Monthly Archives: November 2014

Saturday Symposium: Frameworks for Understanding Celibate Vocations

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Good morning everyone. We’re off enjoying a quick fall getaway together. We appreciate the chance to be somewhere with a different pace of life, even as we’ll be back home tomorrow. We’ve been praying for many of our readers this week. Please don’t hesitate to let us know how we can be praying for you.

Let’s get on with our weekly Saturday Symposium question:

How this works: It’s very simple. We ask a multi-part question related to a topic we’ve blogged about during the past week or are considering blogging about in the near future, and you, our readers, share your responses in the comments section. Feel free to be open, reflective, and vulnerable…and to challenge us. But as always, be mindful of the comment policy that ends each of our posts. Usually, we respond fairly quickly to each comment, but in order to give you time to think, come back, add more later if you want, and discuss with other readers, we will wait until after Monday to respond to comments on Saturday Symposium questions.

This week’s Saturday Symposium question: This week, we’ve been talking about some overlooked dimensions of celibate vocations. Sarah shared about how socioeconomic status impacts our life together as celibates, and Lindsey discussed the role of caregiving. We also took a look at historic examples of celibate vocations such as the Beguines and children raised in monasteries. Looking at celibacy historically, it’s inaccurate to dichotomize celibacy by suggesting that people either receive the spiritual gift of celibacy or they are forced into it by oppressive religious systems. We’d be interested in hearing your thoughts on: Are there ways of discussing celibacy and marriage that respect people’s abilities to make choices (that may or may not involve “gifts”) within their specific circumstances? What kinds of circumstances might compel a person to follow a particular vocational pathway? How do we avoid dichotomizing the reasons why people embrace vocations? How have you seen people discern how God is calling them to live their lives, especially when God seems to be calling people towards lives that they don’t appear to have clear, natural, and innate abilities to live?

We look forward to reading your responses. If you’re concerned about having your comment publicly associated with your name, please consider using the Contact Us page to submit your comment. We can post it under a pseudonym (i.e. John says, “your comment”) or summarize your comment in our own words (i.e. One person observed…). Participating in this kind of public dialogue can be risky, and we want to do what we can to protect you even if that means we preserve your anonymity. Have a wonderful weekend!

Blessings,

Sarah and Lindsey

Comment Policy: Please remember that we, and all others commenting on this blog, are people. Practice kindness. Practice generosity. Practice asking questions. Practice showing love. Practice being human. If your comment is rude, it will be deleted. If you are constantly negative, argumentative, or bullish, you will not be able to comment anymore. We are the sole moderators of the combox.

Celibacy can be a gift, and should not be a mandate. But it’s not that simple…

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A reflection by Sarah

I know we’ve already posted once today, but I felt compelled to reflect on a quip that Lindsey and I hear more and more often: “Celibacy is a gift, not a mandate,” or one of its variants. We see this message in the work of authors like James Brownson and Matthew Vines, and it appears at least once in every internet comment box attached to an article about LGBT celibacy. If you’re at all involved in the current conversation about LGBT people and the Church, you may have noticed that this catchy little quote has become almost a mantra for many Christians who affirm sexually active LGBT relationships but want to be clear that they are not disparaging celibacy as such. I can respect that. Celibate LGBT Christians need support and affirmation in our vocations. I welcome any sincere effort to be more supportive of celibates, who are often hated equally by liberals and conservatives in the Church. But while I can respect the sentiment, I cannot pretend to agree with the statement as it is worded.

Both Lindsey and I have stated many times on this blog that we believe celibacy can be a gift and celibacy should not be mandated. There should be no doubt at this point that we believe celibacy is a vocation to be discovered, not a frying pan with which to bash LGBT people (or anyone) over the head. We’ve also been open about our own sense that God has given us the gift of celibacy. Why, then, do I take issue with the assertion, “Celibacy is a gift, not a mandate?” The answer is simple and clear: it creates a false dichotomy in which celibacy can manifest in only one of two ways. Either a person is forced into celibacy by a religious institution or some other external entity, or that same person feels naturally inclined to celibacy because it has been given to him or her as a gift from God. Within this framework, the only legitimate reason for pursuing celibacy is the latter. Anything else is a form of self-loathing. Usually, I don’t like to make such confrontational statements on the blog, but I cannot in good conscience sit by and listen to this argument without calling it out as hogwash.

