Showing posts with label Sister Sister. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sister Sister. Show all posts

Thursday, June 17, 2010

Doubts and Debts and Sins, Oh My! Luke 7:36-8:1

It is perhaps a familiar story. And it should be. This story of a woman anointing Jesus is found in all four Gospels, although, probably if we were asked, without hearing the text first, to tell the story, the details might get a little fuzzy, because there are variations between the four and so they get muddled up. In Mark and Matthew the dinner is also at the home of a man named Simon, but he’s noted to be a leper, not a Pharisee. And in those two stories, the woman anoints Jesus’ head, not his feet. In John, the woman has a name: she is Mary, Martha and Lazarus’ sister. In all three other versions, the anointing is protested because of the cost of the ointment, that it could’ve been sold and the money given to the poor, and it’s also connected to Jesus’ impending death, so if this seems like a Lenten story, well, that’s because that’s when we usually hear the other versions.

So Luke’s telling of the story stands out in a few ways. First, it occurs fairly early on in Jesus’ ministry, so there is no association with his death. Second, there is no focus on the cost of the ointment or Jesus’ famous “the poor with you will always be with you” statement. Of major significance is how Luke portrays the status of the woman as a sinner—and, by Simon’s reaction, a known sinner. Luke’s version is also a lot longer than the other three, giving us a little more detail, drawing us in to the scene a little bit more.

And it’s a poignant scene, isn’t it? The men have gathered, reclining on their sides at the table, enjoying a friendly meal, while this woman who is weeping—whether out of shame, out of sorrow, or out of relief, we don’t know—stands just behind Jesus. Her tears are numerous enough to wash the dust off his feet, and we can imagine them streaming down her face. Maybe her body is wracked with sobs, or maybe the tears flow silently. Tenderly she takes down her hair and uses it to wipe the tears and dirt off his feet before she begins rubbing them with ointment. Perhaps by now her tears have stopped, and she kisses Jesus’ feet, inhaling the scent of the ointment. She is deep into her ministrations, perchance so focused she is not even aware of anything going on around her.

But there are things going on around her, and that makes me think this scene is also somewhat…awkward. Have you ever been in a situation where someone is breaking social convention—whether intentionally or not? I don’t know about all of you, but I get nervous and tense when that happens. I kind of hold my breath a little bit, wondering how others are going to react. Jesus and Simon and the woman were not eating alone. There were other guests at the table. When we imagine this scene, our focus is usually on the woman. It’s like our mental cameras zoom in on her. But let’s back up and widen our view a little. What about everyone else who was there? Maybe they tried to carry on their conversations, and pretended not to notice what was going on while continually glancing at her out of the corners of their eyes. Maybe their voices dropped as they talked about the woman. Maybe eventually, everyone fell into an uncomfortable silence as they watched this woman break huge social and religious boundaries: not only was her hair down, but she was touching the feet of a man—which had sexual overtones, and not only that, but she was labeled a sinner, someone unclean, and she was touching not just any person, but a rabbi, a teacher, and a man whom some thought to be a prophet. I don’t see how the whole party didn’t just grind to a complete halt while all the men just lay gaping at the woman’s audacity and Jesus’ apparent oblivion. I’m sure it was not just Simon who was thinking that if Jesus was really a prophet, he would not be letting this woman anoint his feet like it was an everyday occurrence. Or, as Luke phrases it, Jesus would have known who and what kind of woman she was.

But Jesus does know this woman. Jesus knows her sorrow, knows her shame, her regret, her grief at being cast into the margins of society. He knows what’s in her heart, and he welcomes her expression of appreciation and love for the forgiveness and grace and peace he can give her. It can be so comforting to see ourselves in that woman, to recognize that Jesus knows each one of us just as well. Many people live feeling like imposters, believing that if people really knew who they were on the inside, they wouldn’t be so liked or loved or lauded for their accomplishments. But Jesus knows all of it, all our fears and insecurities, our guilt and shame and failure and regret, our judgments and mistakes and grudges and sins, and forgives every last one of them, and every last one of us. The grace of Jesus Christ is a powerful and moving thing. I think so many of us take our faith for granted, and we forget about that power sometimes. I hope that at some point in each of your lives, you have the experience of being with people who think they’re not good enough, or have made too many mistakes, or are unloveable, or unwelcome in the church, or are simply lost, and to look them in the eye and tell them that Christ knows everything about them—and forgives them what needs to be forgiven, and loves them. In fact, I think that each of us needs that reminder every once in a while. Christ knows you, and forgives you, and loves you.

