Category Archives: Pastoral Letters

The Trunk Lost In Transit ► A Pastoral Letter

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Pastor Ken Wilson wrote this book arguing for
full acceptance of LGBT folk into the church
and uses scripture to back up these arguments.

Dear Pastor Kenny: Long time, no see!

Seriously, it was great reconnecting with you at the tail end of the 3rd Annual Sunrise to Canton Road Trip for Research, as brief as our reunion was.

I was mighty disappointed when it looked as if we were not going to meet because of your vacation schedule. When I got your message that you’d be available after all, I dropped everything to high-tail it out to Ann Arbor to see you. Had I not already had something scheduled for the evening, I could have stayed and talked forever because there was still so much I wanted to know. Did you ever see that Saturday Night Live sketch “The Guest Who Would Not Leave”? I was already feeling as if I had overstayed my welcome because it was running into dinnertime and you had just got home from vacation.

I have a confession. [Do you take confession?] Because it didn’t look like we’d be getting together, I never finished reading your book. A bigger confession: I’ve been reading your book with the same critical eye and methodology with which I read James Rosen’s historical revisionist history of John Mitchell, Richard Nixon’s Attorney General. I filled The Strong Man with yellow Post It Notes and then eviscerated it in the Watergate exposé Did Roger Ailes Dupe James Rosen, Or Did Rosen Dupe ‘Merka?

The problem is that right up until the time we met I had been thinking of you as a research project. I used our reconnecting last year as a jumping off point for these Pastoral Letters, in which I am (selfishly) exploring and writing about my Atheism, which grew out of my Agnosticism, which grew out of a Reformed Jewish child. To that end, I’ve read dozens of reviews of your book, read up on The Third Way, and continue to follow the writings of your old church and your new church.

Random Ann Arbor pic

I have often said, “You can take the boy out of the newsroom, but you can’t take the newsroom out of the boy.” I was wrong. The journalist in me had a million and one questions for you, but the minute I saw your face, all that went out the window. It was Kenny, my oldest friend in the world!!! I was a little boy again, forgetting all about the Not Now Silly Newsroom. In fact, I was so caught up in just reconnecting that I forgot to take any pictures of you, even though I carried 3 cameras, took some pictures on our walk around Ann Arbor, and usually document every tedious moment of my life.

I am glad we got to talk about your getting kicked to the curb by your old church. I don’t know how much of that was said for publication, so I won’t. However, I find it a fascinating story on the type of changes churches need to make in order to survive into the next century.

Here’s what surprised me the most about our reunion: Maybe it’s because you’re a Pastor, or because I have been trying to reconnect to my past, or because you’re my oldest friend in the world, but I don’t know what prompted me to blurt out my deepest, darkest secret. I can’t believe I told you what I’ve shared with less than a half dozen people, 3 of them psychiatrists. The significance of the title of this post will be mysterious for everybody else.

Random Ann Arbor pic

One mystery cleared up, however. Remember how much I was sweating after our walk, even though it wasn’t that hot a day? As it turns out, that was the beginning of my uncommon cold, which I wrote about in Road Trips, Writer’s Block, and the Uncommon Cold ► Unpacking The Writer. 

I always feel like I’m behind on all my writing, but even more so with this post. You asked me to send you links to my writing that I felt were worth your time. Originally I thought I’d just shoot you an email. But, then I thought it might make a better Pastoral Letter. Then I kept putting it off as I had other things to write. Better late than never, eh? Not to brag, and only because you asked, here are a few of my posts I think are worth reading:

1). The Detroit Riots • 2). My Days With John Sinclair • 3). Where The Sidewalk Ends, Racism Begins • 4) Where The Sidewalk Ends, Racism Begins ► Chapter Two • 5). Where The Sidewalk Ends, Racism Begins ► Chapter Three • 6). When Whites Went Crazy In Tulsa • 7). Happy Birthday Coconut Grove!!! Now Honour Your Past • 8). Josephine Baker Born • 9). Is Marc D. Sarnoff Corrupt Or The Most Corrupt Miami Politician? • 10). The Day I Shook Hands With Glenn Beck • 11). The Day I Met Bob Marley • 12). Any & all of my Watergate stories • 13). A Tribute To Alan Turing ► The Man Who Saved The World • 14). A Musical Appreciation ► Cole Porter • and 15). More Proof the Palin Family Are Liars and Grifters, which is as fresh as today’s headlines.

Random Ann Arbor pic

And, of course, my Pastoral Letters, which are all addressed to you, whether you’ve read them or not.

I think I’ll leave it here, Ken. The Autumnal Equinox Drum Circle is coming up later this month, which is when I tend to think of Spirituality without a God. And, if you recall, Drum Circles are when I most often think of you. You’ll probably be hearing from me again near the end of the month.

Feel free to write back because I never know what you’re thinking.

Your childhood friend,
Marc Slootsky

Packing Up The Newsroom ► Unpacking The Writer

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My old house to the Viola Liuzzo Playground is just over 1/2 mile

The 3rd Annual Sunrise to Canton Road Trip for Research begins early tomorrow morning and the excitement is building.

Yesterday I told someone that driving is my “happy place.” There’s nothing I like better than to get behind the wheel, crank up the tunes, and cruise. I have many hours of that ahead of me over the next few weeks and am looking forward to it.

Excitement is also building — I hope — among those folk who signed up for a visit during this year’s road trip. Several of them are repeat customers, so I must be doing something right. A few of them are brand new to the Aunty Em Experience. I’m looking forward to seeing them all.

Among my stops are Centerville, Columbus, Elyria, Akron, and Columbus, all in Ohio. I’ll be retracing my steps in West Virginia, the subject of last year’s A Tribute to Don Knotts ► Morgantown’s Favourite Son. The last 2 stops will be to visit people in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, and Oviedo, Florida. The latter is someone I’ve known in Cyberville for decades, yet we’ve never had the chance to meet.

During this year’s Sunrise to Canton Road Trip for Research I’ve also scheduled several stops for Racial Research™ along the route. I’ll be visiting the Harriet Tubman Museum in Macon, GA; the Old Slave Mart Museum in Charleston, South Carolina, with a stop to pay respects at Mother Emanuel Church; and the Charles H. Wright Museum of African American History in Detroit. Through sheer synchronicity the Wright Museum is holding CALL of The DRUM: An International Drum Summit on the weekend I’ll be there. I’m taking my claves.

As well I plan to stop off for a night in St. Augustine. I’ve been there once and found it incredibly beautiful. It’s the oldest, continually inhabited city in this country. Ponce de Leon was tramping around there and I can’t wait to see it again.

There’s been no word from J$ on whether he wants to help me write The Johnny Dollar Wars ► The Final Chapter? There’s still another 10 days for him to decide whether he has the cajones to confront the man he relentlessly cyber-bullied for more than 3 years. Regardless of whether he participates, the final chapter will be written.

However, one part of this trip only got added to my itinerary yesterday, and it’s an interesting story. Have a seat. Relax.

In preparation for this year’s Sunrise to Canton Road Trip for Research I was looking on Google Maps for the name of a park in my old neighbourhood. If I remember correctly, this park once had a water tower, torn down in the late ’50s or the early ’60s. I have vague memories of playing on the girders after it was ripped down, but before they had been hauled away.

What I discovered on Google Maps came as a shock, mostly because it came as a total surprise. It’s the Viola Liuzzo Playground.

I had no idea this park was named after a Civil Rights Martyr from Detroit. I had no idea Viola Liuzzo came from my old neighbourhood. This is a woman whom I have read about so many times in so many books. I’ve watched documentaries in which she has appeared prominently. Tara Ochs plays her in the movie Selma.

Brownsville Herald – April 4, 1964

The house I grew up in was slightly over a half mile from the Viola Liuzzo Playground. [See map above] In 1964 I was 12 years old yet I knew nothing of any of this. Whyzzat? This is as local as it gets. Cross burnings in my neighbourhood? Really?

When I visit Detroit this time I am going to visit this park. It’s my plan to write about it and, more importantly, write about my ignorance of the fact that her funeral, with Martin Luthur King, Jr., attending, happened practically under my nose without me realizing it.

