1. 1.

   view or represent as a stereotype.

   “the city is too easily stereotyped as an industrial wasteland”

   synonyms:

   typecast, pigeonhole, conventionalize, categorize, label, tag More

Our Country and World is reeling from situations, episodes and terrorism inflicted by individuals and groups .  As I write, the march in France decrying the terrorism against the Charlie Hebdu attacks and the Kosher grocery store in Paris is underway.  In the U.S. episodes between police and perpetrator/victim (depending on how you see it) are making national news and are frequent topics of discussion.

Ahmed Merabet’s (the police officer gunned down by the Charlie Hebdue terrorists) eulogy is worth reading on this topic and I want to share it here in case you did not see it.  This speech by Ahmed’s brother Malek, did not draw the television cameras as the 44 global leaders did, but probably should have.

Here is a translation of his brother’s speech, drawn from multiple sources.

Good morning all,

My brother was French, Algerian, and of the Muslim religion. He was very proud of the name Ahmed Merabet, proud to represent the French police, and to defend the values of the [French] Republic: liberty, equality and fraternity.

Through his determination, he had just received his judicial police diploma and was shortly due to leave for work in the field. His colleagues describe him as a man of action who was passionate about his job.

“MADNESS HAS NEITHER COLOR NOR RELIGION”

Ahmed, a man of commitment, had the will to take care of his mother and his relatives following the death of his father 20 years ago. A pillar of the family, his responsibilities did not prevent him from being a caring son, a teasing brother, a generous uncle, and a loving companion.

Devastated by this barbaric act, we associate ourselves with the pain of the families of the victims.

I address myself now to all the racists, Islamophobes, and anti-Semites:

One must not confuse extremists with Muslims. Madness has neither color nor religion. I want to make another point: stop painting everybody with the same brush, stop burning mosques or synagogues. You are attacking people. It won’t bring back our dead, and it won’t appease our families.

Thank you.

(speech translation copied from Vox Media)

Upon reflecting on this, I think about my own religion and a recent case of a senior leader, Heather Cook, striking and killing a very popular cyclist, Thomas Palermo. Rallies have been ridden in his memory and the case has made our local and regional news.  She has been charged with vehicular manslaughter, being drunk and texting while driving.

No one has asked me to answer for her or asked me to speak on behalf of Episcopalians everywhere about her actions.  Is this indicative of a larger problem?  Yes.  Because I happen to be part of a religious tradition that isn’t seen in a stereotypical way (well, it is, but not in ways that impact my daily life and how people treat me).

I’ve worked with and been a part of the Episcopal Church for many years and I’ve known of numerous religious and lay people with drinking problems.  I’ve also known many who have extreme views and have left the Episcopal Church for the Anglican movement.  I attended church in Charleston, South Carolina a few years ago and was horrified at what I heard from the pulpit (blatant sexism and racism and unapologetic condemnation of various groups).  Thankfully, I know that these types of extreme views are not shared by the majority of Episcopalians.

There are many radical Christians who commit murder and hurt other groups in the name of Christianity.  I am not asked to answer for them or seen differently for what they do.

Why is this relevant?

Well, my friends who are Muslim ARE asked to answer for people within their tradition who do extreme things.  These friends are treated differently by their neighbors, community, colleagues because there is a new fear – stereotype – that is applied to members of their religious tradition.

How would I feel if everyone who knew I was Episcopalian thought I was an alcoholic, or that I’d killed people while driving drunk or texting?  Or that I am racist?  Or that I am sexist?  I know this is a pathetic example, but I know I would feel pretty bad and probably also angry.  I don’t even KNOW the Bishop who struck and killed a cyclist in my town.  I certainly don’t think I could answer for her – and wouldn’t want to.

On my Facebook page and in conversations, some of my friends are advocating all sorts of pretty radical responses to the French attacks – which lumps in the terrorist monsters with all people who are Muslim.

So, to them and to those who think this way, I bring to light Malek Merabet’s words and vow to do my small part in bring about a change to the stereotyping, Islamaphobic, and anti-semitic tide.

It stops with me.  Je suis Malek Merabet.

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I saw three ships come sailing in
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day;
I saw three ships come sailing in
On Christmas Day in the morning.

My day of service continued…

I got a call from my Dad asking if I could help him with “the boat”.

“The Boat” has been a source of joy, angst, contention, even legal action…

Today, “Gone with the Wind” (a.k.a. “the boat”) was in a marina near Annapolis.  She (boats are referred to as “she”) was parked under a tree.  This is not good when tiny scuppers designed just for salt water get filled with leaves and seed pods.  This leads to the cockpit filling with water.  When the snows fall, things can really go badly.

My Dad asked me to help rig a tarp over the boat on this uncharacteristically balmy day in December.

I’d just spent the day helping my Mom, it seemed fitting I should help my Dad.

And what was in those ships all three,
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day?
And what was in those ships all three,
On Christmas Day in the morning?

We arrived at the Marina in the late afternoon.  The marina was a sea of boats.  It is a surreal experience walking amidst a marina of boats.  Kind of like walking through a forest of trees with glinting sunlight through the spaces of all of the hulls and keels nestled together like puzzle pieces.

Pray, wither sailed those ships all three,
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day;
Pray, wither sailed those ships all three,
On Christmas Day in the morning?

It took us a while to find “Gone with the Wind”.  The boat was renamed when my Dad purchased the boat after he and my Mom separated.  It was previously named “Freedom”, which seemed a bit too “in your face”. The lettering matches the movie.  Over the years, Gone with the Wind has seen more than her fair share of adventures (but that’s for another story).

