Even in churches that don't normally follow the liturgical calendar, Advent is something to take note of. My friends and family certainly know that I am one of those people that drive Scrooges crazy. I've been known to play Christmas music in October, and bake my favorite Christmas cookies in the middle of summer. But Advent--those four Sundays before Christmas--is when I really love to celebrate.
I think that every child understands what it means to anticipate Christmas, if that is the holiday that he or she celebrates. If only for the presents under the tree, a child will wait with eager anticipation. I remember when I was very small, my aunt would send cardboard Advent calendars from Germany, where her husband was stationed with the army. From December 1st until Christmas morning, we would open a small door to reveal a piece of chocolate. When we were older, my brother and I had a felt Advent calendar with a pocket for each day, and a small gift to be opened for each of us. All of this built up the excitement and anticipation for the big day, Christmas day. No matter how little money we had, and there were times when we had very little, my parents always made certain that there was something under the tree.
As we age, however, I think that this time of the year brings only more duties, more social engagements. There is more traveling and less time to remember "the reason for the season." I have many female friends who are mothers with attitudes that are more Scrooge-like than joyful. There is too much to do and too little time to do it in. Dread replaces anticipation, and relief replaces joy on Christmas morning.
Aside from Advent, Lent and Easter is the other big celebration on the church calendar, although I'm not sure that you can call Lent a celebration, even if it has its own stark beauty. I imagine there are those who prefer Easter, because there is less to do. Lent and Easter, aside from the Easter candy and bunny decorations, largely go unremarked by the world. That holy time has a tendency to slip under the radar, which is rather fitting when you think about it.
But if Lent is about self-denial and self-sacrifice, culminating in the celebration of our redemption, Advent is about anxious expectation. We wait for something wonderful, for the thing that will change our lives and turn the whole world upside down. We celebrate the waiting, knowing that the gift of anticipation is one to be savored. Who doesn't remember the feeling on Christmas morning, when all the presents are unwrapped, when you wish you could have waited just a little longer? Advent, then, is the knowledge of Mary, knowing that God had called her to bear His Son, and knowing that his birth would bring new life and hope to her people. I often wonder if Mary, who "treasured these things up in her heart" had any idea what was to come, what she and her son would be called to endure.
Expectation, anticipation, has taken on new meaning for me this year, as I recently got engaged. It is no stretch to say that my fiance and I are eagerly anticipating the day that we are to be married, when our lives will finally become one. We await something good, something holy, that will change our lives in ways both expected and unexpected. I imagine that I will learn something new about expectation again when (Lord willing) I am pregnant, and I eagerly anticipate the birth.
Right now, however, we are in the in between time, knowing what is to come, at least a little, and yet unable to hurry it up. I have learned a lot, however, and this Advent season means more to me than have others. I know what it is to await the changing of your world now, the knowledge that what you face is both an ending and a beginning. I have some small understanding of what Mary must have felt, awaiting the day when her life would change irrevocably.
And I am learning to find joy in the in between times.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Blessings and Burdens
I have been thinking a lot lately about how blessed I am. It hits me at random moments: after I get done exercising, when I've finished a really good book, during an evening out with friends, while twiddling my thumbs at work, or even when working hard while following a promising line of research. Perhaps the moments it hits me the hardest is when I'm with my boyfriend, one of the few people in the world whom I trust completely, and feeling just a little bit of the love that God must have for me. (This is, I think, what any good relationship will do for a person: to give them a chance to both experience and show God's love--but that's another post entirely.)
The guilt that I sometimes feel as a direct result of these blessings is natural, I think, although the jury is still out on whether it is "good". The guilt will hit me at less random moments, usually when I hear from a friend in her thirties who has stage 2 breast cancer . Or when another friend speaks of the crushing loneliness that can come with being single. Or hearing about the family member who has been turned down for disability benefits and yet cannot work because of his constant pain; he would likely be dead now if it weren't for my mother and her generous spirit. You don't have to look to Africa for the guilt that made you clean your plate as a child; poverty, ill-health, and other soul-crushers are often closer than we'd like to believe.
Perhaps one of the hardest parts about being a Christian can be found in these moments. How do you mourn with those who mourn? And how do you rejoice with those who rejoice? Because the truth is that if you live long enough you will find yourself on both sides of the equation. I know that I have been jobless in the past, have had health problems that have stumped doctors, have struggled with depression and crushing loneliness, have watched friends move away or turn their backs on me. I have needed people who would mourn with me, and they were often in short supply. I have been asked to rejoice for someone else in the midst of my sorrow, and I have done so unwillingly and resentfully, if at all.
How do you do it? How do you reach out to others on the other side of that barrier?
The short answer is that I don't know, although I think that the most important step is to acknowledge that there are two sides to everything. Every burden has a hidden blessing; every blessing a hidden burden. Ask the overwhelmed mother who looks longingly at her childless friend, and the childless friend who pines for children. Or the worker who has been passed over for a promotion, but who can go home to his or her family at the end of the day, and the person who was promoted but who is now working more hours than he or she can handle. Or the single person who longs for love, and their counterpart who thinks longingly of the freedom of being single. There are always two sides to every story.
Having been on both sides, I'm not sure which is harder. In times of plenty, it is terrible to watch friends and family suffer, and to feel that your joy is somehow tarnished by their sorrow. Even if you can escape that very human failing, you risk being pushed aside because they cannot stand to look at your joy. In times of sorrow, it is often asking too much that you rejoice with someone else. How can you be truly happy for another person who has what you want so much?