I have now been in contact with Mary Liuzzo, Viola’s daughre, who identified 19375 Marlowe Street as the house that Viola Liuzzo left behind to join the Freedom March in Selma, Alabama. She never returned, having been murdered as she was ferrying Freedom Riders to several locations. A week after her death a cross was burned on her lawn.

Hopefully, one of the other people I’ll be seeing on this trip is Pastor Ken Wilson. We grew up across the street from each other and recently reconnected losing track of each other 45 years ago. Ken has become a bit infamous over the last year. As Senior Pastor of the Vinelands Church in Ann Arbor, a church he founded in his living room 40 years ago, Wilson wrote what I believe is a very important book. “A Letter to My Congregation” argues for full inclusion and acceptance in the church of the LGBT communities. For his troubles, he was kicked to the curb by Vinelands Church — or he resigned in mutual agreement. However, that hasn’t stopped him.

It’s to Pastor Kenny that I’ve addressed all my Pastoral Letters. However, I’ve just learned there may be a scheduling problem and a reunion with Kenny may not be in the cards after all.

Curious, I’ve just asked Ken electronically. While he was aware that Viola Liuzzo was a Civil Rights Martyr, he was also unaware that she was from our own neighbourhood and was as ignorant as I was about the cross burning just a mile and a half from where we lived.

This is going to be the best Sunrise to
Canton Road Trip for Research ever!!!

The Johnny Dollar Wars ► The Last Chapter?

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Cyber-bully Mark Koldys as a child

As I prepare for the 3rd Annual Sunrise to Canton Road Trip for Research, I would be remiss if I allowed an anniversary to pass unremarked.

July 4th of last year was a personal Independence Day of sorts. It’s the day Ashley Graham, the Head Nutjob of The Flying Monkey Squad, tweeted his last tweet. Grayhammy, as he called himself on the interwebs, stalked me online, revealed my alternative lifestyle, and cyber-bullied me for more than 3 years. He didn’t do this for himself. He did it on behalf of Johnny Dollar, who gleefully joined in on the cyber-fun.

Johnny Dollar — in reality, former-Wayne County Michigan prosecutor Mark Koldys — is a self-appointed Fox “News” defender. Because I was writing Fox “News” criticism, Johnny Dollar thought the very best way to defend Fox “News” was to publish details of my private life on his sewer of a blog. If you can’t kill the message, try to kill the messenger.

Despite July 4th of last year being the last cyber-attack, I waited a full 6 months before I was Declaring Victory in the Johnny Dollar Wars. Things have been very quiet since that went up.

IRONY ALERT: While Mark Koldys had no compunction about publishing details of my private life in his quest to be an apologist for Fox “News,” he squealed to facebook and Google when I used pictures of him and his family that I found online. He then tried to pretend that he was the victim of my unprovoked attacks, as if I had no reason whatsoever to retaliate.

However, that’s water under the bridge, all written down, and currently being poured over by editors. However, one of them makes a fair point: “Where’s the Fairness & Balance in your story? What does your antagonist have to say?”

CANTON, MICHIGAN
Home of Mark Koldys, who, as Johnny
Dollar, is a proud Fox “News” defender

Fun fact: Canton is a township, not a town
• Official Wesbite •
• Wikipedia Entry •
• Canton Weather •
• Public Safety Office •
• Public Library •

◄ MEDIA ►
• Observer and Eccentric – Canton •
• Plymouth-Canton Patch •
• Canton Videos •
• Canton at ClickOn Detroit •

◄ WHAT’S UP IN CANTON? ►
• Things to do in Canton •
• Attractions near Canton •
• IKEA Canton •

◄ BOOKS ABOUT CANTON ►
• Canton Township •
• Cornerstones: A History of
Canton Township Families •

◄ BOOKS THAT MENTION CANTON ►
• Seven Fatality Christmas Tree Fire •
• Encyclopedia of Invasive Species: From
Africanized Honey Bees to Zebra Mussels •
• Leaving Home to Find Home •

◄ NOTABLE RESIDENTS OF CANTON ►

Let me explain. Since the day Johnny Dollar outed my alternative lifestyle I have been writing The Johnny Dollar Wars, a full-length book on what it’s like to be the target of a viscous and relentless cyber-bullying campaign.

Mark Koldys (Johnny Dollar) lives in Canton Township, Michigan. Therefore, The Sunrise to Canton Road Trip for Research was always an itinerary based on my need for on-the-ground research. I purposely named it such so he would know I was coming. While the word “Canton” means little to most people, it hit the intended target: both Ashley Graham and Mark Koldys, who stalked my social media for anything to use against me, made a point to mention it.

During the upcoming 3rd Annual Sunrise to Canton Road Trip for Research I am hoping I can finally write the last chapter of The Johnny Dollar Wars by interviewing Mark Koldys himself. This will be a way for Johnny Dollar to finally go on the record and describe the skirmishes in The Johnny Dollar Wars from his side of the battlement. Maybe there were extenuating circumstances that resulted in my private life being outed.

I have a journalistic duty to find out, I suppose.

Because Johnny Dollar blocked me on Twitter after I started sharing The Johnny Dollar Wars with his correspondents, I cannot message him there. I am hoping someone — like maybe his brother Bruce — will pass along this interview request to him.

Funny story: Bruce and I exchanged some messages in 2013, after which I wrote Fun With Pictures. For reasons I don’t quite remember (I hope I was trying to be funny) I blacked out his name in that post, but it was Bruce Koldys I had been addressing.

During that exchange of messages, Bruce asked me not to judge an entire family based solely on the nut that fell from the tree, but I am paraphrasing wildly. TO BE FAIR: He merely wanted me to know that his politics are far different from his older brother’s and to leave him out of The Johnny Dollar Wars. Ever since, Bruce Koldys has regularly retweeted some of my Fox “News” snark, which is probably his way of tweaking his brother’s nose.

IRONY ALERT: Just before publishing this, I checked his
Twitter timeline. I’m glad I did because it’s obvious Johnny
Dollar has reformed. Now it’s diseased and creepy to stalk
people online. I’ll have to ask him why he changed his mind.

So, I am hoping I can dragoon Bruce into passing along my interview request to his big brother Mark.

Bruce: Tell him we will meet in a neutral location, preferably a Starbucks. He should come alone and make sure he’s not followed. No weapons of any kind. Both of us can record the interview for posterity. Everything said, from first greeting to last goodbye, is ON THE RECORD. Any deviation from these instructions and the truth gets it.

If he agrees to these terms tell him to give me a call. Mark once indicated (correctly) that he knew my address and phone number, so that should be no problem. Or, he can email me. I will be in Canton from July 17th, through to the 24th performing some last-minute research. He can contact me right up until the 24th.

SYNCHRONICITY ALERT: Those who have been following my Pastoral Letter series will be glad to know I finally have a copy of A Letter to my Congregation by my childhood friend, Pastor Ken Wilson, of the Blue Ocean Faith Church in Ann Arbor.

I started reading the book as I always do, from the title page on, including the copyright page. Lo & behold: A Letter to my Congregation is published by Read The Spirit Books; an imprint of David Crumm Media, LLC; of Canton, Michigan.

It all comes full circle. Maybe Pastor Kenny can help me how to find forgiveness for Mark Koldys. However, I’m more inclined to think I’ll be able to forgive when the full-length Johnny Dollar Wars is finally on the shelves of bookstores all across ‘Merka.

Desperately Seeking Spirituality ► Another Pastoral Letter

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Analog writing

Dear Pastor Kenny: 

I’m not feeling terribly pastoral these days, yet it seems time for another Pastoral Letter, so here we go into the dark abyss of my soulless psyche. 

I’m starting this in longhand on the night of the Summer Solstice as I catch a breather before heading out to the Tequesta Summer Solstice Drum Circle. It’s a drum circle so crowded that trying to find any kind of spirituality seems foolish.

So why, you may ask, am I going? Good question. Bad answer: I’m not entirely sure, but I have equated drum circles with serenity and the search for something pastoral, as you know. Which, if nothing else, explains why I am writing a Pastoral Letter, Ken, even if I’m not feeling it.

