Feminary

Be Kind, Rewind. Then Press Stop.

2009-06-20T09:50:00.000-07:00

The last several weeks have been a blur of grandparents visiting, first birthday fun, new babies for several friends, and big surprises: primarily that, quite out of the blue, we found a house for rent, right in the middle of Fuller's housing, that costs the same as what we pay here. And it looks like it's ours.

Which means: we are moving back to Pasadena, to LA, to All Saints, to our friends there, to my midwife (yay! but not pregnant - yet), and to the several schools with which John has experience teaching that are probably a lot more inclined to ask him back than the places up here he's applied to. While I've begun many relationships up here and even made a few good friends, our main support network is still down there. I mean, you can't really recreate 13 years worth of connections in 1 year.

But I am really grateful for the people I met up here. The moms especially have been so fun to hang out with as we share our daughters' lives. Maggie has many fans and is the biggest fan of the big kids who hang out with us. And of course there's the food pantry, which is my church community, the people with whom I share meaningful work, and that bonds you in a way that is special. My other church community - the Sunday morning crowd - is also full of lovely people who've embraced our family, and they will be greatly missed.

Up here, the job market is abysmal. Predictions indicate jobs won't return in number until 2012. John not only couldn't find teaching work, he can't find any work. At least down south we have a lot of connections in all kinds of weird places; it's quite possible people can throw him a few days' work on a film crew, in an office, or even cooking or babysitting or running errands. He's even done yard work for the older ladies at church. There just seems to be more opportunity.

But most of all this is about returning Home, to the community and city where our hearts live, and where we most want to be. Or as John put it: "It's like we've had a near-death experience, and we're never going to take LA for granted again. We almost lost it forever. Now we're going to do all the things we always talked about but never actually got to do."

Being our resident philosopher, he's always describing our life in such poetic ways. Another thing he said to me, shortly after we decided to apply for the house: "Well, you kept saying you wanted a do-over. I guess you're getting it."

Exactly. Rewind my life back a year, and start again, this time making the right decisions. Staying home with my baby instead of barreling on through school, and staying within my home city. But I get to do it with a one-year-old who is way more fun now than she was last year at this time!

It's not like moving up here was a humongous mistake that I regret. I don't regret the friends I've made, and John pointed out that I basically got to do a year's internship at St. Gregory's, observing their worship and the food pantry inreach. I actually think I might have to start a pantry based on their model down in LA. I don't think I can live without it; it's become too important.

But how often do you get the chance to try again, knowing now what you wished you'd known then? It's a gift, it really is.

So that's the Be Kind, Rewind part of my title. Now for the Press Stop.

As you've no doubt noticed, I really don't have time to maintain this blog anymore. And since it was started as a reflection of my journey through seminary - and academia beyond - I don't have anything much to say anymore about that. Being a full-time mom just isn't what Feminary is about, and that's perfectly OK. I'd rather keep it in kind of a pristine time-warp. My obsession with food issues will continue over at FoodiEvangelist, but the Feminarian is retiring - or at least, taking a very long maternity leave.

If God is so good as to grant me entrance to the ordination process (for real) one day, then I might pick this blog back up again to talk about that experience. But that's going to be, I would guess, a long time from now, because I'm just way too gun-shy to throw myself back into that pain again. (OK I will admit that moving back to the parish & diocese where people know me is appealing...but I'm not expecting anything to happen)

So, thank you to those of you who have read from the beginning. It's been quite a journey. And thanks to you who've joined us more recently; go back and read some of the early stuff - it's funny and heartbreaking. I've grown so much through these last years, and almost all of it has been good (or at least character-building).

That's all she wrote. Peace. Out.

Michael Rowe: No More Mr. Nice Gay

2009-05-27T17:40:00.001-07:00

Michael Rowe: No More Mr. Nice Gay

"All, too, will bear in mind this sacred principle, that though the will of the majority is in all cases to prevail, that will, to be rightful, must be reasonable; that the minority possess their equal rights, which equal laws must protect, and to violate would be oppression." -- Thomas Jefferson

As hard as I try to find another way to say this, yesterday's California Supreme Court decision makes this unattractive concept abundantly clear: gays and lesbians are now the only minority in America against whom discrimination is not only legal, but in many cases, encouraged. California has become the first state in U.S. history to amend its constitution to deprive a minority of a right that they had been legally granted.

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The American Patriot's Bible

2009-05-06T16:33:00.000-07:00

As it is my duty to bring to your attention items that will make you vomit, I present this new work: The American Patriot's Bible.

According to the blurb: THE ONE BIBLE THAT SHOWS HOW 'A LIGHT FROM ABOVE' SHAPED OUR NATION. Never has a version of the Bible targeted the spiritual needs of those who love our country more than The American Patriot's Bible. This extremely unique Bible shows how the history of the United States connects the people and events of the Bible to our lives in a modern world. The story of the United States is wonderfully woven into the teachings of the Bible and includes a beautiful full-color family record section [LDS alert - are they the target audience?], memorable images from our nation's history and hundreds of enlightening articles which complement the New King James Version Bible text.