Perhaps it may help to focus on what James had to say. In one of the best known, and most quoted, passages from the New Testament, he says, "Count it all joy, my brothers and sisters, when you experience trials of all kinds." We have recently been discussing this letter in Sunday school, and our teacher pointed out that as Christians our job is to focus on the end goal. James states that suffering produces perseverance or endurance, and endurance leads to a stronger, more mature faith.
It's easy for me to say that now, of course. I've had moments in my life when my general response to that passage probably shouldn't be repeated. Suffering and joy do not seem to go together. Like Thomas, I cannot believe that any kind of suffering produces growth until at some time down the road I can see at least a glimpse of God's purpose. "Show me the goods," I demand of God. "Tell me why this is good for me. I want an explanation."
Oddly enough, I want an explanation for my blessings now, too. I know that I have done nothing to deserve what I have. So much of it is a product of my birth: who my parents were, genetic luck, and any number of other factors that drive home just how easy it would have been for me to miss out on all of this. I sometimes wonder when the other shoe is going to drop; things are too wonderful, and so I ask God when he's going to drop the bad stuff. When I'm going to face the sort of trials that Job did. And Job never did get a straight answer as to why.
That's part of faith, though. We are assured by God, through his Word, that we will experience trials, and so I know this time of plenty will end. We are also told that both the just and the unjust receive blessings, that all things work together for the good of those who love God, and that God has a plan. Most of the time, we won't know what God's plan is in this life, and trust me, I'll be asking God some very pointed questions in the next. "Why" is a word that will likely feature prominently. But for right now, all I can do is wait, and hope, and believe that in spite of all odds, I have been blessed, that those I love will be made stronger and more like God, that I will have the wisdom and the strength for mourning and for joy. This is a daily struggle; I think it was meant to be.
In truth, we are, in so many ways, like children shouting "Marco!" into the darkness, waiting for God to call back. "Polo!" he calls, waiting patiently for us as we edge a little closer. "Here I am." Our job in the end is to keep calling out, no matter how dark it might get.
The guilt that I sometimes feel as a direct result of these blessings is natural, I think, although the jury is still out on whether it is "good". The guilt will hit me at less random moments, usually when I hear from a friend in her thirties who has stage 2 breast cancer . Or when another friend speaks of the crushing loneliness that can come with being single. Or hearing about the family member who has been turned down for disability benefits and yet cannot work because of his constant pain; he would likely be dead now if it weren't for my mother and her generous spirit. You don't have to look to Africa for the guilt that made you clean your plate as a child; poverty, ill-health, and other soul-crushers are often closer than we'd like to believe.
Perhaps one of the hardest parts about being a Christian can be found in these moments. How do you mourn with those who mourn? And how do you rejoice with those who rejoice? Because the truth is that if you live long enough you will find yourself on both sides of the equation. I know that I have been jobless in the past, have had health problems that have stumped doctors, have struggled with depression and crushing loneliness, have watched friends move away or turn their backs on me. I have needed people who would mourn with me, and they were often in short supply. I have been asked to rejoice for someone else in the midst of my sorrow, and I have done so unwillingly and resentfully, if at all.
How do you do it? How do you reach out to others on the other side of that barrier?
The short answer is that I don't know, although I think that the most important step is to acknowledge that there are two sides to everything. Every burden has a hidden blessing; every blessing a hidden burden. Ask the overwhelmed mother who looks longingly at her childless friend, and the childless friend who pines for children. Or the worker who has been passed over for a promotion, but who can go home to his or her family at the end of the day, and the person who was promoted but who is now working more hours than he or she can handle. Or the single person who longs for love, and their counterpart who thinks longingly of the freedom of being single. There are always two sides to every story.
Having been on both sides, I'm not sure which is harder. In times of plenty, it is terrible to watch friends and family suffer, and to feel that your joy is somehow tarnished by their sorrow. Even if you can escape that very human failing, you risk being pushed aside because they cannot stand to look at your joy. In times of sorrow, it is often asking too much that you rejoice with someone else. How can you be truly happy for another person who has what you want so much?
Perhaps it may help to focus on what James had to say. In one of the best known, and most quoted, passages from the New Testament, he says, "Count it all joy, my brothers and sisters, when you experience trials of all kinds." We have recently been discussing this letter in Sunday school, and our teacher pointed out that as Christians our job is to focus on the end goal. James states that suffering produces perseverance or endurance, and endurance leads to a stronger, more mature faith.
It's easy for me to say that now, of course. I've had moments in my life when my general response to that passage probably shouldn't be repeated. Suffering and joy do not seem to go together. Like Thomas, I cannot believe that any kind of suffering produces growth until at some time down the road I can see at least a glimpse of God's purpose. "Show me the goods," I demand of God. "Tell me why this is good for me. I want an explanation."
Oddly enough, I want an explanation for my blessings now, too. I know that I have done nothing to deserve what I have. So much of it is a product of my birth: who my parents were, genetic luck, and any number of other factors that drive home just how easy it would have been for me to miss out on all of this. I sometimes wonder when the other shoe is going to drop; things are too wonderful, and so I ask God when he's going to drop the bad stuff. When I'm going to face the sort of trials that Job did. And Job never did get a straight answer as to why.