Recently I revealed to a drum circle buddy that I was going to the Tequesta Summer Solstice Drum Circle to see if I could find spirituality. I was surprised when they told me that they were a Nihilist, something I never would have suspected of them. I think that’s one of the few philosophies I haven’t tried on yet.

As an aside, I learned this morning that:

[T]he meaning of the “the shruggie” is always two, if not three- or four-, fold. ¯_(ツ)_/¯ represents nihilism, “bemused resignation,” and “a Zen-like tool to accept the chaos of universe.” It is Sisyphus in unicode. I use it at least 10 times a day.

I’m feeling more nihilistic than pastoral because of last week’s church massacre in Charleston, South Carolina, cradle of the racist south. I’m not feeling very pastoral because, as soon as it happened, so many people on the Right became heavily invested into denying that racism had anything to do with it, instead blaming the War on Christianity, video games, and the evil Left Wing Libruls, as opposed to the twin scourge of Racism and easily available guns in this country.

Even after Dylann Roof admitted it was a racial attack — that he was trying to start a race war (echoes of Charlie Mason and Helter Skelter) — Fox “News” and others were still denying the obvious. It’s that denial that allows incidents like these to happen time and time again in this country.

Coming so close on the heels of Ferguson, Baltimore, McKinney, and more, the senseless slaughter of 9 innocent people — at a Bible study class — is simply an overt example of the pernicious racism that pumps through this country’s bloodstream. It’s in our DNA. It’s baked in the cake with the Constitution’s 3/5ths compromise. Black folk were chattel, property to be bought and sold, owned by anyone who could put up the cash at the many Slave Auctions through the south.

When slavery was outlawed — following the Civil War — and Reconstruction was abandoned, Jim Crow took its place. Redlining folks into ghettos, refusing home renovation loans, lower wages, worse schools, a lack of opportunity, and White Flight — not to mention lynchings — kept Black folk in enclaves as tightly controlled as those that existed during slavery. This as Black folk did most of the back-breaking work that built this country.

As you know, Pastor Kenny, I use these Pastoral Letters, for the most part, to kick around ideas about religion and atheism that I’ve had my entire life. This one will also address some of my ideas about race relations in ‘Merka.

Bottom line: If there was a God, She wouldn’t have allowed 9 innocent people to be slaughtered in Her house. Yeah, yeah, I know that’s been said a million times before me, so many times that religionists have a ready answer for it. I forget what it is because I just think it’s a bogus rationalization.

Oh, wait! I remember now. It’s God’s will. Got it.

I had been on the verge of tears all week following the massacre, but I totally lost it when the families of the victims started giving their impact statements at the bail hearing. Every one of them spoke about God’s forgiveness and Jesus. Their capacity for forgiveness was more than my already over-wrought emotional capacity could bear.

They were forgiving Dylann Roof, but it sounded to me more like they were forgiving God for allowing it to happen in the first place. 

To me this was incomprehensible. More incomprehensible is that this fellow Jesus, by all accounts a pretty good guy, was the God of their Slave Masters. Why would anyone adopt the God of their Masters? Still more incomprehensible to me: The same Bible used by the Slave Masters to justify slavery was used by the slaves as a prediction of their eventual emancipation. They identified with the Jews and the motto “Let my people go!”

It’s a tricky book that can be used by all sides to justify whatever people want. Right now it’s being used to deny LGBT communities basic human rights. I’m glad you’re fighting against that, Ken.

Tequesta Summer Solstice Drum Circle at sunset, June 21, 2015

The overriding reason I go to these drum circles whenever possible is because I felt an irresistible spiritual tug to it when I covered the Coconut Grove Drum Circle marching in the King Mango Strut.

Tonight I went to the Tequesta Summer Solstice Drum Circle, but I wasn’t feeling all that pastoral either. I had had an intermittent stomach ache all day, that only got worse once I arrived at the park. That kept me from getting inside the rhythm, which is my comfort zone within a circle. I’ve yet to achieve that at Tequesta, because of how crowded the field is with 3-400 people in it. For some reason I still want to see if that’s even possible.

You see, I’m still trying to figure out why I have such a visceral need to bang 2 pieces of wood together. Is this a desire on my part to replicate the human heartbeat? Or, in the alternative, am I just another case study for Dr. Oliver Sacks. While standing and watching the crowd on Sunday, I couldn’t help but feel a weird kind of cultural appropriation.

When I first experienced a drum circle, at the 2013 King Mago Strut, I couldn’t help but think of Kebo. Apparently Kebo was a village in Africa. It’s also the name some of the original Bahamian immigrants gave the enclave that is now known colloquially as West Grove in Coconut Grove. On that day I was struck with the fact that I was standing in modern day Kebo and listening to a bunch of White folk bang on drums. I couldn’t help but wonder what the ancestors buried in the Charlotte Jane Memorial Park Cemetery would think of this development.

Now, I don’t want to say that only Black folks have rhythm because
I’ve heard a lot of amazing White drummers in these drum circles. What I
will say is that I see very few Black folk at these drum circles. I find that interesting and worthy of note.
Before I left Tequesta (at 9:30, long before the crowd would have reached its zenith) I decided to walk around the circle 3 times,
which isn’t easy when it’s so crowded. While I did so I counted the Black folk I saw. I
counted 14.

For reasons I can’t even describe it didn’t help make me feel pastoral.

I’m still recovering from whatever stomach bug I picked up, but am starting to feel better, Kenny. Well enough to try to organize the rest of my thoughts and finish this latest Pastoral Letter before it gets too old.

Some people see things through Rose Coloured Glasses; Since leaving Detroit I see things through Race Coloured Glasses. It may be a blessing, or a curse, but my mind almost always immediately jumps to how Race plays into whatever sitch-eee-ay-shuns I’m observing. There are many reasons for this. However, I believe it all goes back to the awakening I had when Pops lost everything in the ’67 Detroit Riot.

I didn’t have the words for it at the age of 15, but these were my first inklings of White Privilege and Black Rage. I’ve been piecing the rest of it together ever since.

Read: The Detroit Riots, Part Five
of the Unpacking My Detroit series

Ken, yesterday I went to Barnes and Noble to get your book. There’s only 3 weeks before we get together next month and I wanted to have digested it before we talk about it.

It turns out A Letter to my Congregation is not one of the religious books Barnes and Noble stocks, so I had to order it, pre-pay for it, and pay an additional $3.99 shipping fee for the experience. Just for shits and giggles I told the clerk that I didn’t want a book that I couldn’t examine first. Couldn’t they have it shipped to the store so I could make an informed decision on whether I really wanted it or not by holding it in my hand?

No. That’s not something they do. But, I was given a choice. I could either buy it, or not buy it. I chose to buy it. Furthermore, I was told your book will be shipped to me anytime between a week to a month. It may not arrive before the 3rd Annual Sunrise to Canton Road Trip for Research, so I may not know what’s between the covers before we meet again. Worse yet, how will I get it inscribed by the author?

So, I am still forced to read discern your Biblical reasoning from your posts and the book reviews I’ve been reading.

I have said more than once that those who believe in God have it a lot easier than the rest of us. How nice it must be, whenever one is buffeted by the injustices in life, to be able to place everything in the hands of the Lord and just go on. Even more interesting to me is that whole “Get out of hell free” card religions offer: Make a confession, do a few Hail Marys, and poof! You’re good to go again with a clean slate.

An Atheist like myself has to live with the fact that I screwed up. Only I can make it right. A prayer won’t fix it. Yet — as I take a quick self-examination — I’m not breaking any of the 10 Commandments anyway. At least none of the biggies. I don’t need a book to tell me what’s the right thing to do. None of us should. I don’t need a promise of Heaven to do what’s right.

Nor do I have to find justification in the Bible for treating people with simple dignity. That you have had to spend all those pages to say, in essence, “What would Jesus do?” seems like a waste of time and energy. That you are considered an outlier in your religion should tell you something. It tells me churches have been wrong — about so much — for centuries and that’s not about to change in our lifetimes.