Before you click away from this post and accuse me of being “just another hateful, non-affirming member of the celibacy movement” (we’re a movement now? I must have missed that memo…), stick around for the example I’m about to offer. It has no relationship whatsoever to LGBT issues.

In at least one past post, we’ve already referenced Hildegard of Bingen who was given to her monastery as a “gift to God” when she was a child. She was a visionary, a composer, and a writer who penned theological, poetic, medical, and other kinds of texts. She did all of this within the context of a monastic vocation that she did not choose for herself. Unfortunately, I could not find the following clip with English subtitles, but it’s from the German film Vision: From the Life of Hildegard von Bingen. It shows young Hildegard with Jutta, her caregiver who would teach her the ways of monastic life. Does the child in this video appear to be a person who is discernibly manifesting the gift of celibacy?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gZn7rfpPDEo

Hildegard is not the only child ever to have been given to a monastery to live out the rest of her life in a celibate vocation. Before her time, this phenomenon was even more prevalent. One of the earliest uses of the term “oblate” was in reference to children whose parents handed them over to monks and nuns — children who, in accordance with the canons of the Church councils prior to the mid-seventh century, were treated in all respects as monks and nuns. It was not until the Tenth Council of Toledo in 656 when slightly stricter age limitations were placed that these young people even had the option of leaving the monastery after reaching adolescence and before making vows. Were all of these children forced into celibacy? In a sense, yes. Perhaps some of them did develop that gift over time, but it would be absurd to think that every child in this situation over multiple generations was naturally inclined toward a celibate way of life. Equally, it would be unreasonable to suggest that every child experienced this way of life as “forced.” In the medieval period, the idea that every person could choose his or her own vocation based on personal gifts given by God was unimaginable. I’d be interested to know how celibacy within this historical context would fit into the “gift vs. forced” dichotomy. Try to make it fit without imposing 21st century western notions of autonomy, free choice, and individualism as norms that transcend time and place. You can’t.

The argument that “celibacy is a gift, not a mandate” is ahistorical and thoroughly modern. It fails to take into account over a thousand years of Christian history where a person’s pursuit of celibacy and marriage had much more to do with factors outside his or her control than a personal sense of calling from God. This is not to dismiss the stories of people who, from the 1st century forward, have pursued celibacy as a response to a God-given gift. To disregard those stories would be to disregard my own, and Lindsey’s. People are often confused as to why I find “Celibacy as a gift, not a mandate” so problematic. As a person who does feel naturally inclined to celibacy and believes that God has called me to live out the rest of my life in celibate partnership, I see that statement not as an affirmation of my way of life, but as a backhanded compliment. Somehow, my celibacy is okay because I perceive a call to it, but my friend’s commitment to celibacy is “self-loathing” because he struggles every day to live it. Or maybe my celibacy is not okay. Perhaps I should have to answer hundreds of questions to prove to everyone in the LGBT Christian conversation that I really do have the gift of celibacy and am not just repressing my sexuality. I’ve head that one from a number of people.

These are only a few of the problems that arise when discussion of celibacy becomes dichotomized, especially by people in Christian traditions that have dismissed celibacy completely for centuries. If you’re going to affirm that the gift of celibacy exists, show some integrity and admit that the Christian tradition has never limited celibate vocations to those who are specially gifted. Until a broader discussion of celibacy is included in the LGBT Christian conversation, affirming celibate vocations as gifts just doesn’t cut the mustard. “Affirming” people will still view celibates as suspicious purveyors of homophobia, and “non-affirming” people will not find the “gift” argument a sufficient reason for supporting the marriages of gay people who aren’t gifted with celibacy. Yes, celibacy can be a gift. No, celibacy should not be a mandate. But it’s not that simple, and pretending that it is is downright irresponsible.

Comment Policy: Please remember that we, and all others commenting on this blog, are people. Practice kindness. Practice generosity. Practice asking questions. Practice showing love. Practice being human. If your comment is rude, it will be deleted. If you are constantly negative, argumentative, or bullish, you will not be able to comment anymore. We are the sole moderators of the combox.

Celibacy, Family, and Caregiving

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A reflection by Lindsey

Certain events have a way of etching themselves into one’s memory. I remember one day last April when Sarah was headed to work. We were finishing a conversation from earlier that morning as Sarah drove. Sarah had the phone on speaker in the passenger seat. I knew Sarah was approaching work and was only a few minutes away, but I was slow to get off the phone. Next thing I knew, Sarah was stammering frantically about another car speeding around the corner, seconds from impact. I heard the awful crunching sounds of a car accident. Less than 3 minutes later, I was driving with haste while hoping Sarah would call me back so I could pinpoint exactly where the accident occurred.