Even though my parents are divorced, they have found a way to work together over the years.  They never made us choose over the holidays, for example.  We could celebrate with both of them.

The Virgin Mary and Christ were there,
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day;
The Virgin Mary and Christ were there,
On Christmas Day in the morning.

Today our task was to make a tent over the boat with a tarp.  All around us were beautifully-wrapped boats in white plastic perfectly hermetically sealed.  My Dad and I unfurled our tarp and lines.  We balanced a ladder against the boat and  – precariously – we got up onto the deck.  A sea of boats facing all different directions surrounded us.  The sun was setting and the temperature was starting to drop.

O they sailed into Bethlehem,
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day;
O they sailed into Bethlehem,
On Christmas Day in the morning.

The tarp was 9 ml plastic.  Suffice it to say, it was not the flexible kind.  We managed to get the tarp over the boom and laced together the front around the mast.  A pattern began to emerge whereby we crossed the front and fastened it to the rails.  We pulled the tarp over the sides of the rails.  My father lashed the tarp around the keel with the grommets placed every few feet.  Inside our (now very dark tent), I worked on sweeping up all of the leaves and seed pods.

And all the bells on earth shall ring,
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day;
And all the bells on earth shall ring,
On Christmas Day in the morning.

As my father worked below the “waterline”, I worked above.  Once we finished, only a tiny bit of daylight peeked through.  “Gone with the Wind” was “ship shape” as they say.  My final task was to literally stitch the stern closed which reminded me of my wedding dress which my father tied on my wedding day.

Mission accomplished!  We took some final photos of our work to shoot to my Mom and made our way home.

Then let us all rejoice again,
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day;
Then let us all rejoice again,
On Christmas Day in the morning.

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This Advent Sunday – 12.7.2014 – I was of service…

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Ev’rywhere you go;
Take a look in the five-and-ten, glistening once again
With candy canes and silver lanes aglow.

I started the morning at my Mother’s house.  Sometimes she needs help moving things from place to place so that she can do more.  My Mom is one of the most talented and hardworking people I know.

Upstairs it was all candy canes aglow.  Downstairs was another story.

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas,
Toys in ev’ry store,
But the prettiest sight to see is the holly that will be
On your own front door.

So, I spent the morning moving boxes, organizing shelves, as my friend Christina would say, “Turning piles into files…”  Out the front door I went with 20 boxes, discarded bags of all kinds, bags and bags of trash.

A pair of hopalong boots and a pistol that shoots
Is the wish of Barney and Ben;
Dolls that will talk and will go for a walk
Is the hope of Janice and Jen;
And Mom and Dad can hardly wait for school to start again.

I love how my Mom says, “We”.  This used to annoy me, but now I find it endearing.  “We need to find a place for this…”, “We need to make some order out of this.”  We found 20 pair of no longer useful hopalong boots and shoes.  We found discarded toys, school bookbags and boxes of books.

Now that we have moved boxes out of the way and cleared a path in the middle of her basement, a craft zone has emerged.  This feels familiar.

My Mom is a very talented person.  Growing up, she made our clothes.  She made my skating costumes.  She had a business making amazing skating bags out of quilted fabrics before Vera Bradley even existed.  I remember her staying up all night long while I was a teenager waking me up to go skating and she had never slept (trying to fulfill orders from skaters all over the country for bags before Christmas).  I would give anything to have one of those bags.  Fortunately, I do have some of her hand-beaded skating costumes.

Now, she makes necklaces and earrings out of beautiful beads collected over the years.

The zones of the basement include beads, sewing, painting, planting…

Growing up, there was always a project at Christmas.  Throughout my house and the homes of our relatives, my Mother’s handiwork adorns many homes.  Hand-painted Santas with historical details; painted angels; ornaments made with tinted glue and gold thread; amazing glittering ornaments on my tree including angels, a country stagecoach, santa, elves.

The best Christmas craft was making personalized nutcrackers after my sons including their current hairstyles, soccer balls and numbers on their

Talent flows through our family tree.  My Aunt sent us quilted hand-made gifts each year.  Her tree adorns a table in our family room.  The woven wreath is on the back door.

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Ev’rywhere you go;
There’s a tree in the Grand Hotel, one in the park as well,
The sturdy kind that doesn’t mind the snow.

Later in life, cookbooks were the project.  Collected recipes from family bound in special notebooks wrapped in red taffeta, embossed with gold foil and held together with gold and red cord.  I still turn to that cookbook at the holidays.

I brought my Mom a ham-bone when I arrived (promised after our Thanksgiving ham).  Throughout my visit, the aroma of ham and bean soup filled her home.

My Mom’s current talents are around food.  Canning in particular.  the shelves of her basement are lined with soups, stews and sauces of all kinds.  I’ve learned if I spend a few hours, I might get to savor one of her creations.

Over some of her canned (the Mason jar kind) amazing tomato soup, we had a serious discussion sharing our perspective over some of the things our family has gone through in the past few years.  We differed in perspective, but we aligned on a commitment to move ahead.  She reminded me of the goodness in places and people where I’ve found it challenging to see the good.   I respect my Mom as a Mom.  And for her good thoughts.  And for her talent.

It feels good to do good.

 It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas;
Soon the bells will start,
And the thing that will make them ring is the carol that you sing
Right within your heart.

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