If there really was a God it would change tomorrow. She’d kick some ass and get ‘er done, to quote a Redneck comedian.

My receipt: Barnes and Noble
didn’t stock your book, but it still
tried to sell me books it did have.

As fresh as today’s Headlines Du Jour, because it was published today, is Pastors want to create a Christian community open to all, your interview on Michigan Radio:

Ken Wilson founded Vineyard Church in Ann Arbor and served on the national board of Vineyard USA for seven years.

Then,
he and co-pastor Emily Swan left Vineyard to form Blue Ocean Faith, a
new church that seeks to create an evangelical Christian community in
Ann Arbor that openly welcomes lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender
members.

Wilson says that leaving his congregation at Vineyard was difficult, but it’s a move he’s proud of.

“The
denomination I was a part of rejected my move toward being fully
inclusive with LGBT, and so that necessitated our starting a new
church,” he says.

How many breakaway churches are needed before we reach the least common denominator?

In that interview you are making the same point as I did above before I even heard this, about the church being wrong:

Absolutely. We were wrong on interracial marriage, we were wrong on slavery, we were wrong on the full inclusion of women. For 2,000 years the church taught a very, very strict line on divorce or remarriage, where virtually no one who had a living spouse could be remarried. And this was just — didn’t square with reality.

However, we look at these previous errors of church doctrine differently. How could God let Her creation be so self-deluded? Over and over again? How do you know you’ve finally got it right?

Over the last 2 days we’ve have seen a seismic shift in our treatment of the Confederate flag in this country. Soon  the Supreme Court will hopefully rule in favour of LGBT marriage and equality. Eventually, the church will either have to embrace LGBT equality, or die. I believe it will be the latter.

Until that happens, I’m not feeling very pastoral. Maybe I can find some of that at Saturday’s drum circle.

See you next month.

Your childhood friend,
Marc Slootsky

A Passover/Easter Pastoral Letter

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Are you aware that there are people who do not
know that The Last Supper was Passover seder?

Dear Pastor Kenny:

I guess I’m just a big coward when it comes to some things. I’ve had your phone number for a number of months now, but every time I start to dial (an antiquated term, but you’re as antiquated as I am so I know you’ll understand), I don’t finish. I was so thrilled to have found you, only to get cold feet when it counts.

While you responded to my 1st Pastoral Letter—and in a very public way—my 2nd, Winter Solstice, Pagan Pastoral Letter went unanswered, as far as I know. I only accidentally stumbled upon your first reply and was surprised to hear, in the posted audio version, my name mentioned from the pulpit of a church. As you know, God and I are not on speaking terms.

In my 2nd Pastoral Letter, it wasn’t really my intention to challenge your religious beliefs. That’s just the way it worked out. Sometimes when the words flow, I just let them, and that’s where it led me.

Actually, “challenge” is the exact wrong word. I should have said, “It wasn’t really my intention to shake your religious beliefs,” because you’ve held them for so long. I recognize how I was being challenging. However, if a few questions from an old friend were to shake your beliefs, they wouldn’t have been very deeply held in the first place. Right?

Since then we’ve had another solstice, the Vernal Equinox. As I did the last solstice, I went to the Tequesta Drum Circle. This time I stayed on the periphery of the crowd, wandering around, banging 2 pieces of wood together when I felt motivated, but watching the people far more closely than I did the last time. All were seeking spirituality, some more desperately than others. That night I was seeking a story for the Not Now Silly Newsroom. I know there’s a drumming piece to be written, but it hasn’t found me yet.

I’m still seeking spirituality, but I didn’t bother to look for it that night. Yet, I couldn’t help but think of you. You’ve become connected with drum circles in my mind: the day I found you I went to a drum circle. I was so thrilled to learn of your support for the LGBT communities that I made a small announcement to that small group about it.

At the Spring Solstice drum circle I thought of you again, but this time I was in an instant community of several hundred people that would not be there on the morrow. The trigger for thinking of you was that several of the people I was spending time with that night were card-carrying members of the LGBT community, some of whom heard that original announcement. There also were many couples in that crowd whose sexuality was apparent. Men with men. Women with women.

If I’m going to continue to drag you into
this, the least I can do is plug your book.

Other Chapters of
A Pastoral Letter
► Part One – Finding An Old Friend
► Pastor Kenny’s reply: The Gospel of John,
Chapter One: They Came in Twos
► Part Two: A Pagan Pastoral Letter

I thought about you and the distance you’ve come. Then I realized I don’t really know how far you’ve come. What did you feel about The Gay before you came out in favour of them at your church? Did you hate them? Did you pity them? Did you shun them?

Maybe the answer can be found in your book, A Letter To My Congregation, which I really need to read one of these days. However, I can see how far you’ve come since writing the book, from your old church to a new church, for starters.

This week ‘Merkin society demonstrated how far it still has to go.

As you may know, opposition to LGBT folk is greatest in the evangelical communities. Indiana looked as if it was being administered by evangelicals when it enacted a law allowing legal discrimination based on religious beliefs. While the backlash and controversy centered on how pizza makers could refuse to cater a Gay Wedding—like that’s ever gonna happen—there were other, far worse, unintended consequences of such a terrible law. It would have allowed doctors to refuse to treat the child of a Lesbian couple, as just one example of thousands that could be spun out to make my point.

Indiana Governor Mike Pence never knew what hit him. The backlash was so swift and vociferous, that Pence has been tap-dancing a series of lies ever since. Claiming the law was not intended to discriminate against LGBT folk, which was his biggest lie, Indiana was forced to back down and rewrite itt. Even better: the governor of Arkansas refused to sign into law a similar bill. He must have been watching the news.

I began writing this on Good Friday after sundown, which was also the beginning of Passover; the first time the holidays coincided in quite awhile. This was sheer coincidence on my part. Passover means no more to me than Easter, or any other day of the week. It was simply time to write another Pastoral Letter, as I expressed on the facebookery earlier in the week.

Now it’s Easter Sunday and, in between, I visited Coconut Grove, a place that began as an interesting research project 6 years ago and has since become my passion. Most of my morning was spent in the oldest Black cemetery in Miami, the Charlotte Jane Memorial Park Cemetery. At one time this was the only place where Black folk could be buried. I went as a journalist to record the community turning out to Honour the Ancestors, by painting the graves and cleaning up the graveyard.

Being there, witnessing this, reminded me that at one time in this country religion was used to discriminate against The Black, the same way some are now using religion—the religion of Jesus Christ—to discriminate against The Gay.

I don’t know if I ever told you why I left my religion behind. Got another minute, Ken?

In a lovely bit of synchronicity,
  Rastafarians appropriated so much
Jewish iconography for its symbols.

As a young Jewish boy growing up I got the normalized indoctrination: God’s chosen people, 4000 years of oppression, the Holocaust, the Jewish Homeland, Never Again, “Next year in Jerusalem,” the whole schmear. Then right around my Bar Mitzvah, give or take, a light bulb went on. All around me, in my extended family, I heard racism against Black folk openly expressed.

You’d think that of all people to understand how ugly racial discrimination is, it would be Jews. That’s pretty much when I turned my back on the Old Testament God, and all Gods for that matter. If there was a God he wouldn’t let his children treat some of his other children that way. He’d give them a Time Out, like a flood or something. She’s done it before, if you believe the press releases.

TO BE FAIR: I was naive and unsophisticated about the Civil Rights Movement back then. We were not yet teenagers while it was happening all around us. I later learned how many Jews were on the Freedom Rides and Marches. My bad.

I read an interesting article and listened to the audio this morning on the NPR site. When Corporations Take The Lead On Social Change tells of how Coca-Cola led the way to change the social/racial dynamic of Atlanta, a city steeped in The Old South.

Wal-Mart, Apple, Angie’s List, NASCAR — some of the biggest names in business this week pushed back against “religious freedom” laws [http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2015/03/31/396555062/indianapolis-mayor-religious-laws-backers-missing-the-bigger-trend] in Indiana and Arkansas. They said the laws could open the door to discrimination against gays and lesbians and were bad for their business.


Such corporate intervention is not new.