It is indeed such a comfort to see ourselves in the story as that woman, known and forgiven and sent forth in peace. That being said, we cannot ignore the fact that we are Simon as well. Jesus tells Simon a little parable, and then asks him, “Simon, do you see this woman?” I wonder if Simon thought, in that split-second way our brains work, “Yeah, I see her—I see that she is a sinner and shouldn’t be here and has interrupted my meal.” Isn’t that how we often see, at first glance? We see someone driving a fancy car and we see a successful person, or a spoiled kid, or someone who is all about image. We see a person at a soup kitchen, and we see a drug addict or someone living off the system or a person not as privileged as us who we feel good about helping. We see someone who is different from us—someone who’s gay and we’re straight, someone who’s black and we’re white, someone who is from another country and we’re nth generation American, someone who’s liberal and we’re conservative, someone who’s in academia and work retail, someone who’s old money and we’re no money, someone who reads Us Weekly and we read the Wall Street Journal, someone who is pro-choice and we’re pro-life —and that’s all we see.

Jesus asks us, “Do you see this person?”

“Sure, Jesus!” we think. “We see that person wants to make our taxes go up and that guy plays his music too loud and that woman is undocumented, and that person is pretty dirty and smelly from living on the street, and that person over there just lives the perfect life that we want. Of course we see them!”

“No,” Jesus probes gently, “Take another look. Do you see them?”

We look again, and we see what Jesus sees: the children of God. Certainly we cannot possibly know each other as Jesus knows us, so we may never know if our first assumptions are “right” or not, but perhaps it’s possible that we can see each other as Jesus does and offer the same hospitality. Our last hymn today is the old favorite, “Amazing Grace,” and the first line ends, “was blind, but now I see.” Jesus not only offered grace to the woman, but to Simon, as well, that he might be freed to see beyond the first assumptions and judgment. Certainly, Jesus confirms that Simon’s thoughts of the woman as someone who had committed many sins. But it’s how the two men interaction with her that made the difference. Unfortunately, we can only guess whether Simon took the grace he was offered, or not, as Luke doesn’t tell us.

But our faith tells us that same grace is offered to each one of us—the opportunity to be known and welcomed with all our doubts and debts and sins, the chance to see each other as clearly as Christ and, having experienced Christ’s forgiving peace, the encouragement and strength to love as extravagantly and passionately as that woman did. May we all accept Jesus’ offer, and offer it to others as well. Amen.

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Saturday, November 01, 2008

For All The Saints

It's All Saints' Day (for another 2 hours anyway), a day to remember all those who have gone before us. I didn't pull out the prayer shawl I made for my thesis project, but I am in particular remembering the women saints in my family, and even more specifically my grandmother, Edna Ruth, who passed away four years ago. I've been sewing a lot the last couple weeks, and she was a prolific sewer. She made much of her own clothing, and many items for her seven children. She passed the skill on to her only daughter, my mom, who then in turn taught (and continues to teach) me.

As I feel the texture of the fabric moving under my fingertips and hear the motor of the sewing machine, I remember my grandmother. I think about who she was, and that perhaps I never really got to know who Edna the person was outside of Edna my Grammy. I think about her strong faith life, and wonder about her relationship with God. I ruminate that certain common words and phrases--"cuppa tea," "Down by the Station" and of course, "Pennsyl-vain-I-A!"-- that drove us a little crazy with their repetition when she was alive now serve as reminders of her, and most likely will serve as links to the next generation.

When my grandmother died, my mom inherited all her fabric. Much of it is polyester suiting that we're trying to figure out what to do with, but there are also a good deal of cottons, which my mom and I tend to favor. Often I'll look through my mother's stash for something, and hold up a piece that catches my eye. "Yes, I like that too," my mom will say. "That's a Grammy fabric." As I run my fingers over it, I know that Grammy had done the same, that it too had caught her eye, and I feel the connection through time.


