A few random IOG thoughts

One of the themes that keeps arising is that "people don't want to change," by which I think Pete  means that people fear change, and in particular that the institutional church anesthetizes people against the pain that would generate real change, and regulates belief in such a way that people are punished for change.

I would probably amend that slightly and say that people exist in a constant tension between the deep desire for change - freedom from the anxieties and desires that rule them - and a paralyzing fear of the uncertainty of change.  So I wonder, how do we go about fostering (and sometimes creating) communities where people can see change in others and believe it to be more possible in themselves?

One of the things that is fun about being here is a shared sense of awareness.  On the other hand, that wanders sometimes into a sort of "We are the ones who know the cosmic trick" attitude.  So I also wonder, how do we know that we aren't creating a different idol of our own "enlightenment?"

There are a whole lot of people here whose churches and/or families are really uncomfortable with them being here, or who don't even know where they are.  I hadn't even thought about that possibility.  The idea of being in a place where the people closest to you a) know who Peter Rollins is, and b) feel threatened by his ideas, is kind of foreign to me.  I guess I know some people who might not like this stuff, but most of them already think I'm a theological whack job and are kind of past worrying about what weird events I go to.

On a completely non-IOG-related note, I skipped out of the film session last night and instead had a pint at the Royal, which is apparently a paramilitary bar and is full of crazy characters who told me all kinds of stories (true? not true? who knows?) about horse racing, their mental health histories, and their days during the Troubles.  Then I went to the Crown, which is about as different a world from the Royal as one can get.  It's a swanky Victorian bar with gas lights and an imprint of the crown on the floor (which you're supposed to step on if you're Catholic).  There I met some post workers, who also told me stories about the Troubles.  One of them described growing up during that time as "fun," which was kind of interesting, but he mostly remembers the parts where he got out of school early.  

Conflict, Decay, Death, and Jay Bakker: Day One at the Idolatry of God

Belfast is not the world's cheeriest place.  Which I suppose makes it an ideal place for a conference about decay and death.  Death is everywhere here, on the murals, in memorial gardens scattered through neighborhoods, in the peace walls that represent everything but peace.

So what am I doing at a conference revolving around death?

First of all, I don't think I'm entirely on board with everything Pete Rollins writes and says.  Specifically, his critique of the church seems based on a couple of common themes in the contemporary church that I agree are problematic, but which I don't think can be imposed upon the entire institutional church.  Not every Christian community or "orthodox" (whatever that means) Christian person lives in denial of doubt, or fears disagreement, or is addicted to its own certainty.  My sense is that his generalization of the institutional church causes a discarding of the 2,000 years of Christian experience that came before us.  While there are certainly faults there, I believe that Christian tradition has something to teach us, and that sometimes those liturgies, creeds, confessions, and doctrines that feel so limiting, feel limiting because they challenge us and urge us not to create a god that is simply a reflection of our own selves.  I still have hope for the existing Christian community, and I sort of get the idea that he doesn't.

(What?  You don't know what Pete Rollins writes?  Go read some.  I don't think I'm going to get around to explaining.)

Anyway.

I'm here, listening to a lot of talk about pain, uncertainty, decay, and death, for a lot of reasons.  I'm here because I'm frustrated with denominations' and congregations' terror about their own decline, and frantic obsession with self-preservation.  We follow a Christ who died.  What do we expect for our own lives, as individuals and institutions?  So, I am struggling to find a way to help my community and denomination embrace our own impermanence, and truly live the life we have...and not fear our own demise.

I'm here because I believe in the power of shared brokenness and vulnerability, and so rarely see it in Christian communities.

I'm here because I long to integrate art, music, dialogue, and mystery into faith expression, and have never quite managed to do it.

I'm here because I needed to meet some fun and interesting people who can talk about all the theological stuff that is usually so separate from all things fun and interesting.

So, yesterday, with this strange and fascinating group, I toured the conflict and decay of Belfast, and then attended an ikon event that focused on facing our own imminent death.  Then we heard Jay Bakker talk for a while about his unimaginable childhood and how he has been grasped by grace.  He described his own vocation and his inability to escape grace, or Jesus, or church, and wow, could I relate to that.  And so I guess that I'm also here just to be reminded that I am not alone in all of this.  