That's part of faith, though. We are assured by God, through his Word, that we will experience trials, and so I know this time of plenty will end. We are also told that both the just and the unjust receive blessings, that all things work together for the good of those who love God, and that God has a plan. Most of the time, we won't know what God's plan is in this life, and trust me, I'll be asking God some very pointed questions in the next. "Why" is a word that will likely feature prominently. But for right now, all I can do is wait, and hope, and believe that in spite of all odds, I have been blessed, that those I love will be made stronger and more like God, that I will have the wisdom and the strength for mourning and for joy. This is a daily struggle; I think it was meant to be.
In truth, we are, in so many ways, like children shouting "Marco!" into the darkness, waiting for God to call back. "Polo!" he calls, waiting patiently for us as we edge a little closer. "Here I am." Our job in the end is to keep calling out, no matter how dark it might get.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Confession
I've come to the conclusion that Christian confession is something of a lost art, at least on the Protestant side. Perhaps there are mainline denominations that still practice it, but in the nondenominational evangelical churches that I grew up in, that wasn't the case.
I would argue, in fact, that the very idea of confession makes most of us uncomfortable, mostly because we spend a great deal of time and energy hiding our sin from the world and each other--and therefore from ourselves. I say this because in 24 years of being a Christian, I have come across perhaps a handful who are willing to confess their own shortcomings, (and I do not include myself in that category).
One of the things I am coming to understand about our failure to participate in confession is that we become blind to sin, and yet caught up guilt over things that have very little meaning. I feel guilt for not wearing my Sunday best to church, or for not saying yes when someone asks me to do something I have no talent for or desire to do. I do not feel guilt when I have gossiped or allowed my pride to get in the way of a needed apology.
Part of the reason may be because we are so short on confessors. A person who accepts confessions holds a great deal of power over those confessing, and much wisdom and discernment is required. They need to be able to recognize when a person is sinning, when they are not being completely honest, when they are not yet ready to hear the full truth. A confessor must also know how to deliver truth with great sensitivity and tact. This is not an easy thing.
Part of the reason, too, may be because we have replaced confessors with therapists. While it is entirely possible for counselors to do and be both, the problems that they are called to address are different as is the approach that they take. Christian counselors may feel compelled to call sin what it is in their clients' lives, but the secular counselor cannot do the same. And, in the end, the question is generally, "How is this affecting your life and what purpose is this behavior serving?" Although mental health professionals often hear confessions, that is not truly their job.
Public confession is not necessary for salvation, of course. Hebrews tells us that Jesus Christ is our high priest, and we do not need a middle man to speak to God or have access to his forgiveness. But what do you think it would do for our community if we freely confessed our shortcomings? If we accepted those confessions with love and encouragement, rather than blame? If we spent more time addressing the sin in our lives, and allowing others to see us for who we really are, rather than hiding behind a mask? I have a sneaking suspicion that it might just revolutionize the Church.
All the same, I have to admit that I'm still not fond of the idea, no matter how necessary it might be. There is a reason we hide our sin from others; so often it is used as a weapon against us. Fear tends to keep us paralyzed, and the first person to confess a weakness is the bravest. I honestly do not know if I am that brave.
That's my confession.
I would argue, in fact, that the very idea of confession makes most of us uncomfortable, mostly because we spend a great deal of time and energy hiding our sin from the world and each other--and therefore from ourselves. I say this because in 24 years of being a Christian, I have come across perhaps a handful who are willing to confess their own shortcomings, (and I do not include myself in that category).
One of the things I am coming to understand about our failure to participate in confession is that we become blind to sin, and yet caught up guilt over things that have very little meaning. I feel guilt for not wearing my Sunday best to church, or for not saying yes when someone asks me to do something I have no talent for or desire to do. I do not feel guilt when I have gossiped or allowed my pride to get in the way of a needed apology.
Part of the reason may be because we are so short on confessors. A person who accepts confessions holds a great deal of power over those confessing, and much wisdom and discernment is required. They need to be able to recognize when a person is sinning, when they are not being completely honest, when they are not yet ready to hear the full truth. A confessor must also know how to deliver truth with great sensitivity and tact. This is not an easy thing.
Part of the reason, too, may be because we have replaced confessors with therapists. While it is entirely possible for counselors to do and be both, the problems that they are called to address are different as is the approach that they take. Christian counselors may feel compelled to call sin what it is in their clients' lives, but the secular counselor cannot do the same. And, in the end, the question is generally, "How is this affecting your life and what purpose is this behavior serving?" Although mental health professionals often hear confessions, that is not truly their job.
Public confession is not necessary for salvation, of course. Hebrews tells us that Jesus Christ is our high priest, and we do not need a middle man to speak to God or have access to his forgiveness. But what do you think it would do for our community if we freely confessed our shortcomings? If we accepted those confessions with love and encouragement, rather than blame? If we spent more time addressing the sin in our lives, and allowing others to see us for who we really are, rather than hiding behind a mask? I have a sneaking suspicion that it might just revolutionize the Church.
All the same, I have to admit that I'm still not fond of the idea, no matter how necessary it might be. There is a reason we hide our sin from others; so often it is used as a weapon against us. Fear tends to keep us paralyzed, and the first person to confess a weakness is the bravest. I honestly do not know if I am that brave.