Tonight I'll go to bed thinking of Grammy and all the other women to whom I'm connected, who surround me in a cloud of witnesses. Blessed be.

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Thursday, October 30, 2008

For My Sisters in the DRC

The cost of Sarah Palin's wardrobe. Joe the Plumber. The amount of money Sarah Palin's makeup artist is paid. Anger at political signs being vandalized. Etc., etc. These are the things getting tons of publicity these days. Sure, there's also talk about the ups and mostly downs of the Dow, and of course day-by-day watching of "the polls." Oh, and the World Series.

What's not being talked about is what's going on in the Democratic Republic of Congo, and I'm the first to admit I had no idea what was going on. I heard a word here or there about a "Congo week" to raise awareness. One friend on Facebook had a status one day that said she was turning off her cell phone for the DRC. Only days later did I find out why (a key component of cell phones is mined there).

I think Eve Ensler writes about what's going on over there, particularly to the women, best here. Please read it carefully, and then consider these two statements:

"Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly." --Martin Luther King, Jr.

"Thou shalt not be a victim. Thou shalt not be a perpetrator. Above all, thou shalt not be a bystander." --Holocaust Museum, Washington, DC

If we do nothing, we are not remaining neutral or "minding our own business." Doing nothing to stop violence and oppression is the same as helping those doing it.

A few years ago, I saw the film Hotel Rwanda. I left the theater and walked through Harlem to my apartment with tears streaming down my face. It was not simply the events of the film or the Rwandan genocide itself that touched me, but the anguish of the terrified people wondering why no one was coming to help them, wondering why, if the people in Europe and the US knew what was happening, they did nothing. It touched me because I knew we had not learned. It had happened during the Holocaust. It had happened with the Khmer Rouge. And, at the time the movie was released, the same thing was going on right then in the Sudan (and still is).

And now the DRC.

The question is, why? Is it because the stories that come out of these places are so atrocious we cannot believe it could possibly be that bad? Is it because these people are Other--they're not like us, so we don't really care that much--or, as Ms. Ensler suggests, because much of the violence is done against women?

I don't know. I do know that I can no longer say I didn't know about it. And if you're reading this, neither can you. And now that I know...it feels like one of those situations where there's nothing I can do.

But I can tell you, and I can tell others, and so can you. Spread the word. Offer it up during prayer requests at your church. Mention it to your friends. Forward this post and any others you find about it. Together we can make sure no one says they didn't know. That's the first step.

Then, maybe after election day, start contacting your government officials. Contact the ones in office now AND the newly elected. Make sure those who are in office until January do whatever they can in the next two months to help stop this, and make sure those coming in to office know you want them to make the conflict in the DRC a priority right off the bat.

And perhaps most importantly, make this pledge for yourself: "I will not stand by."


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Wednesday, May 07, 2008

Feminist Pastor Top Ten

The following is a sermon/ search committee piece I wrote as a final project for my feminist/womanist preaching class. I don't know that I'd actually be brave enough to preach it before being hired...but I wanted to share!

Not too long ago, I was describing part of my thesis project to a colleague
after a conversation about the search and call process. “It’s a prayer shawl,” I
told him, “with the names and images of the women I consider to be my saints,
the cloud of witnesses that surround me.”

“Whoa,” he replied.
“You’re going to have to tone down that crazy feminist stuff when you meet with
search committees.”

Now, truth be told, I don’t consider myself a
“crazy” feminist. I am a feminist, yes, in that I feel that men and women are
equal and deserve to be treated as such. Perhaps I am a strong feminist, in that
I believe that men are not the “default” humans, with women being an
afterthought. I believe influential women should be celebrated in the same way
influential men have been for millennia. I also believe that women have the same
access to God, Christ, and the Holy Spirit that men do, and the same ability to
share that with a parish community. If that makes me a “crazy feminist,” then I
will proudly claim that title.