  

Seizures and other fun things

A week ago I had a seizure.  It was my first in six years, which is just long enough to forget what it's like.  I was in the back seat of a car, which is an unusually safe situation in which to have a seizure.  When I rode the same route today, I realized that I don't remember seeing anything for about fifteen miles before the site where the driver pulled over.  When I was more accustomed to seizing, I would have had about fifteen minutes to warn them about what was going to happen, but I didn't see it coming this time.  So, I lost a big block of time, between when I started the whole pre-seizure process, and when I mentally "came to," which was when I was talking to the paramedics.  It's kind of disorienting to regain consciousness while you're standing up, talking to people, trying to remember your address.  My overriding mechanism is competence, so of course I was trying to convince them that I didn't need to get into the ambulance.  It's funny what core part of your being comes out when you are operating subconsciously.  "I'm fine" is clearly situated pretty centrally in my being.

Unfortunately, there are few things quite like a seizure to remind you that you're not really fine.

I scared the crap out of the people who were with me, which is not really in keeping with my general mode of never having people worry about me.

I had no control whatsoever of my body or brain for a while, which doesn't really lend itself to independence.  Even afterward, I had a full day of near immobility, and a week of feeling like I was recovering from electrocution.

I can't drive for a while, and frankly I'm nervous about even being alone until we're sure that the meds are stabilized.  Now this is the kicker: not being able to go or be anywhere on my own.  I am always everywhere on my own.  This seriously sucks.  But I am way too anxious to even try to get behind the wheel of a car right now.  My anxiety about getting into the pulpit this week was very nearly crippling, and the likelihood that I'll kill anyone if I have a seizure there is pretty slim.

I have lost, for now anyway, the ability to trust my own body, my own brain.  I am constantly aware of whether there are any signs that I might seize again, whether my focus is flagging or my vision warped.

Incidentally, I am still getting on a plane in five days and going to Northern Ireland and Scotland, by myself, because I am not missing this trip, and because I believe in doing things that are scary.  And this time, this is scary, even for me, who has traveled alone many times to many places.

But here's the thing about having a seizure, about suddenly not being able to trust your body, about not being able to get yourself anywhere on your own: it's reality.  I don't want this reminder, but I acknowledge that it is a reminder, that I am never really in control of everything my body does, that I am never really independent, that I am never really on my own, and can't be any of those things.  Independence, that thing that is so much at the core of my being that I cling to it even when I'm not fully conscious, is an illusion.  The reality is weakness, uncertainty, and need.  This is onerous, and annoying, and inconvenient, but it is also true.

As much as I hate it, and feel confined by it, the loss of my independence is an interesting lesson.  And so I walk away and leave my car to sit in the church parking lot indefinitely, and call one more person to get a ride to tomorrow's meetings, and I think, none of us can do this alone.  None of us can do this alone.

Appearances are Distracting

A couple of nights ago, I saw New Jersey governor Chris Christie on David Letterman.  I've heard Dave make...oh, maybe a hundred jokes about Christie, usually about his weight.  Okay, always about his weight.  Governor Christie came on the show and made jokes about his weight as well.  He took it all with grace and good humor, like someone who's spent over forty years listening to fat jokes, which he probably has, and like someone who's spent over forty years making them in return, which I'm sure he has as well, because as any fat person knows, the best defense is a good offense.  Personally, I had hoped to hear about the ongoing response to Superstorm Sandy, which Christie managed to wrangle into the discussion for about two minutes, and his attempts at bipartisan political work, which wasn't mentioned at all.  Apparently it was more interesting to discuss his weight: was he trying to lose weight, had he gained weight, how did his family feel about his weight, how was his blood pressure, cholesterol, blood sugar, etc.

Because, you know, people don't actually know when we're fat, unless some thin person mentions it.

Fat people also don't realize on our own that being fat might affect our general health.

Mostly that's because fat people are completely unaware of our health.  We're probably fat because we don't monitor our blood pressure, cholesterol, and blood sugar.  If we did, we'd realize that we need to change, and we would, and then we'd turn thin, like the whole world is supposed to be.