Back in 1964, social conservatives in Atlanta refused to support an integrated dinner honoring Nobel Peace Prize winner Martin Luther King Jr. But then Coca-Cola put its giant corporate foot down, and changed Atlanta’s history. 

Isn’t it a shame that there are not more followers of Jesus leading the fight for LGBT equality?

And, it’s a crack like that that makes me wonder if you even want to communicate with me, Pastor Kenny. You stopped after our first exchange of Pastoral Letters, but I don’t know whether it’s because you were busy starting a new LGBT-friendly church, or pissed at my second Pastoral Letter.

Yet, I’m still seeking spirituality. In my first Pastoral Letter I told you how I occasionally look for it on Gilchrist when I’m visiting Detroit. Whenever I am back on Gilchrist, and many times in between, I recall a place I felt warm, and happy, and peaceful, and calm, and protected, and – dare I say it? – spiritual.

In your backyard, right at the back fence, were some huge bushes that were overgrown. There was a small opening under the branches. I recall climbing through this hole to sit under this bush for hours on end. The branches grew up and over, creating a bower big enough for young boys to imagine anything. The ground was packed flat and it smelled of Mother Earth. In the dead of summer it was always degrees cooler under that bush and it was easy to forget there was even a world beyond that curtain of green.

Sadly, I don’t even know what kind of bush it was. Maybe you do.

There was something so pastoral, peaceful, and memorable, about sitting under this bush, that I transferred it to the front yard of Zachary’s house in the fictional Farce Au Pain, which take place on Gilchrist and mirrors the houses we lived in in real life. I have Zachary and Adrian using this bush to spy on Gilchrist when no one could see them, which makes me realize—as I write this sentence—that I often do that as a journalist: embed myself in a group (behind a bush?) to see how they act when they don’t know a writer is watching. 

Maybe that’s why I am still looking for that bush. Do you know where it is, Ken?

Well, that’s it for now, Pastor Kenny. I’ll write another Pastoral Letter on the next solstice, or big holiday, or whenever I like, if it comes to that. If you do want to talk, reach out to me (to use a phrase that’s become a hoary cliché). I would welcome that.

Your childhood friend,
Marc

A Pagan Pastoral Letter

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The Winter Solstice Drum Circle

Other Chapters of Pastoral Letter
► Part One – Finding An Old Friend
► Pastor Kenny’s reply: The Gospel of John,
Chapter One: They Came in Twos

Merry Christmas and a Happy Yule, Pastor Kenny:

I’m not really a Pagan, but I got your attention, didn’t I? I don’t know who said it first, but the biggest difference between you and me is that I have rejected one more God than you have. Freedom of religion is also freedom from religion and I am proudly religion free.

However, if forced to choose a religion I would go with one that worships Mother Earth and Her children. My second choice? Pastafarianism because I love the headgear.

First apologies for taking so long to get back to you, Ken. It simply didn’t occur to me right away that you’d reply to me through a sermon from your pulpit. That realization took a few weeks. Then, once I found the written version online, I needed to understand it. Your response was wrapped in religious allegory and I’m not as steeped in religious allegory as you. That’s why I had to read it many times and why I listened to the audio version many more than that. I didn’t want to misinterpret it, which I probably have anyway.

Another reason for taking so long is that I realized it was your last
sermon from that church. Whether you were fired, or resigned, or came to
a mutual understanding with your church, is something I have no way of
knowing. However, your brave stand on LGBT issues almost certainly contributed to your leaving. I chose to respect a mourning period.


Then, because making excuses is so easy, I had other writing and
research to do, yadda, yadda, yadda . . . but here I am just in time for
the holiday, which seems incredibly appropriate. Is it Synchronicity? [More
about that later.]

I note you are now seeking your spirituality with a new church. Clearly, seeking spirituality has been a lifelong pursuit for each of us. To that end, Sunday night I went to my first Winter’s Solstice drum circle. Remember I mentioned my fascination with drum circles in my last letter? In another nice touch of synchronicity, it was exactly a year ago when I got hooked on the eternal drumbeat (which I wrote about in The 32nd Annual King Mango Strut. The 33rd Mango Strut is this week.).

The Winter Solstice Drum Circle is a massive dealie with hundreds of people who take over a small section of Hugh Taylor Birch State Park. Normally the park closes at sunset, which is pretty early this time of year. However, on the Winter Solstice the drum circle is allowed to bang away until 11PM. This huge, family-friendly event was both a delight and a distraction. Ken, I thought about you and this response during the drum circle, but I was not able to find spirituality inside the rhythm that night. It was just too crowded.

I suppose there was a time I found spirituality in a God, but it was
so long ago I no longer recall the feeling. I was a child, as willing to
believe in unicorns and fairies as Sky Dudes. I don’t mean to be
insulting, Ken, but we’re both old men now and we can be blunt with each
other because we’ve been friends since 1957. As Rob Hampton says in
the Study Guide to your sermon:

Since Jesus doesn’t focus on the sin of the people He calls, we can be free to be ourselves in His presence.

In other words, Pastor Kenny: I gotta be me . . . for better or worse. I’m hoping you’ll see this Pagan Pastoral Letter as better. If nothing else it will test your capacity for forgiveness.

Where was I? Oh, yeah: As I entered adulthood and became a writer, I started to require proof
for things. Unicorns and fairies fell off my list of things to believe
in. However, for a belief in God, I was still willing to accept proof. I
hadn’t rejected Her the way I had unicorns and fairies. That’s why in
my early adulthood I called myself an Agnostic. I used to tell people
that if God were to show up, I’d invite Him in for coffee because I had
a lot of questions. But, until then, I was going to reserve judgement.
Take it under advisement. Give in to the benefit of the doubt. Suspend disbelief.

As I got older this door I left open a crack slowly drifted closed as refreshing breezes filtered through the belief system in my attic, or my empty head.
Take your pick. I remember in my late 20s consciously deciding that
being Agnostic was the coward’s way out. I was leaving myself a loophole in
case God did show up at my door. That way He wouldn’t strike me dead with lightening
bolts for rejecting Her. That’s when I started to check the Atheist box and, quite frankly, never looked back.

I am
reminded of the W.C. Fields story when he was found reading The Bible
while waiting off-camera for the next scene. A friend couldn’t believe
it. Atheist Fields reading a Bible? Why? He replied in that drawl that only
Fields had, “Ah, yes! Looking for loopholes.” I no longer needed a loophole.

Let me be clear about a belief in God, any God: There have been many times in my life that I was sorry I didn’t belong to a religion, that I didn’t have a God to fall back upon. How nice it must be, when the gale forces of the world are blowing against life, to find peace and serenity by believing in something bigger than oneself. That whole “confession/forgiveness” dealie of some religions is just the icing on the cake. No matter what you’ve done wrong, all you have to do is confess and do the penance. Suddenly your ticket to heaven is stamped GOOD TO GO all over again. Atheist me? I just feel guilty about things until the feeling passes or I feel I’ve atoned in a real, tangible way for my screw ups.

Anyway, I wasn’t an evangelical Atheist like Richard Dawkins, nor a showbiz Atheist like Bill Maher.
I have always believed a person’s relationship with their God, or lack thereof, is a
personal matter best kept to oneself. Which is why writing about this has been more difficult than I thought it would be when I begain.

Now, keep in mind, Kenny, I was
still living in Canada. People in Canada are far more reserved about
expressing their religious views. It’s not that they are any less deeply
held. It’s just the Canadian way to be more reserved about everything.
So, I was quite shocked when I returned to the States 9 years ago and
saw so much religious proselytizing that it even extended to the bumpers of cars.



Then
I became aware of the Fox “News” Phony War on Christmas and everything changed for me. There’s an entire history on the innertubes of my writing about Fox “News” mendacity so I won’t bore you with all of that, Pastor
Kenny. However, when I first got back down here, I couldn’t believe the crap that Bill O’Reilly
was selling about there being a War on Christmas. Year after year that fatuous asshole has proclaimed there’s a
War on Christmas. Hell, the last 2 years running he’s claimed that he
single-handedly defeated the dark forces who would ban Christmas from ‘Merkin life. You can only win a war once, Bill O.

