Genereal Conference Blog #2

(Blogging from General Conference...)

 

So we're singing.  It is said that Methodists are "a singing people."  It is the only moment in this day that I've sensed the Spirit here.   We're in a tense moment, waiting for translation to happen in committee in Swahili and French for the international delegates on a tight vote.

AND…(breath) the powerful moment just ended.  (Boy, that was short-lived).  With a harsh-pitched woman's voice making fun of Charles Wesley's lyrics of O for a Thousand Tongues, "When we've been there a thousand years"—to say, "it seems like this is taking a thousand years, doesn't it?!"  Ha ha ha.  Cackle cackle.

It was one of those awkward moments where the room has been full of tension and she was trying to break it, but… the joke fell flat.

Anyway, again, I find myself observing in the sub-section of the Board of Church and Society called "Human Sexuality."  And yes, they're debating (for three days, from 7am-11pm) the morality of homosexuality.

This is annoying, because, I believe the incompetent chairperson was nominated as a puppet by biblical literalists.  However, the more annoying time was last night's division of subcommittees.  The committee was divided into four sections and the delegates were asked to move to the side of the room to which they had interest.  So, three-quarters of the room moved to the one corner where homosexuality would be hotly debated.  As the numbers got shifted, there were only six women- one white woman as the chair, two African-American women and three from Africa.  Of the 17 men, then, 15 of them are what a new friend, Katie, calls "double-whities" (white males with white hair).  Yikes.

Now, let's be clear.  I have nothing against old white men.  I'm married to a white man and someday he'll be an old white man.  I'll love him no less, and hopefully even more than I do now.  But what happened last night was different—it was an Old Boys Club reunion and there was a lot of schmaltzy smiles, pressing the flesh and "man pats" with old guys in golf shirts who smell like Old Spice.  Eww.

That was the moment that I was afraid was going to happen, after having heard my Pennsylvania colleague's words of hopefulness yesterday.  I was skeptical to jump on his wagon of hope (wow—am I sounding like Hillary here?!) and last night I was unfortunately proven right, at least for the moment.

But, since I don't want to be so sour, I'm going to quit writing for now.  I'll start again tomorrow, afresh (after having gone out with some friends who are always up for a good time and a good laugh).  This life as a reserve delegate is pretty good.  I get to see the action, take no responsibility, and sleep in while everyone has to be seated for debate at 7am.  Later!

PS—Stay tuned for information on the Spotted Owl Society tomorrow.  I know you can't wait.