As it is, all fat people have terribly high blood pressure, cholesterol, and blood sugar, and all thin people are perfectly healthy.  Obviously.

Anyway, Christie reported on the state of his health, which is apparently pretty good, to clear disbelief on Letterman's part.  All the while I was thinking, "I just had this conversation, only not on national TV."  Someone took me aside to talk to me.  She was concerned.  I've put on weight.  Do I know that I've gained weight?  Do I maybe have a health problem?  Have I been to a doctor?  What does my doctor say about this?  Do I know that gaining weight can be hard on my heart, can put me at risk for diabetes?

Yes, I know that I've gained weight.  I have a scale.  And pants.  I suffer from a health problem called genetics and another called seizure medication, both of which make it really difficult for me to keep off weight.  I have another health problem called "the between-meeting diet," otherwise known as "complications related to being a workaholic." Yes, I see my doctor.  My doctor says I should remember to exercise, and that I should try to eat vegetables instead of french fries.  My doctor says that my blood pressure is great, my cholesterol is shockingly good, and my blood sugar is a-ok.  My doctor also says that none of this is any of your business.

The assumed acceptability of saying whatever you want about people's weight drives me fairly nuts.  In case you are one of those people, here's a news flash: we already know, we're already doing or not doing whatever it is that we feel the need to do or not do, we're facing the consequences of our own choices and genetics, and whatever you have to say about it is hurtful and unnecessary.  We already have a voice that tells us that we are unhealthy, undisciplined, ugly, that we are worth less than thin people, that we are less likely to be loved, more likely to be cheated on, that we don't fit (sometimes literally).  It's our own.  We don't need yours.  But thanks for your so-called concern.

In case you're a friend of mine and worried about that last paragraph, don't be.  That is not my predominant voice.  I'm just completely pissed off at the general sense that nothing I do, and perhaps nothing most people do, will matter as much as what they look like.  No matter how much work I do in mission and community engagement, no matter how great my sermon is or how wonderful our youth program is, I will always get more comments about my hair and what I'm wearing and, yes, my weight, than on any of the substance of my job.  No matter how ridiculously intelligent and effective Hillary Clinton is, we will never read an article about her that doesn't mention her pant suits or hairstyle.  No matter how elegant, smart, and compassionate Michelle Obama is, I still have to see articles about how big her butt is.  And lest we think it's only women who face this kind of scrutiny, just try Googling Christ Christie.  The second most searched term after his name alone is not "chris christie governor" or "chris christie sandy relief," but "chris christie weight."  Really?

  

 

 

Confessions of a Former Complementarian

"You keep using that word.  I do not think it means what you think it means."  ~ Inigo Montoya in The Princess Bride


I've come across a lot of anti-woman sentiment lately.  Some of the more conservative members of my denomination have a Facebook group that I occasionally look at when I'm in the mood to get good and mad; this week some of them took a (startlingly brief) break from blasting the evil homosexual agenda to share some of the grief with the evil feminist agenda.  Then I met a random guy at my hangout of choice who, out of nowhere, with no idea that I am a minister, announced that he was against women in church leadership.  He made a valiant attempt to out-Bible me, which is always fun.  And then there have been a slew of articles like this interview of Mark Driscoll, in which he reveals himself to be arrogant, pushy, and fairly unconcerned with facts, and this article from The Council on Biblical Manhood and Womanhood, in which femininity and females are characterized as all manner of negative things, including imbeciles.  Different but equal, eh?

So, I was a complementarian once.  At least, I tried to be, back in the day when the only people I knew who seemed to take Christian faith seriously were the tribe of campus fundamentalists.  I tried very hard for two years.  Really.  I had had one of those wacky, dramatic conversion experiences, and I thought their path was the one I needed to follow, too.  They told me a lot of things about what the Bible said.  They told me it said that I should stop hanging out with my gay friends unless I was evangelizing them.  They told me it said that people who didn't have a personal relationship with Jesus were going to hell.  And they told me it said that women were supposed to be submissive to men, that husbands were supposed to rule their households, that women were not allowed to teach men or hold any position in the church that might be considered higher than a man.

