In October, Jonathan and i did what we love to do most of all: took off for a new place to meet each other all over again. My brother Thom was studying in Prague for the semester and it was … Continue reading
I first met Rebecca Ripperton when i was told she was my twin.
Not really my biological twin, of course, but my twin for the course of the community production of Twelfth Night we’d been cast in as sophomores in high school, she as Sebastian and i as Viola. Later, she would be my own Beatrice when i directed Much Ado About Nothing. Our friendship blossomed from that shared love of theatre and Shakespeare.
“We, as human beings, are too varied and seemingly-complex to merit anything less ambiguous and powerful. It seems as though it is in our very nature is to be obsessed with stories, and to understand and define ourselves through the telling of tales; it is a way to uncover our innermost selves, our viscera, to the world.”
Ever a lover of a good story, when she asked me to be one of the subjects interviewed i was more than honored and delighted. Her questions were sometimes painful to answer, not because she was intrusive but because they were such thoughtful questions that really sought the heart of my own story.
Below is a snippet from my interview, and you can read the whole piece here. Rebecca is doing some truly earnest, poignant work on Viscera and i cannot wait to see how it grows!
I wish I could say what has bothered me most has been the rampant sexism, racism, and homophobia in the church – which, obviously, bothers me on the molecular level – but I think the more I walk with people who I’m tempted to first write off as hypocrites the more I learn that God loves them, too. And being a feminist pastor means I dance that line of holding people accountable and care for their whole, imperfect selves.
My husband taught me this the most, really; I was ranting against the misogyny of an old white guy in our church, and it was Jonathan who said “Yeah, but when he’s dying of cancer in a hospital, someone has to go and pray with him as he readies himself to meet God. Even racist Christians need pastors to do their funerals.” And I was like, “shit, that’s what radical love looks like.” Leading a Jesus life seems to me to be the pursuit of the impossible.
To the first: if you self-identify as that beautifully paradoxical and frustratingly poignant mix of feminist and Christian, AND now you’re planning a wedding, bless you. And please know that, contrary to the title, this post is not a one-size-for-all guide. … Continue reading
Texts: Matthew 2:1 – 12 & Book of Wisdom 10: 15-21 Our texts this morning are drawn from two sources: one I imagine is familiar to you all: the Gospel of Matthew. The other, however, is a little less known – … Continue reading
For Mother’s Day this year, a group of Christian theologians and musicians created an alternative liturgy honoring the motherly aspects of God. The central piece of this motherly worship was an apophatic meditation – an ancient form of prayer meant to … Continue reading
“To what extent are we all afraid of angering people?” She was talking about the fear to broach the race question in church. Fears that when white pastors tell their old white parishioners (who give a collection-tin full of money) that … Continue reading
It’s been a little quiet on the blog recently because … We got married! On an unseasonably cool day in North-Carolina-August, in the midst of the most torrential downpour, we finally, finally got married. Encompassed by the love of all our … Continue reading
The essay is an adaptation from Courageous Conversations: Christian Women Unearthing the Unspeakable (RCWMS Press, 2013). Volumed edited by elizabeth mcmanus. You can purchase your very own copy here!
I have a birthmark on my left ankle that vaguely resembles the state of Mississippi.
I started calling myself a feminist sometime in the tenth grade but really, i’ve been one since i flopped out into the doctor’s hands during my mother’s C-section. I was actually born again – literally. The doctor’s hands slipped and i plopped right back in, all squiggly and screaming and not ready for the cleanliness and paralyzing order of the real world. In precisely 26 days, i’ll be twenty-two. Twenty-two whole years since being born, and then born again.
And in precisely 14 days, i’ll be getting married. To a dude. Who wants to be a Methodist pastor.
Of all the interesting things there are to say about me – and, believe me, i find them all very interesting – it seems my impending nuptials are the most important to everyone else. Which is, to put it mildly, pretty frustrating.
It was the #1 reason why i held off on dating Jonathan as long as i did.
He was called to be a pastor. That was unmistakable – not just because of his gentleness and his ability to be present and yet unobtrusive.
Jonathan has termed it playing theological pick-up basketball: when we’re planted in our seatbelts or on the couch inevitably we end up debating Hauerwas or arguing over Pauline ethics. His otherwise hospital-bare bachelor pad had a Walmart bookshelf spilling over with theology- half of which he would just read for fun.
I knew what i was in for. My mother answered her childhood convictions at 40. Her first day at Duke Divinity School was my first day of sixth grade. I’m not sure who sported more acne that year from stress. She is a woman in a hostile man’s world, and she is a mother in a profession that has decidedly privileged congregational needs above the health of pastors and their families.
Maybe it’s the fuel in the gaslights, or maybe my if-i-had-a-dime jar has just cracked from the weight of the coins. You know, the jar for every time i have to endure “Well, I am not a feminist but I believe in equality.” Followed by how womyn who care about dismantling oppression inherently hate all men, and fuss too much, and really, what’s with the armpit hair?
I’m done with “equality.”
I’m done with people thinking a woman for Bishop means sexism isn’t still real in the church, that the apple cart shouldn’t be rocked so the church can grow (and get whiter and richer), done with the idea that in our post-racial society talking about prison and the new Jim Crow is bad dinner manners.
I really don’t like bashing other womyn, especially when i’m venting to a keyboard and not to breathing bones. But Sheryl Sandberg’s Lean In phenomena (however passé that is in summer reads) just doesn’t cut it for me.