That’s when I consciously chose to be an Atheist who speaks out about the extreme contradictions in religion. It turned out, once I started to examine my feelings closely, I realized I actually resented a lifetime of being forced to participate in a religious holiday I didn’t believe
in — have never believed in — even when I believed in God.

IRONY ALERT: Until Bill O’Reilly brought it up, I never gave it a second thought when someone would wish me Merry Christmas. It was just what people said at this time of year and I accepted it in the spirit it was intended. But that was BO, Before O’Reilly. Now I’m deeply offended when someone who doesn’t know me wishes me a Merry Christmas, but not nearly as much as I resent it when people who know me do it.


Why is this the default position? Why do people automatically assume I’m part of their Christ Club?
I came to recognize it’s the same resentment that I have when White people say
racist crap to me assuming I belong to the same White Skin Club they’ve
paid a lifetime of dues into. That’s White Privilege personified. Wishing everyone a Merry Christmas, regardless of what they may believe, is Christian Privilege.

Why would people like Bill O’Reilly get their Christmas stockings in a twist if people use the more inclusive “Happy Holiday”?
Even an Atheist like myself can get behind that because New Year’s is a holiday I
celebrate.


It’s taken a lifetime, living under this dominant religion, for my resentment to build to this heat. Let me share some of that with you, Ken. Growing up I was forced to sing Christmas Carols in school, just like everybody else. Never once did we ever sing about a dreidel. For a
solid month radio stations feature Christmas music, but nothing about the
many days of Hanukkah. Stores are decorated for this holiday as if a
wartime prohibition on lights and glitter has suddenly been lifted.
This year people are enormously proud that their Christmas decorations can be seen from space. Is this the reason for the season? Or, is it keeping up with the Joneses? To my mind it’s breaking the Commandment against idolatry.


I never talked about this with you, but I can say with confidence that you were never called a Kike, a dirty Jew, a Christ Killer while growing up. Once I had a kid once look at me very closely. When I asked him what he was
looking at, he said, “I don’t see any horns.” He was serious. He thought Jews had horns. Where the hell do people learn things like that, because it’s sure not in any Bible I’ve ever read? 

I
can only imagine the chagrin my parents felt when I came home singing
“This Little Light of Mine,” a song I didn’t even know had religious
connotations until years later. It’s a simply, catchy tune and kids love
simple, catchy tunes. Maybe that’s why singing in church took hold.
Song is a great way to distribute propaganda.

In fact, Pastor
Kenny, I’ve become far more cynical about Christmas since returning the
States, where it is celebrated as if it’s an Olympic event. This is supposedly the birthday of the Savior, yet the holiday itself is being used to divide people. The Bill O’Reillys of the world use religion to attack others, while portraying themselves as the victims. In the
words of Gandhi, “I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians.
Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.”

While on the topic, the commercialization of Christmas is something that I simply find amusing. It’s almost as if more people believe in Santa Claus than they do Jesus Christ. In the ’60s evangelists in this country burned Beatles’ records because John Lennon said:

Christianity will go. It will vanish and shrink. I needn’t argue about that; I’m right and I’ll be proved right. We’re more popular than Jesus now; I don’t know which will go first—rock ‘n’ roll or Christianity. Jesus was all right but his disciples were thick and ordinary. It’s them twisting it that ruins it for me.

I agree with Lennon; I’m just more sarcastically cynical. All of this preamble is to explain why I created a hashtag for times when (I believe) people have taken the Lord’s name in vain. When I am
truly exasperated by crazy, evangelical MoFos I share their blathering on social media with #WhoWouldJeusBitchSlap? appended. To my extreme disappointment this hashtag has yet to go viral. Maybe one day. Feel free to use it.

A Letter to My Congregation: An Evangelical
Pastor’s Path to Embracing People Who Are Gay,
Lesbian, and Transgender into the Company of
Jesus, by Ken Wilson, is available at Amazon,
but order it from your local bookseller instead.

I know it seems like I’m rambling, but what a difference a month makes. Last month I was thrilled to learn of your book (which, I confess, I have yet to read) and that you were the Senior and Founding Pastor of one of the first churches in the country to be accepting of the LGBT community. Acceptance is miles farther along the path to Humanism than mere tolerance.

Imagine my disappointment when I learned, from your sermon no less, that you are no longer Senior Pastor of that church. I guess they were not as accepting as I thought. Hell, I guess they weren’t as accepting as you thought. Or, as accepting as Jesus.

One positive element religions provide is a grand capacity for forgiveness, something else I wish I had. I’m sure you’ve already forgiven your former-church for kicking you to the curb after 40 years of dedicated service. I haven’t yet. Forgive me if I’ve yet to forgive them because they are discriminating — in the name of God — against my family and friends who are part of the great LGBT rainbow. I’m certain I have family and friends who are LGBT that I don’t even know about. Nor is it any of my business. Nor is it important. What’s important is what kind of person they are and their capacity to love, not the person they’ve chosen to love.

I felt a weird kind of frisson to know you replied to me from the pulpit and that it was the last time you would address that congregation in that church. Weirder still is that your reply seems to imply that I you believe I was sent by Jesus to help you bring about a religious revival. [Feel free to correct me if I’m wrong, on any of this.]


Don’t get me wrong. I was honoured, sorta, that you would speak through me to God, or through God to me. Or through God to you, and then to me. Or, you to God and then me. [How does all of this work?] Several of your descriptions of “pairs” resonated with me, as if you were describing us:

[…] Jesus sees something in Nathaniel that maybe he didn’t see in himself until Jesus named it. Maybe Nathaniel was the ignored kid in school, the one no Rabbi would call to be his dis iple [sic], because he didn’t have much promise. Maybe Nathaniel half believed that about himself but didn’t buy it fully.

Jesus comes along and names the thing about Nathaniel that Nathaniel most wants to be, a true Israelite in whom there is no guile. And when Jesus speaks it, Nathaniel says, “Yes, Lord!”

Don’t be afraid to be seen by Jesus through-through. We harbor these feelings that maybe we are special. We’re afraid, though, to name it. Afraid that it’s just ego, or that we’re just fooling ourselves. Jesus knows what that thing is in each of us. And when he names it there’s no denying it.

[…]

We end with an allusion to Jacob who became Israel. Jacob on the run after really getting his brother Esau angry. Jacob going into exile. Like Israel centuries later would be driven into exile.

Exhausted, weak, out of gas, Jacob lay down in a field, his head on a stone for a pillow, fast asleep. And saw in a dream, heaven open and a ladder come down and the angels ascending and descending. And promises of blessing were made to him in his weakness.  And when he awoke he said, “Surely God is in this place and I did not know it.” And he was afraid and said, “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God and the gate of heaven.”

All these pairs, John the Baptist-Jesus, Andrew-Peter, Philip-Nathaniel, Jacob-Esau. But over them all, God. And among them and between them, God.

Serving a great revival underway. 

More synchronicity, Ken. I am currently serializing Farce Au Pain at the Not Now Silly Newsroom. Within the electrons you may recognize Zachary’s house as the one you grew up in and Adrian’s house as mine. Still further synchronicity: Chapter Two starts off with a list of duos, which could be called pairs, if you squint.

This is as good a time for my definition of synchronicity, cribbed from one of my earlier posts:

Think of your own personal synchronicity as a blanket you are shaking
rhythmically up and down. The sine waves created by the blanket is a two
dimensional representation of your synchronicity in a 3-Dimensional
space. However, everyone knows that synchronicity works in the 6th
Dimension, where it interacts with the ‘waving blankets’ belonging to
everyone else. Where these waves collide are where the EXACT moments and
locations the FSM
has stitched together Space and Time and Gravity and Dimensionality and
Predestination. If, as they contend in Quantuum Mechanics or String
Theory or Whatever They’re Calling It These Days™, all choices are
possible in the Alternative Universes that exist, then the chances
of anything so improbable can be proven possible by multiplying boiling
water with pasta and adding sauce.


While tongue in cheek, it’s not far off what I believe about random chance, like that which allowed us to find each other after 40 years of radio silence.