But really, nobody can say it much better than this 5-star reviewer, RG from east texas:

Finally a Bible for the American Conservative Evangelical! With this Bible we can finally stop apologizing for the genocide of 20 million Native Americans and the enslavement of millions of African Americans. These events, along with the theft of Northern Mexico (Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, Nevada, Colorado and California) can be rightly seen as the manifest destiny of God's chosen people. The waterboarding of hundreds and the deaths of over 100,000 Filipinos can be seen as the ethnic cleansing required to spread the gospel of democracy during the Spanish American War. The atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki can forever be seen as the necessary prevention of the deaths of millions and the beliefs of General Eisenhower and many others that it was merely America's way of proving our moral and military superiority to Russia and the rest of the world can be laid to rest. The blood of our soldiers and our Savior should be seen as equally important and efficacious.

The constant and consistent oppresive and imperialistic actions of the United States are not only forgivable but are manifestations of God's will when scriptures are properly applied. This Bible will help anyone understand these truths. It would have been nice if Thomas Nelson had performed a Jeffersonian edit and removed all the New Testament references about loving one's enemies and overcoming evil with good, but in reality these truths have been so long ignored in the United Satates that I have little doubt they will continue to be ignored by North American Christians. A disturbing thought occasionaly creeps in - What if Jesus were really serious about loving one's enemies?. With this Bible those questions, undoubtedly planted by Satan, can easily be dismissed.

No need to read the "revisionist" history of atheists such as Howard Zinn in A Peoples History of the United States or James Loewen in Lies My Teacher Told Me. These pagans do not know Jesus so what can they know of love and truth? Sometimes killing someone is the most loving thing you can do and besides, wherein loving one's enemies does it say not to kill them? Remember the bumper stickers from the Vietnam era? - Kill 'em all and let God sort 'em out!
It is my hope that this Bible becomes the standard of every conservative evangelical pulpit in North America. Maybe it can be the straw that breaks the camel's back on books such as Greg Boyd's Myth of a Christian Nation. History has proven time and time again that theocracies are the most effective means of disseminating religion so the sooner we enforce a Christian theocracy the sooner Jesus will return. If only we could follow the radical Muslim pattern of a Taliban government and thereby insure that we are not left behind. The [...] that is Nationalism and Christianity may finally make that a reality.

Ah, even at my most virulent, I don't think I could have said it better. Bravo.

And while we're at it, let's take a moment to thank Obama for butting out of the church's business by not holding an official White House ceremony to commemorate the National Day of Prayer. It's almost as if he recognizes that you can be American and not believe in God!

A few links

2009-05-06T09:27:00.000-07:00

When (if?) I ever have a free moment I'll fill you in on the exciting events of my week, which so far have included a visit to the California Academy of Sciences, an interview for a campus ministry job at UC Santa Cruz, and an appointment with Kaiser's pelvic pain center (tmi?). But for now I only have a sec, so I'm going to lean on my colleagues and invite you to read these two wonderful reflections on the torture poll from Pew that I posted last week.

Hugo Schwyzer
David Gushee

WTFWJD?

2009-05-01T09:19:00.000-07:00

Great.

WASHINGTON (CNN) -- The more often Americans go to church, the more likely they are to support the torture of suspected terrorists, according to a new survey.

The more I see things like this, the more I wonder who are these people, what Bible are they reading, and which Jesus exactly do they think they belong to? Or, more accurately perhaps, belongs to them? (I've got Jesus in my heart)

I remember when J was teaching an ethics class at Biola University. He actually had to fight the students to convince them that they were supposed to try to be like Jesus. See, they had somehow gotten the idea (from their churches? or, yikes, theology/bible classes?) that Jesus' only job was to die, not to teach us how to live, and besides, he was God and sinless, so we couldn't possibly be like him anyway.

The stuff in the epistles about becoming perfect (and the Sermon on the Mount, for that matter) notwithstanding, this had somehow been translated into a totally different standard for the followers of Jesus than, well, anything he taught. I'm not sure where this other standard came from, exactly, but I know it includes a healthy dose of human ego and a decent amount of self-righteousness.

Anyway, I don't get it one bit. Here's a link to the study itself. I guess I'm just a totally different kind of churchgoer. Actually, one blogger said that "pew-sitters" were more likely to support torture - so maybe the trick is sitting in chairs instead of pews!

It's not surprising that we mainliners were the religious group most likely to say torture is never justified. But I find it really interesting that a quarter of the "religiously unaffiliated" said it never is. That means that more of the "religiously unaffiliated" understand and follow Jesus' teachings than do the majority of Christians!