So, in honor of that, here are my
top ten reasons I won’t tone down my “crazy feminism:”

10. Because I grew up going to Sunday school and learning about the men in the Bible, but not the women. The women are there and are important, and I want to be sure that children being raised in the church today know about them. They should not only know Moses, Abraham, Paul, Samuel, Jonah, Peter, and Noah, but Deborah, Miriam, Phoebe, Martha, Hagar, Ruth and Rebekah. Most kids in Sunday school know about David and Goliath, or Daniel in the lion’s den, but do they know about Esther saving her people, or Rachel and the idols? These women are in our sacred texts—shouldn’t our children know about them? Shouldn’t we?

9. Because I want the young women and the young men growing up in the body of Christ to know that they are all equally part of that body—with equal benefit and responsibility. It does a disservice to both genders when the Church says otherwise. Let us look at the Bible, particularly at the first chapter of Acts, where it lists the names of the Apostles who went to the room upstairs in
Jerusalem, and says, “all these were constantly gathered in prayer, together
with certain women.” It certainly seems to me like women were an important and
included part of that very early Church. And like then, today we need all the
ministers—in all areas of ministry—that we can get. So why should we discount
half the population?

8. Because I don’t believe my “crazy feminist”
message is just for young radicals, but for my mother’s and grandmother’s generations as well.
When I make sure women’s stories are more often present in Scripture readings, sermons, and Bible studies, I do it not just so the next generation can grow up knowing differently than I did, but also to affirm the older women as well. Maybe they’ll just think, “Well, then, she’s just saying
what I knew all along.” But perhaps there will be some who will think, “Wow, I
never thought about it things that way before, and it speaks to me.” Hopefully
there will be some older men who feel that way too!

7. Because male pastors aren’t expected to suppress their gender identities.

6. Because we are living in a post-women’s movement society, and our churches are steadily declining in membership. What do those things have to do with each other? Many of the people who aren’t coming to church feel like their
progressive beliefs—like feminism—don’t fit with Christianity. I want to
evangelize that you can be a feminist and a Christian! In order to do that,
however, I need to not only be able to tell the feminists in society that I go
to church, but tell the church I’m a feminist. Both of those are risky, and I
fully acknowledge that. I also believe that being a Christian and following
Jesus’ teachings means taking risks.

5. Because too many women before me have struggled too hard for me to stand aside quietly. In 1853, Antoinette Brown became the first woman ordained in the United States, in a Congregational church, one of the root traditions of our own UCC. She couldn’t vote or own property, but the church acknowledged her calling to preach. However, women still make up less than 40% of ordained clergy in our
denomination, and in my conversations with female clergy, it is still a struggle
to be a woman in this profession. For them, for the women who came before me,
and for the women who come after me, I speak my truth.

4. Because
when you Google “feminist pastor,” most of what comes up is highly anti-feminist Christian rhetoric.
Websites and pastors that claim feminism is evil, of the Devil, and the main problem for all of societies current ills—and I am in no
way exaggerating—all fall under the guise of providing the true Christian
message. Women who do not stay at home to care for the children and obey their
husbands are defying God. They want authority over men, which is just like
Lucifer wanting authority over God! I really wish I were making this up, but I’m
not. By claiming the term feminist, I am not claiming to be anti-male, or
wanting to be somehow “above” men, switching our society from patriarchy (where
men have the authority) to matriarchy (where women have the authority). I simply
want equality—and not a “separate but equal women and men have complementary
God-ordained roles” equality. And here’s one big reason why:

3. Because putting women in a box puts men in a box too. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve spoken to male friends who were putting off marriage simply because they didn’t yet have a job that paid well enough to support anyone else. They were taught that men are the providers, and if they couldn’t live into that yet,
then they would wait. I think this is where some of the fear comes in about
feminism, and that includes in the Christian world. If women are strong, acting
as leaders, providing for themselves, not needing to be taken care of, where
does that leave the men? In working with others to expand our language for God
(more on that in a minute), I often hear that in order to include women, we
should name the “feminine” qualities of God—“broods like a mother hen,” nurtures
us as a mother, etc. If we keep God the Father as disciplinarian and not
nurturing, we are telling men to be the same way. By embracing my feminism and
asking that women not be put into a box of being the nurturing ones whose core
strength is in how she cares for others, I’m also asking that men be allowed to
step out of the box of always having to be strong, un-emotional providers. This
should not be an either/or situation for either gender. Men and women can be
BOTH strong AND nurturing.