I couldn’t envisage anyone else living locally who knows Sarah well enough to be useful in a similar situation. Once I got to Sarah, we realized we needed to move Sarah’s car to a safe parking lot and take Sarah to the emergency room to be evaluated. While en route to the ER, I asked a bunch of questions to learn what happened. This proved useful after Sarah was triaged to the head of the line but then started to suffer clear symptoms of a mild concussion. I had watched Sarah’s memory go in and out. As I lingered in the waiting area while Sarah was being taken to a bed, Sarah began texting me with questions like, “What happened? Where are you? Why does my head hurt?” I found it comparatively easy to decide that I could be most helpful by sitting with Sarah through the doctor’s evaluation. It was not my first ER vigil with Sarah nor has it been my last.

Even though many people agree that caregiving is an integral part of family life, many fail to appreciate how caregiving deeply connects celibates to one another. On the one hand, I can appreciate the lack of understanding. I’m 31 years old and generally a healthy young adult. It’s all too easy for me to conceive of “health problems” as “things you deal with as you start getting older.” In my immediate circle of friends, chronic health challenges are comparatively rare. On the other hand, caregiving has been a central component of the life I share with Sarah. I understand that people deal with “people things,” and I do my best to avoid shaming anyone who happens to need extra support at a given time. I consider it a deep honor to help people with eating disorders feel safe while eating dinner and to accompany Sarah and others on various healing journeys. Such a sojourn connects me more deeply with my own humanity. I’m more likely to pray for my own needs when I’m praying for others.

To be able to provide care for another person, one must permit that person to be vulnerable. Vulnerability opens a mysterious door to intimacy where the connections defy easy categorization.

We’ve shared about how we draw a lot of inspiration for our life together from monastics. I’ve spent the last seven years trying to get to know people living in a number of monastic communities. Monasteries are great places to find people who can model purposeful celibate living that includes caregiving. Someone at virtually every community I’ve visited has taken it upon himself or herself to tell me a personal caregiving story.

Talking about caregiving as LGBT person is risky. I’ve spent many years in ex-gay ministries that blasted any form of caregiving as a place ripe for “emotional dependency.” Some people within addiction recovery culture have been quick to label me “codependent” or an “enabler” that seeks to protect Sarah from natural consequences of destructive forms of behavior. These people fail to realize that I constantly reflect on what good caregiving is and how it taxes my energies, rigorously question my own limitations, and try to help Sarah locate additional support resources when needed.

All of this causes cognitive dissonance for others when they realize that Sarah is a part of my family. People understand the value of putting family first and appreciate the importance of being there for one’s family in any range of circumstances. It’s worth noting that nearly all of the monastic communities I’ve visited describe themselves as a family, especially as it relates to the demands of caregiving.

Many people object to our using the word family to describe ourselves. At one point, a reader accused us of launching a “hateful attack” on true families for referring to ourselves with this term. Some people assert that there’s no way that we can be family because we’re celibate. Other people assert that we should talk about our relationship principally as a friendship and avoid the word family so as not to confuse and mislead. We wonder what these people would say to an elderly monastic in need of care. Should an aging nun be shipped off to a nursing home as soon as she needs more regular care? Or should she be able to rely on her monastic family? Is there any Christian who would object to this nun’s considering her monastic sisters to be her family? We wonder if Christians have taken any note of celibate LGBT singles who regularly express concerns about their potential needs for caregiving, either now or in the distant future. Continually, I’m struck by the interconnectedness of caregiving and loneliness: when one doubts whether one has the freedom to receive care from others, one is much more likely to feel lonely.

Caregiving is a tricky process. When caregiving is done rightly, it draws us into meaningful relationships with those for whom we provide care. Vulnerability gets negotiated such that one person isn’t always having to make the hard disclosures. Handled rightly, vulnerability becomes trust. I’d contend that only in an environment of trust can true caregiving happen. Serving others in love and humility and allowing others to care for us is transformative. Somehow, every rightly orientated care response draws us into healthy forms of interdependence where we become that much more alive to Christ’s work on earth. Every day I find myself praying for the wisdom to provide Sarah with true care that is sourced from how God loves each of us. In so doing, I become that much more human.