Then they taught me to read the Bible, intensely, closely, carefully.  They taught me to use the tools available to me to explore the language and context.  They encouraged me to study it alone and in community with others, to honor the text and hold it close.  They might have come to regret all that rather quickly.

I loved the Bible, and I kept reading, and reading, and reading it.  I found it somewhat puzzling that there were so many women doing important things in it, being used by God, proclaiming the Gospel, supporting the people of God, even doing things that might be considered teaching and having authority.  A woman a year or two older than me offered to do a study with me on godly womanhood, and I happily accepted.  We read from Proverbs 31, the passage about the wife of noble character, a verse a week, poring over what these words, the Word, might mean for us.  Who was this godly woman?  As it turns out, she wasn't such a great advertisement for the submissive, stay-at-home wife and mother who was the ideal for most of our campus fellowship - this woman who runs her own business, conducts her own affairs, who gives instruction, who is a partner in whom her husband can have full confidence.

They taught me to treat the words of the Bible, the Word, with great care and attention.  And so I noticed the profound truths, the beauty of the language and the narratives, the compelling teachings, and I grew closer to the text.  As I did so, I also started to notice the inconsistencies in the stories, the multiple but slightly different accounts of the same events, the alarming and troubling passages, the teachings that seemed universal and those that appeared to be directed to a specific community.  My view of what it meant for the Bible to be the Word of God shifted.

These fervent and dedicated people taught me to identify and develop my spiritual gifts, insisting that every Christian had them.  They might have come to regret that, too.  No spiritual gifts inventory ever told me that I had gifts in "womanly" areas like prayer, mercy, and service.  Maybe I was meant to teach in a women's ministry, they told me, or maybe children.  Maybe missions, although it would be better if I could find a husband to lead the ministry.  Beyond that, they weren't sure what to do with me.  So I was left to fight it out with God over these gifts in teaching, prophecy, and leadership that distanced me from the community I had become part of.

A lot of time has passed between then and now, and a lot of other formative things have happened, but that was the beginning of me becoming the minister I am now.  I'm thankful to that group of people for starting that process, for helping me love the Bible and take it seriously.  But if I could go back, there are some things I'd like to say to them.  They are the things I want to say when I hear Mark Driscoll, or read the more vitriolic comments of my complementarian brothers, or meet people who define masculinity, femininity, manhood, and womanhood very narrowly and attribute limited roles and characteristics to those terms.

I would like to tell them that I am who I am, do what I do, and believe what I believe, not despite what the Bible says, but because of it.  Not because I decided that I didn't like it and could therefore ignore it, but because I love it and take it as a whole, and use the overarching themes and consistent threads within it to interpret the individual verses.

I would like to tell them: you keep using that word, Bible.  I do not think it means what you think it means.  The Bible exists to teach us about God, guide us in how we live in the world, and give us hope in God's future.  It is not a science textbook, an etiquette manual, corporate bylaws, or a weapon with which to beat other people into submission.

You keep using that word, feminine.  I do not think it means what you think it means.  Femininity is not by nature soft, feeble, compassionate, cowardly, imbecilic, nurturing, polite, or inferior.  A woman might exhibit any of these characteristics (with the exception of inferiority) and many more - and so might a man.  Masculinity is not tough, courageous, unemotional, intelligent, protective, rough-mannered, or superior.  A man might be these things, and so might a woman.  And if you define God as masculine because, as Driscoll claims, God protects and disciplines (like a father) in addition to nurturing (like a mother), well, I'm guessing you don't know any mothers very well.

You keep using that word, equal.  I do not think it means what you think it means.  If one group of people is limited to a particular set of roles while another group has access to all roles, they are not equal.  If one group is subordinate to another group, they are not equal.  If the abilities and assumed characteristics of one group are considered to be less valuable and versatile than those of the other group, they are not equal.

You keep using that word, Gospel.  I do not think it means what you think it means.  "Believe exactly what I believe and adhere to my ideas about who you should be because it's the only way God will love you and not throw you into hell" is not good news.