2. Because God is not a boy’s name. This is a sticky one for many people. The Bible uses the term Father for God—Jesus himself calls God Abba, “Daddy.” All the pronouns associated with God in the Bible are male. People may say that using female language is heresy. That being said, I believe it is heresy to claim that our limited human language could possibly every fully describe God. Think about how hard it is to describe the things and people that surround us just using language. Why do you think so many people talk with their hands? Now think about the awesome and immeasurable quality of the Divine. I think it’s a little presumptuous to say that just a few of our words—God, Lord, Father—can describe all that. So in my crazy feminism, I say that yes, we should attempt to expand our concept and language of God, but this is not simply by throwing in some “Mother’s” and “she’s.” We should really expand our language and think of the Triune God as Fire, Flame, and Light. God as the Holy Painter of Sunsets. Christ as Rescuer in Times of Trouble. Holy
Spirit as Laughing Wind of the Divine. You get the idea.

And, the
number one reason I won’t back down from my crazy feminism:

Because I believe in living authentically. I mean to ask that from
my parishioners, and I would hope you would want nothing less from me.
If I come in here pretending to be something I’m not, what sort of example am I setting? Not only that, how are we supposed to clearly discern whether I am being called to this community if I am not expressing my true self? Part of that true self is
feminist, and I hope I would not have to “tone that down” to live out God’s
calling for my life.


Now that I’ve completely terrified most of you, I want to simply state that my saying all this does not mean that I plan on entering any church community and force beliefs or changes on anyone. I’m not going to go through everything and state that you may never again use the word “Father” for God. I’m not going to look down on you if you disagree with me. I will, however, ask that you join me on a journey to deepen our
relationships with God, and to wrestle with what it means to be Christians. I
will ask that you explore this and other uncomfortable places with me, and maybe
open up some doors that have been shut tight. If you can only be comfortable
cracking it open and taking a peek before slamming it shut again, that’s ok. If
you’re ready to walk out flinging the doors wide open, that’s fine too. And
balancing those two perspectives is part of how we live –and love—together in
Christian community.

May God bless all of us with discernment on our journeys in Christ.

[Note: This list was apparently part of the reason that at gradutation, I was awarded the Karen Ziegler Feminist Preaching Prize. Whoo hoo!]

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Sunday, April 06, 2008

Named or Un-named, We Remember

I can't seem to stop thinking about her, this woman whose name I don't know.

On Friday, while leaving a friend's apartment, I was stopped in my tracks by an unmistakeable sound: that of someone being hit.

A man yelled in Spanish, each phrase punctuated by that horrible sound. I heard her voice yell back once. His reply was that sound. As I came to myself enough to move away down the stairs, not wanting to be discovered just standing there listening, I heard him yell some more, "Que te dijo? Que te dijo?!" What did I tell you, what did I tell you.

I didn't know what to do. I felt conflicted. It was not my building, not my neighbor, not my business. And yet, I'm a Christian, and a woman. That woman being hit was my neighbor, my sister. I thought about what would happen if I called the police. What would I tell them? Someone was being hit, in some apartment in this building? When I told my friend what I'd heard, he replied, "Welcome to the neighborhood."

And so we fulfill the stereotype of a poor urban neighborhood made up of people of color. Of course, women who live in these places are not the only ones abused by their partners and family members, not by a long shot. But I think about how easily I heard it. Where I grew up, there's at least a little space between houses. While I'm sure my neighbors caught an earful when arguments between my father and me spilled outside, if there had been abuse going on inside, they probably wouldn't have heard. What must it be like to be the neighbors of that woman and others, of the children who are beaten, to hear that?

My contact lasted less than a minute, but reached my soul. What is it like to be exposed to violence--especially intimate violence--as a bystander, over and over? Does one just get used to it, not hear it anymore? Or does it create a dark place in the soul?

Over the last couple days I've held this woman in my thoughts and prayers, and I've come to a realization. In a womanist/feminist preaching class I'm taking this semester, we talk a lot about the many un-named women in the Bible. We remember their stories, but we'll never know their names. One woman invites her children to give the women names when they read about them.