That's my confession.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Unselfishness (or should I say "selflessness")
I recently got a cat. Perhaps I should say that the cat got me, because now that she's settling in, she seems rather intent on training me to do exactly what she wants me to do. This isn't unexpected, by the way. I generally knew what I was getting into, and I'm setting boundaries for her. For example, she doesn't sleep with me, and she's not allowed inside my bedroom without me there, too. She might think that I exist to pet her, but there are times when I need to eat or shower, and then she doesn't get what she wants, even though she is looking at me with those huge, reproachful eyes.
People will say that getting a pet, like having a child, changes your life. Although the two are not quite on the same level, it's true. Of course, anytime you open your life to another person, or an animal, you give up a little of your autonomy. I can't just leave home anymore without considering the cat's needs. If I run out of certain cat-related necessities, I have to make time to go to the store. If I would prefer writing, and the cat would prefer sitting on my keyboard because I am supposed to be scratching her under the chin, the writing is highly unlikely to get done.
This whole thing was the reason I was hesitant, and not a little nervous, about getting a cat. The truth is that I like having my own space, and being able to do my own thing, whenever I want to do it. I am, at heart, an introvert, and probably a fairly selfish person. I don't mind helping others, or taking care of others, but I prefer to do it on my own terms.
Clearly, the Christian walk demands selflessness on a level that is not easily reached, let alone maintained. We are called to give of our "time, talents, and treasure" to quote a popular evangelical saying. Jesus called us to lay down our lives for Him, and for our brothers and sisters.
On the other hand, between my counseling and law degrees, I've learned the hard lesson that if you don't take care of yourself, you will burn out. I've noticed that people, rather than striking a balance between selflessness and so-called selfishness (I prefer the term "self-care"), will tend to go one way or another. Either they will be unable to say no, and will therefore find themselves worried, anxious, and exhausted, or they will be entirely selfish, and not consider the needs of others at all.
When I was counseling, a lot of the women I worked with tended to give too much of themselves. I think this is fairly typical of what the Church and our culture demands. Women are often the main caregivers, and take care of the lion's share of weekly household chores--often while working full time. These women had nothing left to give, and wondered why they were depressed and exhausted, when just an hour or two a week of doing something that recharged them would have done wonders. The bottom line is that we are called to love our neighbors as ourselves, which seems to suggest a certain amount of self-love. It's a toss-up as to which one is more difficult at times.
Finding the balance, therefore, between doing for others and doing for ourselves is difficult to say the least. That's one reason why I got a cat, to be honest. One of these days, I do want to have children, and it's probably a good idea to get used to the idea of being responsible for something or someone other than myself. I was better at it when I had a roommate to consider, but when you live alone, the "selflessness muscles" atrophy, and pretty quickly, too.
In general, I think the rewards greatly outweigh the burdens you encounter when allowing other people and things in your life, no matter which side of the line you tend to wind up on. When you take time for yourself and exercise what the therapists call "a little healthy selfishness" you'll have more to give to others. I know that when I've recharged, it's easier for me to be completely there with and for another person who needs me. And the burdens of knowing that you are responsible to someone or something is worth it as well. In fact, I'd argue that love is always worth it.
People will say that getting a pet, like having a child, changes your life. Although the two are not quite on the same level, it's true. Of course, anytime you open your life to another person, or an animal, you give up a little of your autonomy. I can't just leave home anymore without considering the cat's needs. If I run out of certain cat-related necessities, I have to make time to go to the store. If I would prefer writing, and the cat would prefer sitting on my keyboard because I am supposed to be scratching her under the chin, the writing is highly unlikely to get done.
This whole thing was the reason I was hesitant, and not a little nervous, about getting a cat. The truth is that I like having my own space, and being able to do my own thing, whenever I want to do it. I am, at heart, an introvert, and probably a fairly selfish person. I don't mind helping others, or taking care of others, but I prefer to do it on my own terms.
Clearly, the Christian walk demands selflessness on a level that is not easily reached, let alone maintained. We are called to give of our "time, talents, and treasure" to quote a popular evangelical saying. Jesus called us to lay down our lives for Him, and for our brothers and sisters.
On the other hand, between my counseling and law degrees, I've learned the hard lesson that if you don't take care of yourself, you will burn out. I've noticed that people, rather than striking a balance between selflessness and so-called selfishness (I prefer the term "self-care"), will tend to go one way or another. Either they will be unable to say no, and will therefore find themselves worried, anxious, and exhausted, or they will be entirely selfish, and not consider the needs of others at all.
When I was counseling, a lot of the women I worked with tended to give too much of themselves. I think this is fairly typical of what the Church and our culture demands. Women are often the main caregivers, and take care of the lion's share of weekly household chores--often while working full time. These women had nothing left to give, and wondered why they were depressed and exhausted, when just an hour or two a week of doing something that recharged them would have done wonders. The bottom line is that we are called to love our neighbors as ourselves, which seems to suggest a certain amount of self-love. It's a toss-up as to which one is more difficult at times.
Finding the balance, therefore, between doing for others and doing for ourselves is difficult to say the least. That's one reason why I got a cat, to be honest. One of these days, I do want to have children, and it's probably a good idea to get used to the idea of being responsible for something or someone other than myself. I was better at it when I had a roommate to consider, but when you live alone, the "selflessness muscles" atrophy, and pretty quickly, too.