Ken, if you and Jesus expect me to take part in a great religious revival, I have to be honest with you both: This heathen is not be up to the challenge if it requires a belief in a Supreme Being. That’s simply not happening. I’m more inclined to test your religious faith than you instilling any in in me.

When you delivered your sermon I was disappointed you skipped over a small portion of my email when witnessing to your church. That’s because it was the most important part of my email, in my mind anyway. It becomes that much more important now that you’ve been pushed out of your church.

I have a hard time squaring that [your total acceptance of the LGBT communities] with the evangelicals I am
always reading about. I know the squeaky wheel gets the ink, but I keep reading
of evangelical hate for various factions of folk in this world, whether it’s
The Gay, or the poor, or people of colour, or immigrants both documented and
un. While the religion preaches love, there’s a whole lot of hate expressed
quite openly. One shudders to think of what might be said in private.

That paragraph encapsulates my overarching feeling about organized religion. Religious texts seem to preach something entirely different than the organized religions that profess to follow them. Using the Bible people find their justification for hate and discrimination. Your Third Way is simply a new interpretation of the very same words. That you found justification for treating LGBT folk with dignity is admirable, but how can you be any more certain that your interpretation is any closer to the truth? And, don’t even get me started on lobster and shrimp.


I do want to sincerely wish you a Merry Christmas, Pastor Kenny. I hope Santa brought you everything that you and your family wished for all year. More importantly, I hope your religious prayers are answered.

Before I sign off, it occurs to me that I don’t really know what you believe. That you believe in God is a given. That you believe in Jesus as the Son of God is also a given. Beyond that I can only guess.

Do you believe that Jesus’ birthday is December 25th or are you willing to accept the proposition that, no matter when His birth actually occurred, it was moved to be closer to Winter Solstice in order to co-opt the Pagan holiday celebrated for millennia Before Christ? Do you even believe there were millennia BC?

Geez, look at that. Even our date numbering system
is based upon your religion, even though experts think it’s off by as
many as 6 years. Jews are living in their year of 5775, but how much farther back does time go?

I hope you’ve taken no insult in anything I’ve said, Ken. In all honesty I am thrilled to have found you and would be sad if I were to lose you again, especially if I pushed you away. For many years I have lamented privately that my event horizon for friendships goes back no further than the day I moved to Canada. Soon after I moved to Florida 9 years ago I received an email from one of my sons. He had been contacted by Jeff Deeks — do you remember him? — looking for me. I used the email and phone number he provided many times, but Jeff never replied or called back. And, I didn’t even attack his religion like I have yours. I do hope you reply and we can continue this dialogue as far as it takes us.

Lastly, in your writings you use the word “gospel” a lot. Not meaning to be patronizing, you may be gratified to know that Gospel music is a favourite genre. While I must have been aware of Gospel prior to this, but I clearly remember when Deeks introduced me to it. He took me on a bit of a mystery tour downtown by DSR, refusing to tell me where we were going. Eventually he led me to a Black church he had read about in a newspaper. We were the only two White faces in the pews as we listened to Aretha Franklin singing Gospel in her daddy’s church.

As I like to say, “I don’t know Jesus, but I sure like his music.” That’s why I’m going out on my absolute favourite Gospel tune:

HAPPY HOLIDAYS, KEN!!!

With all my love and affection,

your childhood friend,

Marc Slootsky

Packing Up 2014 ► Unpacking The Writer

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A billboard erected in my honour will look nothing like this.

Howdy to new readers. Old readers know Unpacking The Writer as the monthly post where I pull back the curtain Wizard of Oz-like to reveal the interior life of a writer. AUNTY EM!!! AUNTY EM!!!

First an apology to my most rabid readers. I’ve not published as many original stories this month as usual. While Headlines Du Jour is fun to put together, and a very popular series, I don’t consider any of that original writing and don’t take all that much pride in it, other than a job well done when it’s done. It’s aggregation. I’m fine with calling it that, but wish I had published more new stuff this past month. Maybe I can make that my very first New Year’s Resolution to break.

Meanwhile, I’ve been going though the Not Now Silly Newsroom archives and sharing important, funny, or just plain weird stories on social media. I know it doesn’t fully make up for a lack of NEW, but as I like to tell people, “It’s not a repeat if you never saw it before.”

Part of what’s been keeping me busy is the Friday Fox Follies, which I’ve been crafting the last few months for PoliticusUSA. Because I always saw it as an outgrowth of Headlines Du Jour, from the start the idea was to use actual headlines found on the innertubes to craft a story arc that covers Fox “News” shenanigans and tomfoolery from Friday to Friday. Trying to shoehorn in the actual headlines creates some grammatical irregularities and awkward constructs, but overall I think it’s working. Your mileage may vary.

In the beginning it took me almost 2 days to compile and write, but I’ve managed to get it down to a solid 6 hours of writing for approximately 1200 words. Here’s my methodology: During the week I compile intriguing Fox “News” headlines as they present themselves. Midweek I look to see what themes might be developing and I start thinking about the shape the column might take if these trends continue. By the time I wake up Friday morning at 5AM to start writing it, I have the basic outline and an opening paragraph in my head. After taking a quick look to see which Fox “News” personality said something stupid while I was sleeping, I hit the ground running. Provided there are no power outages (never a guarantee around here), I send it off to the editors some time between 1 and 3PM.

But still, those 6 hours are 6 hours I can’t devote to writing about Coconut Grove, the E.W.F Stirrup House, and what I still hope will be a new ongoing series, Pastoral Letter.

Speaking of my Friday Fox Follies, this happened:

The Charles Avenue Historic Marker with
the E.W.F. Stirrup House in the background.

Also keeping me busy this month has been some pretty extensive research concerning Coconut Grove and Charles Avenue. I’m pulling at several different subject threads simultaneously. This has required spending many hours in the City Clerk’s office doing some deep research on Charles Avenue, the E.W.F. Stirrup House, and Miami Commission meetings, with still many more hours to come.

I have been researching two of these topics for an entire year. While I had hoped to hold them until I had all my ducks in a row, a recent flashpoint has made it important to finish one in a timely manner. To that end I now have outstanding emails with both a Media Relations Associate at a bank’s HQ and a City of Miami Commissioner. Each email requested ON THE RECORD written answers to a series of questions. We’ll see whether I even get the courtesy of replies. If I’m not satisfied I may have to resort to another FOIA request.

Meanwhile, the residents of West Grove continue to get the short end of the stick, while Aries Development and Gino Falsetto seem to get away with everything short of murder. My interest in Coconut Grove started with falling in love with a house, researching its history, falling in love with the legacy of the man who built it, and then falling in love with the people and the neighbourhood, that is sadly being gentrified out of existence around the edges.

I can remember — vividly — how years ago, after my first visit to Coconut Grove, I came back and told a group of friends that I thought I had found an interesting story at the corner of Charles Avenue and Main Hightway, I just wasn’t sure what it was yet. How could I have possibly known back then it would lead to even bigger stories on Trolleygate, Soilgate, Demolition by Neglect of the E.W.F. Stirrup House, rapacious developers, much potentially illegal shenanigans, a [allegedly] corrupt Miami Commissioner, and mapping The Colour Line that still surrounds the historically Black neighbourhood of the West Grove? No wonder there are times I feel so busy.

Join the campaign to Save the E.W.F. Stirrup House on Facebook.

Digging really deep into my id without revealing too much: It was just a month ago when I embarked on what I thought would be a great series — my own Tuesday’s With Morrie — when I published Finding An Old Friend ► Unpacking My Detroit. It still might. However, I must admit to initially being totally flummoxed about where to take it. Let me explain:
I was overjoyed to locate my childhood friend Kenneth Wilson and surprised to learn he was one of the first (maybe only) evangelical pastors in the entire country to OPENLY argue for the church to be inclusive (not just tolerant) of the LGBT communities. I wrote him that open letter, which I posted, and then waited for a reply. It didn’t occur to me until a few weeks later that maybe Pastor Kenny posted his reply somewhere on the innertubes. Turns out I was right. What surprised me more was the realization that he delivered his reply as a sermon from the pulpit. A printed version is at The Gospel of John, Chapter One: They Came in Twos and a live (slightly different) recording can be found HERE.
I arrived back in Kenny’s life at an interesting time for him. In his sermon he says goodbye to his church. He’s not explicit about who fired whom, but it’s clear this is his last sermon from the pulpit of The Vineyard Church of Ann Arbor. Obviously the same notoriety that allowed me to find my childhood friend so easily caused a rend in the tapestry of his church.  He said, in part:
Ann Arbor Vineyard, carry the seed of the kingdom with you into your next chapter. If there are tears, and I hope there will be a few, use those tears to sow the seed for a new harvest.