I will remember this woman, though I will never know her name. And like most of the un-named women of the Bible, I don't really know who she is--just one tiny captured moment of her life is all I've got. But I won't forget. In my mind, her name is Luz--Light. I pray for her, for those who love her, for he that hits her, and for all those who are victims of intimate violence--through first-hand experience or second-hand awareness. I pray.

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Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Women's rights 'round the world

This isn't "Women's History Month." Today isn't "International Day of the Woman." It's just a normal, inconsequential Tuesday in November. But today I want to write about women.

Recently I purchased two posters (and a second set for a fellow women's rights fighter). One describes in one long run-on sentence many of the reasons for a woman to be in the women's liberation movement--we're underpaid, if we want to get married we're out to trap a man, etc. The other lists heroes, all women, like Sojourner Truth and Indira Ghandi. I have to admit I don't recognize all the names, and one of my goals for the new year is to learn them.

I've had arguments with people who are convinced that we've achieved gender equality in this country. I assured them--and I assure you--we have not. Women have more rights and are treated more equal with men now than 50 years ago, but we still have much to fight for. Still, today I'm grateful for all the rights and privileges we do have. I can live alone. I'm attending school for my master's degree, and didn't have to get permission from a male relative to do so. When the time comes, I can start a family without a partner if I so choose. I can vote. I can earn my own money and do what I please with it.

These are things I mostly take for granted. My boss, the Rev. Debra Haffner, wrote a fantastic blog today about her experience at a women's rights' conference in Instabul, Turkey. These are women who, in my heart, I will add to my heroes poster. Read her blog here. And then give thanks for the women in your life (including yourself if you are one!), thanks for the freedom we enjoy in the U.S....and then find a way to help women around the world get the rights they deserve. Deb mentions a couple ways in her post; I'm sure you can find others.

They are all our sisters, whether they live in Iraq, the Sudan, Australia, or next door, and whether they practice Islam, Judaism, Buddhism, Christianity, or nothing at all.

Blessings to you on this regular old Tuesday...and blessings to my sisters around the world. Peace be with you.

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Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Happy (sexy) Halloween

I think Tina Fey got it right in Mean Girls. Lindsay Lohan's character dresses up for Halloween in a scary zombie bride (or "ex-wife") costume, and laments that no one told her that Halloween is really a chance for girls to dress as scantily and sexy as possible.

And I have to admit, somehow my subconscious is buying into it. I went to a Halloween party this past weekend, where the theme was "What do you want to be when you grow up?" Thinking I'd be creative, I went as a Toys R Us kid--you know, "I don't wanna grow up..." However, as I was contemplating how to create this costume, I kept thinking, "but if I do this, I won't look sexy." Hello? Since when is this necessary? Men certainly don't consider that when picking out a costume (and if this is incorrect, men, please let me know). They go for most creative, or simply fun.

I went with a denim skirt, knee socks, and a form-fitting tee (on which I placed the Toys R Us logo and KID in big letters). I looked cute, but I wouldn't say sexy. At the party though, there was a French maid in an itty bitty skirt, a sexy sailor, Tina Turner, Betty Boop, and a couple other amiguous sexy costumes. Yes, there were a few who went for fun--a woman in pj's with pigtails and freckles, an astronaut. But even Ike Turner (played by a woman) was wearing skin tight pants.

And apparently, this idea is quickly flowing from adult culture to girls. An article Tuesday in the Washington Post discusses the costumes being marketed to girls--most including showing much more skin than an 8-yr-old should ever show outside a pool. http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/10/29/AR2007102902095.html

Is this a result of feminism? We feel we can't dress slutty for most of the year, so we do it on Halloween? We're repressed normally, so we take the chance to let it all out one night of the year? There is something about a costume that allows you to be more adventurous than we might normally be--the idea that "it's not me, it's the costume," but I think somehow we've crossed a line, especially if we're marketing this idea to girls.

Boys and men are having fun being ninjas, Spiderman, gladiators and Spanish cartoon characters (those last two were present at the party I attended). Why can't girls and women do the same, without feeling the need to make every costume "sexy?"

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