In general, I think the rewards greatly outweigh the burdens you encounter when allowing other people and things in your life, no matter which side of the line you tend to wind up on. When you take time for yourself and exercise what the therapists call "a little healthy selfishness" you'll have more to give to others. I know that when I've recharged, it's easier for me to be completely there with and for another person who needs me. And the burdens of knowing that you are responsible to someone or something is worth it as well. In fact, I'd argue that love is always worth it.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Breaking Down Boxes
In the language of psychologists, they're called heuristics, mental shortcuts that we all use to make sense of the plethora of information thrown at us on a daily basis. Most people will be familiar with what is possibly the most famous of these heuristics: stereotypes. And most will agree that stereotypes are Bad--with a capital "B". Then again, the dictionary defines "stereotype" as "a simplified and standardized conception or image invested with special meaning and held in common by members of a group. " In a speech, or writing, for example, a stereotype can serve as shorthand to evoke a particular memory or emotion, and can be enormously helpful. Professionals use what are essentially stereotypes on a daily basis: the lawyer deciding what sort of case they may accept, the doctor determining what sort of disease their patient most likely has, the police officer deciding whether or not the person they just pulled over for speeding is also transporting drugs.
There is absolutely no question that stereotypes, and other mental shortcuts, can be helpful, particularly when you are overwhelmed by information. As human beings, we like to make sense of things, and if you can apply a cut-and-dried label to a particular person or situation, you are much more likely to know how to deal with it. Of course, this assumes that cut-and-dried labels actually work, and perhaps they do for certain discrete situations, such as when defining or describing a large group. In that situation, generalizations are either necessary or impossible, and so if you have to describe a group (like politicians or lawyers), you're going to end up painting many individuals with the same brush (like corrupt or materialistic). Chances are there is enough truth to those stereotypes that you are going to be right at least some of the time, even if you're also wrong.
Things get tricky when you wander out of the world of description, from which bad (and good) jokes are made, and into the world of prescription (how to live/structure your life). When you base the prescription for a certain action or certain behavior on generalizations, you end up hurting people that you probably intended to help. It is, I'm afraid, a situation I've run into far too many times, especially within the Church.
I don't mean to imply that Christians are particularly bad about this sort of thing, or that they are not (as a body) thoughtful people. I only mean that when Christians stereotype, they are not applying that generalization to one category, but to at least two, and generally those categories are so integral to a person that to say, "You do not fit my stereotype of how X sort of person behaves" is also to say, "You are not a good [X], and also not a good Christian." In short, you are saying that the person is not fulfilling God's expectations for how a [fill in the blank] Christian is to live. For someone whose deepest desire is to follow God and to do His will, this sort of criticism cuts right down to the bone.
Since this is a blog about how faith intersects with feminism, among other things, I'm sure you all see where I'm going with this. One of the most insidious generalizations that Christians can make apply to men and women as discrete groups. I cannot say this strongly enough: while a person's gender affects much, if not most, of what they do and think and say, that person is first and foremost a human being, an individual, and secondarily a man or woman. "Male" and "female" modify human, and not the other way around. We see this in the very beginning, in Genesis, where it says that "male and female God created them." It does not say that God created men, and God created women, as though they are different species, although I'm sure there are plenty of people who would say that it certainly feels that way sometimes.
Why is this even an issue? Because when we define roles for men and women so strictly as to disallow all God-created individuality, we set ourselves up as gods over others. And no, I do not believe that language is too strong. For example, when we run across a woman who clearly has the gift of discernment, who is a talented speaker and preacher, who has the wit and wisdom to lead a congregation, and we say to her, "Your role as shepherd of a flock is an offense to God," we are assuming God's role, and negating God's call on her life. When we say to a man, who is an effective nurturer, who is gifted in raising and rearing children, and who desires to be a nurse, or a stay-at-home father, or other not stereotypically male job, "You are in violation of God's call for all men to work outside the home and provide for his family," we are negating God's call on his life.
I hope that you can begin to see what this sort of response does to a person. It does not simply say, "You are a bad man/woman," but also, "You are a bad Christian, and a bad person." This sort of perspective is disastrous, because it forces people into roles they are ill-equipped to take on, while also demanding that they be something they are not. Moreover, it leaves many ill-equipped to deal with unexpected situations that crop up: a woman suddenly called to lead and care for her family, because she has lost her husband, doing things "a woman is not supposed to do"; a man who is suddenly thrust into a position of a single father, or a caretaker for his disabled wife, doing things that "a man is not supposed to do."
And, because we are a community of believers, and not simply a group of individuals, such a viewpoint also acts to stunt the growth of the body as a whole. If it is true, and the Church is a body, injury to one member is injury to all, and if we do not nurture and develop the gifts of one individual, or a group of individuals, we stunt the body as a whole.
What is really irritating is when our culturally assumed stereotypes become "God-given truth," rather than being seen for the culturally driven myths that they are. For example, the idea that women cannot lead because they are too emotional, and too easily deceived, or the myth of the male libido--that all men want sex all the time and cannot exercise self control. Not only does that do a disservice to women, telling them that they "need" someone to make decisions for them because they certainly cannot make decisions on their own, but also to men, by placing the burden on their shoulders for the actions and decisions of the women in their lives. Telling men that they can't control themselves frees them from personal responsibility in the area of their sexual desires, but it also places a burden on women to avoid inciting men to sexual desire or violence because the men cannot control their responses. And it ostracizes women who have strong sexual desires by making it appear as though they are abnormal.
These are simply two gendered stereotypes often found in within the Church. I could probably write a book on it, and certainly others already have.