Comment Policy: Please remember that we, and all others commenting on this blog, are people. Practice kindness. Practice generosity. Practice asking questions. Practice showing love. Practice being human. If your comment is rude, it will be deleted. If you are constantly negative, argumentative, or bullish, you will not be able to comment anymore. We are the sole moderators of the combox.

Challenging the Norms of Female Celibacy — The Beguines

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Several months ago, one of our readers asked if we would consider writing on the Beguines. Recently, another reader raised the issue again, so we thought now might be a good time to post something about the Beguine movement as part of our sporadic “profiles of celibates” series. We’ll admit upfront that we’ve been hesitant to write on this movement, mostly because it consisted of multiple groups with little cohesion. Also, because the Beguines were suppressed multiple times by the Church for heretical beliefs and practices, one needs to be careful when drawing upon their history for a model of living non-monsatic or semi-monastic celibacy. However, we think there is much that a celibate person living in the world can learn from the Beguine movement. In today’s post, we’ll introduce you to the Beguines and offer some brief thoughts about how reflecting on their stories and experiences could benefit celibate people today.

The Beguines were active in Northern Europe from the 12th to 16th centuries, primarily in Belgium and the Netherlands. They were groups of women who joined in semi-monastic communities under no vows and very low levels of commitment. The major contributing factor to the emergence of this movement was a disproportionate population of women in the Low Countries. Because women outnumbered men in most urban areas, many women of marrying age were unable to find husbands. Beguinages — houses of Beguines — began popping up throughout these areas in the 13th century. Each community was autonomous, so the degree of theological orthodoxy in this movement was variable, as was understanding of the movement’s goals and work. Some groups of beguines accepted only women of high social status, and others took in women from a wider range of circumstances. Women who lived in these spaces were highly independent, usually held onto personal property, and were free to leave at any time for almost any reason, including marriage. Some widowed women entered beguinages and brought their children along. Typically, Beguine women funded themselves through educating children, working in the cloth industry or some other variety of trade, or using their inheritances. Whether her time as a Beguine would be a year or less, several years, or a lifetime, each woman committed to celibacy and charitable works while living as part of her community.

The Beguine movement was also part of the larger phenomenon of mysticism in medieval Europe. Within the movement’s first hundred years, some groups shifted focus from independence and charitable works to poverty and contemplative prayer. With this evolution came an emphasis on mysticism, and several Beguines lived out their days as beggars claiming experiences of frequent visions from God. Marguerite Porete, one of the most well-known late 13th-early 14th century Beguines, was condemned by the Church for heresy and executed by burning at the stake — largely because her Mirror of Simple Souls contained statements that authorities interpreted as autotheistic and antinomian, two characteristics of the Heresy of the Free Spirit.

In addition to mysticism, the Beguines encountered pushback from the Church in other areas. Their lack of vowed commitment and supervision under any authority except a confessor was problematic in the eyes of the Church. As time progressed and mendicant religious orders expanded, some Beguine groups became part of established, Church-sanctioned celibate communities — but others joined with heretical groups. Beguinages that did not join with other groups continued as they were. By the 16th century, most had disbanded. However, some avoided suppression during the Protestant Reformation and other political conflicts, continuing even into the 20th century.

Now, what can today’s celibates living in the world learn from the Beguines? After reflecting on this question, we see two items worthy of special emphasis:

The case of the Beguines offers an intriguing model of organic and varied celibate community. Each beguinage was independent and able to determine a way of life for itself without needing to consider what the others were doing, which will probably resonate with celibates living in today’s secular world. As a celibate single, member of a celibate couple, or member of another kind of lay celibate community, a person usually has significant freedom in determining how to live his/her vocation on a daily basis. This is an advantage because it provides the opportunity to use one’s gifts to serve God and others without restriction. But it also poses a challenge because a lack of accountability can led to a number of spiritual problems (you should read Eve Tushnet’s post on self-abbotting). In this way, the two of us see the Beguines as both a model to draw upon and a cautionary tale. We’ve learned never to doubt the importance of regular spiritual direction where we can be open about all aspects of our relationship and work.