Most of all, you keep using that Word.  I do not think it means what you think it means.  The Word is not a rigid text that prescribes our every move.  It is not a set of verses that can be plucked from the whole at will without consideration of context.  It is not a document that explains everything clearly for all people in all times and all places apart from the counsel of the Church and the inspiration of the Spirit.  The Word is the living, breathing, moving embodiment of God that has been there since the beginning of all things.    


   

Proving Myself Right

A while ago I wrote this post about the inevitability of running into parishioners when I am at my grossest, sloppiest, and most exhausted.  Yesterday, after returning from a week of travel at 7:30am, collapsing into bed, waking up and realizing I had no food in the house, I decided that just this once it would be okay to go to the grocery store looking like an unwashed degenerate, because no one I know even goes to that particular grocery store.  Yeah...not okay.  I'm not sure whether I was relieved or embarrassed that the child of the person I ran into did not even recognize me in that state.

Into the New

Well, I've come out the other side of my annual Christmas depression.  It's an odd thing, which I've realized gets both a little worse and a little more manageable every year.  Which is to say that I feel the pain and isolation more profoundly each year, but also become better at expecting it, planning for it, and living in it when it comes.

During that time, work is the thing I feel increasingly peaceful about.  I have been in this church long enough that I know how it's going to go, as much as you know how things are ever going to go.  This year one of the youth fainted during the first Christmas Eve service.  In the second one, the candles were lit three songs too early.  Everything was still okay.  So it goes.

Everything else during Christmas is pretty much crappy.  But it's become a predictable crappiness.  I will feel lonely.  I will start to wonder if I should be more intentional about seeking out a partner.  I will remember the year's failed attempts on that front and feel hopeless, hurt, and angry.  I will decide to resign myself to being alone, and feel both desolate and powerful at the prospect.  I do not have to accept consequence; I can decide.  Then I will remember that my self-definition as single is probably the greatest contributor to the Christmas loneliness, and become annoyed at it, and wonder what to do about it, and feel stuck because when I try to change that self-definition, I end up surrounded by emotional black holes and grass-is-greener types who are already attached to someone else.  I will miss my family, even while realizing that I don't particularly enjoy them at holidays, and that I'm so busy and exhausted with work that they wouldn't enjoy me, either.  I will feel self-pity at the scarcity of gifts I receive, and guilt for my selfishness and materialism - because the joy of a Calvinist Christmas is at least a small dose of self-flagellation.  Which is fine, as I don't really do guilt the rest of the year.            

Anyway, I emerged from The Annual Funk just in time for a friend's wedding, thankfully, which involved a lot of hanging out with my favorite snarky, boozy clergy women, and feeling the messy happiness of seeing one of our formerly single-girl flock get paired up.  Then I did my standard New Year's thing: got all fancied up, went to see some friends' band play at a big masquerade ball thing, remembered that my life is actually pretty fabulous, and greeted 2012 with sparkly hats, noisemakers, champagne, friends, and joy.

A new year is inevitably a time of evaluating life, remembering the things that have gone well and not so well, contemplating the things that need change, and planning for the future.  I've been somewhat resistant in the last few years to planning for my future in any specific way, but it's beginning to feel like time for that sort of thinking.  It's time for me to apply for that D.Min program that I've been bouncing around for a couple of years, so I started that process today.  It's also time for me to let go of some things I've kept on the table as options.  It's time to say to my seminary self that academic study is not currently enough of a priority for me to consider a Ph.D or a faculty position as likely possibilities in the foreseeable future (although notice how I'm not ruling it out absolutely...).  That was the dream of someone who was in denial about being a minister, and I'm not that person anymore.  It's time for me to realize that I am probably not ever going to be (or want to be) neutral enough for denominational staff.  All that means that I need to do some serious planning and preparation in moving toward being a senior minister someday, which also involves some personal life caution that isn't exactly a hallmark of my existence.  Time to grow up, or something.

So, with these goals and the usual assortment of semi-resolutions - exercise more, get healthier in general, stop being a sucker for dimples - I enter 2012.  What an interesting year this promises to be!