Once we do away with these culturally enforced stereotypes we see these myths for what they truly are. All people have blind spots, and some have less discernment than others--men and women. Knowing our weaknesses, we can go to the Church, to the body, for support and guidance, trusting that God and our brothers and sisters will strengthen us. When we realize that sexual desire falls on a continuum, that some are more prone to stumbling in this area than others--male and female, we can encourage personal responsibility, and act without censure to shore up those who may be inclined to fail.
When we break down boxes, when we do away with stereotypes within the Christian context, we can begin to see individuals as God created them to be: complicated, interesting, no one the same as the next. We can celebrate gifts and shore up weaknesses. We can help our fellow brothers and sisters to reach their God-given potential, and forge relationships that allow us to best serve the others in our lives. We can encourage both personal responsibility and true community, as each individual serves God and one another in Christ.
Just as we were created to do.
There is absolutely no question that stereotypes, and other mental shortcuts, can be helpful, particularly when you are overwhelmed by information. As human beings, we like to make sense of things, and if you can apply a cut-and-dried label to a particular person or situation, you are much more likely to know how to deal with it. Of course, this assumes that cut-and-dried labels actually work, and perhaps they do for certain discrete situations, such as when defining or describing a large group. In that situation, generalizations are either necessary or impossible, and so if you have to describe a group (like politicians or lawyers), you're going to end up painting many individuals with the same brush (like corrupt or materialistic). Chances are there is enough truth to those stereotypes that you are going to be right at least some of the time, even if you're also wrong.
Things get tricky when you wander out of the world of description, from which bad (and good) jokes are made, and into the world of prescription (how to live/structure your life). When you base the prescription for a certain action or certain behavior on generalizations, you end up hurting people that you probably intended to help. It is, I'm afraid, a situation I've run into far too many times, especially within the Church.
I don't mean to imply that Christians are particularly bad about this sort of thing, or that they are not (as a body) thoughtful people. I only mean that when Christians stereotype, they are not applying that generalization to one category, but to at least two, and generally those categories are so integral to a person that to say, "You do not fit my stereotype of how X sort of person behaves" is also to say, "You are not a good [X], and also not a good Christian." In short, you are saying that the person is not fulfilling God's expectations for how a [fill in the blank] Christian is to live. For someone whose deepest desire is to follow God and to do His will, this sort of criticism cuts right down to the bone.
Since this is a blog about how faith intersects with feminism, among other things, I'm sure you all see where I'm going with this. One of the most insidious generalizations that Christians can make apply to men and women as discrete groups. I cannot say this strongly enough: while a person's gender affects much, if not most, of what they do and think and say, that person is first and foremost a human being, an individual, and secondarily a man or woman. "Male" and "female" modify human, and not the other way around. We see this in the very beginning, in Genesis, where it says that "male and female God created them." It does not say that God created men, and God created women, as though they are different species, although I'm sure there are plenty of people who would say that it certainly feels that way sometimes.
Why is this even an issue? Because when we define roles for men and women so strictly as to disallow all God-created individuality, we set ourselves up as gods over others. And no, I do not believe that language is too strong. For example, when we run across a woman who clearly has the gift of discernment, who is a talented speaker and preacher, who has the wit and wisdom to lead a congregation, and we say to her, "Your role as shepherd of a flock is an offense to God," we are assuming God's role, and negating God's call on her life. When we say to a man, who is an effective nurturer, who is gifted in raising and rearing children, and who desires to be a nurse, or a stay-at-home father, or other not stereotypically male job, "You are in violation of God's call for all men to work outside the home and provide for his family," we are negating God's call on his life.
I hope that you can begin to see what this sort of response does to a person. It does not simply say, "You are a bad man/woman," but also, "You are a bad Christian, and a bad person." This sort of perspective is disastrous, because it forces people into roles they are ill-equipped to take on, while also demanding that they be something they are not. Moreover, it leaves many ill-equipped to deal with unexpected situations that crop up: a woman suddenly called to lead and care for her family, because she has lost her husband, doing things "a woman is not supposed to do"; a man who is suddenly thrust into a position of a single father, or a caretaker for his disabled wife, doing things that "a man is not supposed to do."
And, because we are a community of believers, and not simply a group of individuals, such a viewpoint also acts to stunt the growth of the body as a whole. If it is true, and the Church is a body, injury to one member is injury to all, and if we do not nurture and develop the gifts of one individual, or a group of individuals, we stunt the body as a whole.
What is really irritating is when our culturally assumed stereotypes become "God-given truth," rather than being seen for the culturally driven myths that they are. For example, the idea that women cannot lead because they are too emotional, and too easily deceived, or the myth of the male libido--that all men want sex all the time and cannot exercise self control. Not only does that do a disservice to women, telling them that they "need" someone to make decisions for them because they certainly cannot make decisions on their own, but also to men, by placing the burden on their shoulders for the actions and decisions of the women in their lives. Telling men that they can't control themselves frees them from personal responsibility in the area of their sexual desires, but it also places a burden on women to avoid inciting men to sexual desire or violence because the men cannot control their responses. And it ostracizes women who have strong sexual desires by making it appear as though they are abnormal.
These are simply two gendered stereotypes often found in within the Church. I could probably write a book on it, and certainly others already have.
Once we do away with these culturally enforced stereotypes we see these myths for what they truly are. All people have blind spots, and some have less discernment than others--men and women. Knowing our weaknesses, we can go to the Church, to the body, for support and guidance, trusting that God and our brothers and sisters will strengthen us. When we realize that sexual desire falls on a continuum, that some are more prone to stumbling in this area than others--male and female, we can encourage personal responsibility, and act without censure to shore up those who may be inclined to fail.