The Beguines also challenge what both Western and Eastern Christians see as norms for celibate living. The Beguines were not nuns. They weren’t vowed to their communities. The relationships amongst women living in beguinages were diverse, and it’s clear that words like “friend” and “sister” don’t adequately describe every instance of meaningful relationship between one Beguine woman and another. The Beguines pushed back on the idea that celibacy must be lived out within the context of monasticism. In today’s world where more young people are remaining celibate (or at least single) either by choice or by circumstance, there’s a need for better discussion about non-monastic celibacy and what it could look like as a purposeful, Christ-centered way of life. Though the Beguines faced many problems, not the least of which was frequent run-ins with Church hierarchy, today’s celibates can take inspiration from this movement’s experimentation with a different kind of vocation. For celibate people to live meaningfully in the secular world, we need to get creative. We need to consider new possibilities and be open to the idea that there are more vocations than marriage and monasticism. But of course, we must reiterate that any person discerning a vocation — especially an unusual one — would benefit from spiritual direction.

We’re interested to know if there are other lessons our readers think celibate people could learn from the Beguines. Leave a comment if you feel so led, and also let us know if there are other celibate people or groups you would like us to consider profiling.

Comment Policy: Please remember that we, and all others commenting on this blog, are people. Practice kindness. Practice generosity. Practice asking questions. Practice showing love. Practice being human. If your comment is rude, it will be deleted. If you are constantly negative, argumentative, or bullish, you will not be able to comment anymore. We are the sole moderators of the combox.

A Few Thoughts on Celibacy and Socioeconomic Status

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A reflection by Sarah

A few weeks ago, I mentioned that I was planning to write a post on celibacy and socioeconomic status. I’ve spent considerable time trying to pull my thoughts together on this topic and have decided that I’d like to explore it in bits and pieces over time. Not much has been written on celibacy and class issues, especially from within the gay Christian blogosphere, so while I see this topic as very important I don’t intend to tackle all of it immediately or even within the near future. Today, I begin by offering some brief, scattered thoughts.

In some ways, I feel as though I may not be the right person to write on this topic. Though I grew up in one of the poorest regions of America and my upbringing did involve some socioeconomic challenges we were certainly not the poorest people in Appalachia. As I type this, I can hear my mom’s voice ringing in my head: “You didn’t have it bad. You had more than a lot of kids in this county.” I wouldn’t contest that. It’s entirely true. I’m not writing this to get sympathy or to suggest that I’m an expert on class issues. That isn’t my area of academic expertise. I’m also not about to perpetuate the myth that poverty is bad. It isn’t. Life below the poverty line can be just as fulfilling as life above it. In my adulthood thus far, I’ve lived on both sides long enough to know. What compelled me to write this post is my observation that nearly all my friends who write on celibacy and LGBT Christian issues come from similar upper middle class or middle middle class backgrounds, and sometimes in our discussions I feel like the odd person out. The thoughts that follow come from that sense of difference.

Leading a richly connected life is a challenge for any celibate person, but for the person who has fewer resources, there’s additional difficulty. Staying connected with my family of origin is not nearly as easy for me as it is for some of my friends living celibacy. I do not have the resources to visit my parents, sister, and brother-in-law more than once per year if even then. Likewise, my parents do not have the resources to fly me back to my hometown even a few times a year, or to visit me where I am. This is further complicated by the fact that the nearest airports are two hours away from where they live, and the nearest interstate highway is an hour’s drive. It would be impossible for me to be present for every special moment that my relatives experience. I’ve not had the option of attending birthday parties, baptisms, and graduations for my younger cousins. I’ve not had the opportunity to visit my aunt who has survived two kinds of lymphoma since the last time I saw her. I had to miss the funeral of my favorite high school English teacher who inspired me toward both teaching and celibacy, and whom I considered a member of my family by default. I make choices regularly that result in a weakened connection to my family. Some of these choices are motivated by other factors, but socioeconomic issues play a significant role.

I would guess that social class also plays a role in a person’s discernment of how and within what context to live celibacy. In past generations, it was common for children from poor families to grow up and become nuns, monks, or celibate priests. I’ll admit to not knowing how common this is today, but everyone I know personally who has pursued one of these vocations has come from a more privileged background than my own. My friends who entered religious orders after giving away all their possessions have had the assurance of knowing that if their postulancies didn’t work out for whatever reason, they would be able to go home and live with their parents while getting back on their feet and reintegrating into the world. A serious concern that I took into consideration when discerning was my knowledge that I could not do this. I’m sure that my parents would never allow me to be homeless if I had absolutely no other place to live, but I knew as a college student discerning the possibility of religious life that I had to be absolutely certain of my calling to a specific community before joining because my parents would not have been able to foot the bill for a restart on adult life.