I could imagine you becoming an even more multi-ethnic congregation than you are now. I could imagine your ministries flourishing in new, unforeseen ways.

To those who will join Emily and me in new Blue Ocean Church Plant, lets use our tears to sow the seeds we bring with us, from this awesome place, this house of the Lord…

Together, Ann Arbor Vineyard and your newest Blue Ocean church plant lets make this our song:

Those who sow with tears
will reap with songs of joy.
Those who go out weeping,
carrying seed to sow,
will return with songs of joy,
carrying sheaves with them.
My final practical tip [as the recorded sermon deviates slightly from the printed version], is at a moment like this, when you don’t know what you’re supposed to say, don’t say nothing. 
And then he called for 2 minutes of silence which ends his reply to me. 
I’ve now read, and listened, to Pastor Kenny’s Pastoral Letter to me several times. I kept more than 2 minutes of silence because I wanted to respect any mourning period he may have had for losing his gig, but more importantly, because I simply didn’t know what to say. So, I said nothing.

His sermon — his reply to me — was religious allegory and I’m not steeped in religious allegory. It took me quite a while to interpret it. And, I recognize, I may still have it all wrong. However, it has meaning for me now when it was just words when I first read it. That’s why I’m working on the next Pastoral Letter, which (like everything else) is taking longer than I thought. However, it’s been started and is the next post I intend to finish. Meanwhile, Ken did send me his phone number and I really have to clear some time to phone him.

Incidentally, for those who keep track of this kind of Westerfield Minutia, Zachary Harvard Weed, who inhabits the pages of Farce Au Pain, lives in the house that Kenny’s family once lived in. Adrian Roland Thompson lives in the house I grew up in.

A snapshot in time: The All Time Top Ten at the time of this writing.

At year’s end it’s always nice to take a look at some stats, facts, and figures, especially as we get closer to launching a brand new, improved Not Now Silly Newsroom under our own domain name.

I’m quite proud of my All Time Top Ten, at left. Except for #6, Chow Mein and Bolling 5, which is silly fluff, but the readers just love it. I like to think the rest are all important stories on important topics and thank my readers for having the intelligence to boost them to the Top Ten list. The Blogger platform doesn’t give me very many stats, but one that’s always intrigued me is the search engine results that people received just before they washed up at Not Now Silly. Because this is getting long enough, and because I’ve got other shit to write, I’ll end this with 3 pics: The All Time search results, the top monthly search results, and the weekly flotsam and jetsam. 

See ya next year!

All Time:
 
Monthly:
 
Weekly:

 

Finding An Old Friend ► Unpacking My Detroit

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EMAIL TO: Pastor Kenny
SUBJECT: Long Time No See
Dear Pastor Kenny:
Lately my life is in turmoil. I am in need of something pastoral. Tag. You’re it.
I think back to the last time I saw you. If I’m not mistaken you were on your honeymoon with Nancy.
You visited me in Oakville, Ontario, Canada, and, from my point of view, it was a very strange visit. Now that I think about it, it was the very last time I saw any of my childhood friends.
[I understand that Nancy has passed and that you’re remarried. Condolences and congratulations. I’m a sucker for love and it sounds like you have had decades of it.]
It was a strange visit for me because during much of your visit you and Nancy were trying to sell me on Jesus, despite knowing I grew up in a Jewish home and had even thrown off that religion years before. I had never known you to be evangelical before.
We had an amicable discussion, but neither of us convinced the other. When you left, you left behind (no pun intended) a Good News Bible, which you inscribed to me. I carried that Bible – along with a pilfered Gideon’s Bible, an Old Testament, and a book on Scientology – with me until about a decade ago, when I lost my small religious book section in my last break up.
Before the internet made biblical text searches much easier, I would refer to that Good News Bible occasionally for research, or just to rifle through it and read passages. Each time I couldn’t help but think of you and wondered what happened to you. I’ve thought of you often over the years and not always when reaching for that book. Just this summer, when I last visited family in Michigan, I went to Gilchrist. However, after taking a picture of my old house, I stood
and stared at yours for a while.
Outtake from While Detroit Crumbled, Gilchrist
Street Hung On. That’s Kenny Wilson’s house on
the far right, across the street, with Danny Harris
of the Gilchrist Block Club in the foreground.
This visit prompted me to write While Detroit Crumbled, Gilchrist Street Hung On.
I visit Gilchrist often because I’m still looking for something there. Me, I think.
As mentioned above, I have found my life to be chaotic as of
late. Pops is 88 and, after my mother died, I moved from Canada, where I lived for 35 years – taking out citizenship in the process – to take care of him. I’ve been in Sunrise, Florida, for the past 9 years. Some days are harder than others and on Friday I expressed my opinion to Pops at full volume.
Skip ahead to Sunday morning. I was still feeling remorseful that I lost my temper with Pops when I got an IM on Facebook from a name I didn’t recognize. She said she had lived on Fenmore. After exchanging a few messages it turns out I didn’t know her or her brother Randy at all. But then she asked me if I knew you.
I said “yes” and that you were one of my best friends growing up, and that I had been looking for you for years with no luck. Do you know how many Kenneth John Wilsons there are in this world? The internet was no help.
She told me you were a pastor in Ann Arbor, which I did not find surprising, considering our last encounter. However, what she told me next surprised me a great deal. She told me that you were the first person in Michigan to wed a same sex couple. I thought, “WAY TO GO, KENNY!!!” I am a long time supporter of the LGBT communities, believing they should have the right to marry in every state. Sadly I read today that all the Michigan marriages that happened in the interregnum are null and void. How sad for those people. How sad for love.
This book seems like a game-changer for evangelicals.
The internet was an immediate help in finding Pastor Kenneth Wilson, but I’ve still not confirmed you were the first to marry a same sex couple, or that you have actually wed any same sex couples. No matter. I have since read about your book ‘Letter to My Congregation’ and several interviews with you. It’s a brave stance.WAY TO GO, KENNY!!!
I have a hard time squaring that with the evangelicals I am always reading about. I know the squeaky wheel gets the ink, but I keep reading of evangelical hate for various factions of folk in this world, whether it’s The Gay, or the poor, or people of colour, or immigrants both documented and un. While the religion preaches love, there’s a whole lot of hate expressed quite openly. One shudders to think of what might be said in private.
Right after having this Facebook conversation I left for a drum circle. This is a new hobby/habit I’ve developed in the past year. It turns out that I still have no rhythm in my left hand, something I should have remembered when I tried to play guitar as a teenager. That’s why I was the singer in the band that Dean Donaldson drummed in; I couldn’t play an instrument. After 2 attempts at a drum circle I remembered that my left hand will simply not fire when I want it to. It’s pretty useless. However, I managed to find my niche within these drum circles by playing claves, which only needs one coordinated hand, while the other is passive.
What does this have to do with anything? Almost nothing, except this particular drum circle meets in Snyder Park, an oasis in the middle of a heavily industrial area of Fort Lauderdale. You would hardly know you were in the middle of a city. While in the park I took a panorama which I sent to my Facebookery with the caption “How pastoral.”
As I played the claves, and zoned out into the rhythm, I suddenly realized why the word “pastoral” came so readily to mind. By the time the drum circle had ended, I had already written parts of this email in my head.
So, what’s new with you?
Your childhood friend,
Marc Slootsky
P.S. I’m a writer and it looks like you are too. I’m planning on printing this email at the Not Now Silly Newsroom. Unless you expressly forbid otherwise, I plan to share your response, if there is one.

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