my ancestors (who themselves were immigrants), how can I not speak out about injustice? How can I not cry out to the Pharoahs of this world on behalf of my undocumented brothers and sisters?

I don’t know who invented power, but I know I have some. And I know I have to do something good with it. I may have to start going to the state house more often, I might need to start writing more letters—I don’t like doing those thing, but I have power, and my voice has an impact on these conversations. I have power—it’s time I start doing something good with it.

Crossposted at http://www.germantownmennonite.org/pastor-amy-s-blog.blog

As someone who is entering seminary this year, I’m interested to know if any of you are going to seminary, or if you have considered it, or if you even care about theological education. What is the value of that to you, fellow YARs?

I’m going to the Lutheran Theological Seminary in Philadelphia (this is my first year), and trying to figure out how to get my Anabaptist stuff while here. You might be asking why a Mennonite would go to a Lutheran seminary–well, show me a Mennonite seminary that is in the city, and focuses on urban issues, and I’ll be there!

I’m looking forward to reading your comments, and hearing your perspectives.