Similarly, I have to admit that my decision to live celibacy in partnership is — to an extent — socioeconomically motivated. Where I grew up, people marry early. A large percentage of my high school class married immediately after graduation. A few who went to college married after college graduation. And a few married while still in high school. Growing up in an area where employment is sparse and it can be difficult to make ends meet, I learned from an early age that the ability to marry someone simply because you’re in love is a privilege. I remember my mother telling me as a pre-teen, “Love won’t pay the bills. It’s good to be in love with the person you marry. But if you marry a man who can’t support you and your kids, you’ll be hurting for the rest of your life.” Where I was raised, it was expected that people would pair up and marry. The idea of voluntary celibacy was unheard of, and the rare celibate women in the community were viewed as “old maids.” The assumption was that these women had sought husbands and failed continuously along the way. I think these attitudes have multiple roots, but one of them is the simple fact that in poor areas it is hard, if not impossible, to make a decent living on one’s own with no support from a spouse or other family members. The “old maid” state of life is bemoaned partly because of the assumption that these women will have no one to take care of them in their old age because they won’t benefit from a husband’s savings. Setting the gender issues aside for the time being (that could be another post), if a person is poor or lower middle class, it makes sense to prepare for the possibility of having to support oneself financially but do everything possible to avoid that actually being necessary. This is just as true for gay people as for straight people. I know a fair number of folks in my hometown who are gay, whether they identify as gay or not, but willingly entered into opposite sex marriages because they didn’t see another financially viable option for their lives. I can appreciate this because I know that if Lindsey and I were not living our celibate vocations under the same roof, my expenses would be crushing. Many of my single celibate friends have trouble understanding that being able to live celibacy on one’s own, even with roommates who aren’t economically attached beyond rent payments, is a privilege.

My last item of reflection for the day is a link I see amongst socioeconomic status, education, and discernment of a celibate vocation. It’s often assumed that upper middle class Americans are more educated and intellectually capable than poor and lower middle class Americans. There’s a grain of truth in that: generally, people from upper middle class backgrounds have far greater educational opportunities and far more space to spend time discerning vocation. When you come from a lower socioeconomic class, you learn quickly that getting through life is about making the best possible plays with the cards you’re dealt. If you’re dealt a bad hand, it doesn’t matter. It’s what you have, so you accept it and work with it. There’s no expectation that in the course of life, you’ll move up from a pair of twos to a full house. In my senior year of college, I came to realize that vocational discernment is about both what you desire and what God is calling you to do in life. Before, I had always thought that how you lived your life was simply a matter of getting through each day and letting the chips fall where they may.

It seems to me that within the current discussion of LGBT celibacy, there’s a pervasive assumption that every gay person has the privilege of spending time in thoughtful vocational discernment, reading and learning about historic Christian models of marriage and celibacy, and asking the tough questions of sexual ethics. If you’re not from a solidly middle class family who can provide for most of your major needs in college, graduate school, or young adulthood general, it’s likely that you don’t have the spare time to devote to these intellectual pursuits. While I’ve always been an egghead, I can also say that during my early and mid 20s I was far more concerned with the tips I made as a bartender than I was with the finer points of Church teaching about sexuality and vocation. Yes, this was true even of me as a theology student, and I’m still convinced that my opportunity to attend graduate school at an expensive Catholic university was more about luck than my intellectual ability. For poor and lower middle class people, vocation is not about discernment, decisions, or morality. It’s about going to or looking for work every day and putting food on the table. Celibacy has minimal connection to either of these. Sometimes, I wonder if more people from poor communities would recognize a natural inclination toward celibate vocations if they had the same space for discernment as folks from more privileged backgrounds.

These thoughts are only a beginning to a more thorough treatment of this topic. I’m hoping that at least some of them make sense or will at least initiate some interesting discussion. As a final note, I realize that my own experience of life will naturally differ from the experiences of other people who have been poor or lower middle class. Any generalizations in this post should be taken as rooted in my personal experience and not with the intention to make assumptions about others. I look forward to discussing more with you in the comments.

Comment Policy: Please remember that we, and all others commenting on this blog, are people. Practice kindness. Practice generosity. Practice asking questions. Practice showing love. Practice being human. If your comment is rude, it will be deleted. If you are constantly negative, argumentative, or bullish, you will not be able to comment anymore. We are the sole moderators of the combox.