When we break down boxes, when we do away with stereotypes within the Christian context, we can begin to see individuals as God created them to be: complicated, interesting, no one the same as the next. We can celebrate gifts and shore up weaknesses. We can help our fellow brothers and sisters to reach their God-given potential, and forge relationships that allow us to best serve the others in our lives. We can encourage both personal responsibility and true community, as each individual serves God and one another in Christ.
Just as we were created to do.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
A Call to Community
Recently, there has been some drama in various corners of the internet where I live. One such piece of drama involved a role playing game (RPG) for the Harry Potter fandom, where the moderators called it "Kristallnacht." For those of you not familiar with the name, it is translated "Night of the Broken Glass," and was a key point in World War II history, where the Nazis harmed thousands of Jews, arrested a number of them, and looted stores and businesses. As you might imagine, the choice to name a game after such a night caused many quite a bit of anger, and when some folks expressed that anger, the creators of the game responded with comments like, "It's ancient history. Get over it." I'm sure you can guess how well that went over."
I've been following this whole kerfuffle with some interest. You see, I love history, and have ever since I was a small child. History, to me, is just as good as fantasy or sci-fi. History is a story that really happened, and like other stories, we have a chance to learn from it. I have noticed a dearth of interest in history among people of my generation, however. If it's not now, current, and affecting you (generic) personally, then it doesn't matter.
Having followed a link to a post from one of the people who was most responsible for keeping the flames of anger burning, I saw the following comment (from her, in response to someone else):
You're still thinking that I'm saying you don't have a right to be upset, which isn't it at all. But as people, we need to look out for ourselves and decide the right actions for us to take. In my journal, I am expressing where I know I fucked up and what I need to work on. I'm coping with my emotions in a manner that isn't going out and attacking people.
Then, after following a link to a story about the conditions in Auschwitz, I was struck by the similarity to this statement made by a former SS officer after being asked if he felt badly that he'd made his own life more comfortable stealing from the victims while millions died:
Oskar Gröning: "Absolutely not. Everybody is looking out for themselves. So many people died in the war, not only Jews. So many things happened, so many were shot, so many snuffed it. People burnt to death, so many were burnt, if I thought about all of that I wouldn't be able to live one minute longer."
I want to be clear that I'm not equating the actions of the two. One was a foolish girl who made inflammatory and ignorant remarks about a period of history that she has clearly not studied in depth. (Because no one could tell another person to "get over" the Holocaust if they'd studied it at all.) The other was an SS officer who was complicit in the deaths of thousands, if not millions, who died at the hands of the Nazis. It's the sense of "I am going to look out for my own interests and am responsible to no one" that gets me.
The truth, the whole truth, is that we are all responsible to one another. It's an unpopular opinion in these days of extreme individualism, but every action that you or I take will have an impact on another. A statement you make denigrating someone's religion or race will impact them negatively, which could then cause them to respond negatively to someone else down the road. For example, take Anne Coulter. She claims to be a Christian, and yet her statements cause so many to feel that all Christians are bigoted idiots, which then affects me, someone she doesn't even know. Because then, when I say that I'm a Christian, those who know of Anne Coulter and don't really know me, draw an obvious comparison.
Hundreds of years ago, John Donne said that "no man is an island." I'm sure that if he lived today, in the time of gender neutrality in writing, he would have said that "no person is an island," and that is absolutely true. We cannot only be responsible to ourselves and for ourselves, or the whole world descends into chaos. We must also be responsible to others and for others, or we lose what makes us human. The choice to look out only for ourselves, to not think about others, or future generations is what has resulted in the degradation of the environment, in the choice to look the other way while another is molested or suffers abuse.
So, consider this a call to a community perspective. Is it possible that we can reverse years of ingrained individualism and think of our neighbor? As a Christian, I am called to "love my neighbor as myself," but couldn't we all do that? And wouldn't the world be a better place as a result?
I'm not saying that we should all be "nice" all the time, and stifle our emotions. It may actually mean that we call things what they are--that we say to someone, hey, you're being rude, or abusive, or cruel. It may mean that we make some waves in calling bad behavior just that. It might mean that we take the harder road, and lose friends.
Or maybe it means that we end up being better people with bigger hearts. I could live with that.
I've been following this whole kerfuffle with some interest. You see, I love history, and have ever since I was a small child. History, to me, is just as good as fantasy or sci-fi. History is a story that really happened, and like other stories, we have a chance to learn from it. I have noticed a dearth of interest in history among people of my generation, however. If it's not now, current, and affecting you (generic) personally, then it doesn't matter.
Having followed a link to a post from one of the people who was most responsible for keeping the flames of anger burning, I saw the following comment (from her, in response to someone else):
You're still thinking that I'm saying you don't have a right to be upset, which isn't it at all. But as people, we need to look out for ourselves and decide the right actions for us to take. In my journal, I am expressing where I know I fucked up and what I need to work on. I'm coping with my emotions in a manner that isn't going out and attacking people.
Then, after following a link to a story about the conditions in Auschwitz, I was struck by the similarity to this statement made by a former SS officer after being asked if he felt badly that he'd made his own life more comfortable stealing from the victims while millions died:
Oskar Gröning: "Absolutely not. Everybody is looking out for themselves. So many people died in the war, not only Jews. So many things happened, so many were shot, so many snuffed it. People burnt to death, so many were burnt, if I thought about all of that I wouldn't be able to live one minute longer."
I want to be clear that I'm not equating the actions of the two. One was a foolish girl who made inflammatory and ignorant remarks about a period of history that she has clearly not studied in depth. (Because no one could tell another person to "get over" the Holocaust if they'd studied it at all.) The other was an SS officer who was complicit in the deaths of thousands, if not millions, who died at the hands of the Nazis. It's the sense of "I am going to look out for my own interests and am responsible to no one" that gets me.
The truth, the whole truth, is that we are all responsible to one another. It's an unpopular opinion in these days of extreme individualism, but every action that you or I take will have an impact on another. A statement you make denigrating someone's religion or race will impact them negatively, which could then cause them to respond negatively to someone else down the road. For example, take Anne Coulter. She claims to be a Christian, and yet her statements cause so many to feel that all Christians are bigoted idiots, which then affects me, someone she doesn't even know. Because then, when I say that I'm a Christian, those who know of Anne Coulter and don't really know me, draw an obvious comparison.
Hundreds of years ago, John Donne said that "no man is an island." I'm sure that if he lived today, in the time of gender neutrality in writing, he would have said that "no person is an island," and that is absolutely true. We cannot only be responsible to ourselves and for ourselves, or the whole world descends into chaos. We must also be responsible to others and for others, or we lose what makes us human. The choice to look out only for ourselves, to not think about others, or future generations is what has resulted in the degradation of the environment, in the choice to look the other way while another is molested or suffers abuse.
So, consider this a call to a community perspective. Is it possible that we can reverse years of ingrained individualism and think of our neighbor? As a Christian, I am called to "love my neighbor as myself," but couldn't we all do that? And wouldn't the world be a better place as a result?
I'm not saying that we should all be "nice" all the time, and stifle our emotions. It may actually mean that we call things what they are--that we say to someone, hey, you're being rude, or abusive, or cruel. It may mean that we make some waves in calling bad behavior just that. It might mean that we take the harder road, and lose friends.
Or maybe it means that we end up being better people with bigger hearts. I could live with that.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
It's a War, I Say
The truth is that it's hard to be a woman. A co-worker and I were joking today that if men had to go through with half the stuff that we have to, the world would come screeching to a halt. I don't actually believe that, but since I'm dealing with the monthly curse today (and it is a curse), I suspect that there might be some truth to it.
Apart from just the physical aspects, however, there is also the cultural aspects. Dismiss me as a hysterical feminist if you wish, but nearly every culture has waged war against women, making it more and more difficult to embrace our authentic selves, to fully enjoy our femininity--however we choose to define it. I have several examples, but we'll start with just one for today. You'll be seeing the other two in subsequent posts.
I ran across this news article this week and was appalled for a number of reasons, most of them probably fairly obvious. The quest for youth and beauty isn't new, of course, nor is it limited just to women. I couldn't help but notice that most of those quoted in the article, or shown in the slideshow, were women. I can't count the number of articles I've read about modeling companies wanting younger and younger girls (and I do mean "girls") to capture the essence of youth. Where before 25 seemed young, now it appears as though that's old-maidhood. The fact that one woman in the article was 26 when she started getting "preventative" Botox treatments to prevent the formation of wrinkles seems rather obscene to me, particularly when you consider what Botox really is. I don't know about anyone else, but I'd prefer not to have a dangerous toxin injected into my facial muscles in order to destroy all lines--and expression.
The fact is that I'm 28, and I've started seeing the fine lines and wrinkles that seem so abhorrent to our culture today. And I can guaran-damn-tee that I won't be getting Botox, nor would I choose to get surgical enhancements. As far as I can see, there are way too many ways to go wrong, and when it does go wrong, it goes really wrong. The only way you can hide those results, at least on your face, is by walking around with a paper bag over your head, which is like wearing a big neon sign announcing that something has gone badly wrong.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that you shouldn't take care of yourself. I've heard that moisturizing can do wonders, and if you could see my maternal grandmother, you'd know that staying out of the sun can do a lot for you, too. I'm not saying that there's anything wrong with wearing makeup, or plucking stray hairs, whatever conforms to your sense of beauty. But the idea of trying to erase all signs of aging seems downright wrong. We're human; we age. Eventually, we die.
Call me crazy, but I think that we as women should embrace every line, wrinkle and gray hair. Why, you ask? How many women die before they can show any of those things? How many women's lives have ended early? How many women have been killed by breast cancer or other forms of cancer? How many women have been murdered?
In short, how many women would have loved the chance to see another gray hair or another line or wrinkle? How many loved ones would have adored the opportunity to see their mother or sister or daughter or wife or girlfriend simply age? Why should we as women (and men!) feel pressured to "not give into" the signs of aging, when those very signs indicate that we have been given a precious gift of time.
To me, the very emphasis on erasing wrinkles at the expense of real human emotion, at erasing laugh lines that evidence the fact that we have lived and felt joy, says a lot about our culture, and none of it good. In my opinion, it's time we embrace our own humanity again, and that of others. It's time to reject a culture steeped in the sort of shallowness that would call on us to reject who we are, who we have been created to be, to erase all individuality and uniqueness.
Maybe, just maybe, it's time to learn how to love ourselves and our bodies, imperfections and all.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)