It brings up an interesting question about morality, too: as in, where do the "godless" get their moral superiority? Hmmmm. Actually, J taught a whole class on that, too. Maybe I'll see if I can get him to blog about it. :)

The Pain of Love

2009-04-29T10:09:00.000-07:00

So last night I learned, through FB status updates, that three of my friends from seminary were named Postulants in the Episcopal Church. This is a solid step on the way to ordination. These friends - all women, all from Evangelical backgrounds (as the Fuller degrees attest) - were actually none of them Episcopalian when I met them, and 2 of the 3 had told me they'd never considered the priesthood. They were all, I think, surprised by the insistence of their congregations that they enter the process. And all of them have reached this important milestone together. How fun it must have been for them to be retreating together and be one another's support! And how interesting that it would be three Evangelical women on this road together (all, btw, in the ECUSA, not at splitting churches).

The flip side of this story is that this news, while wonderful, reduced me to sobs, as my own heart broke with the realization that, once again, I was not good enough, I chose the wrong churches or mentors, I fucked up my own process, and etc. on and on. I was already in the process when these women weren't even Episcopalian yet! I wanted nothing more - felt called and gifted to nothing else - and they didn't even realize God would be leading them this way!

But that's kind of the point, isn't it? That God uses the unexpected, the wrong, the vessel of clay? Perhaps I've just been too sure of my calling. It's seemed obvious, but perhaps that's why it's not true.

Yet this morning I opened my email to a message from a friend at my new church, who just read my post about Holy Week and affirmed what I said. She told me I was saying things she needed to hear - her exact words were "I could use a good sermon or two," specifically about sin. So there you go: even if the institution won't recognize me, apparently I can preach to people via this blog. Apparently I can still be a pastor of sorts, albeit a virtual one. It was a needed affirmation. And, it makes me all the more glad that I applied for a position as an online organizer for The Beatitudes Society. Fingers crossed.

Anyway, I should get to the reason that I titled this post as I did. Another thing I found this morning, courtesy of another seminary colleague, was a link to this amazing post: Love is Fucking Stupid. And as I read it and it flipped my mind around a little, and I questioned its motives then saw, at the end, that it was super powerful, I realized that this is how I've been feeling: really fucking stupid.

I have continued to trust all things, bear all things, believe all things, and hope all things, in my wasted, ridiculous, nowhere-going process. So maybe, instead of seeing myself as a dumb naive fool, I should remind myself that this might just be the way I'm supposed to be. Maybe I'm approaching the institution with love, even as I get repeatedly stomped on. And I can vouch for the fact that yeah, it hurts like a bitch. And I have no idea if it will be "worth it" in the end. But it is the only way I know how to go on. The only other option is to give up, get bitter, and abandon the church (and believe me, that was all I wanted to do last night when I learned of my friends' success).

But you know, I probably won't. I'll continue my retreat for a while, and remain in the relative security of shaping just one little life for Christ. But I imagine God will come calling again one of these days, and I know I will answer. I know no other way to be. She is irresistable to me.

Of Probable Interest

2009-04-28T10:58:00.000-07:00

An interesting statement co-written by one of my colleagues at the GTU:

http://sextilateral.blogspot.com/

Easter Vigilantes

2009-04-22T19:54:00.000-07:00

[I apologize for being gone for so long; my internet was down for nearly three weeks. I can hardly explain the isolation and suffering this caused; it is best not to go down that road. I will try to make up for it in the days ahead.]

This year I had rather a new experience for me, at least since I’ve been Episcopalian: I experienced a Holy Week that was not preceded by a Lent. Of course, I grew up without Lent, but then, I didn’t have much Holy Week then either (there was Good Friday for sure, and Easter Saturday when we got our baskets – in a pastor’s house, the only opportunity – and then Easter Sunday when we got new dresses, ate breakfast at church, and sometimes the choir did a cantata so that meant we didn’t have to listen to a very long sermon). I understood, self-righteously, that the real reason for Easter was Jesus’ resurrection and most people got it wrong; but, as with Christmas, I still really liked the special food and gifts and traditions, and as a child I’m sure I looked forward to egg dyeing far more than being reminded of Jesus’ death for the umpteenth time (because you know the substitutionary death is where we were actually saved, and the resurrection was just to prove Jesus was God after all). I know that once Reese’s put out peanut butter eggs, that became the number one reason to celebrate Easter…but I digress.

As I said, I got a little blast from my liturgical past this year as I went through a season that was ostensibly but not praxisly (if I may invent a word) Lenten. Now let me say up front that I really do love my new church community at St. Gregory’s, and I’ve joined the church precisely because they’ve welcomed our family so warmly and I feel so at home there. I enjoy the worship: the music, definitely, and the silence, and the art, and the way everything is put together. Certainly the openness of communion has won me over, and as I’ve mentioned before, the preaching is the best we heard since moving here. It has been fascinating and educational for me as a liturgical theologian.

And that is how I’d like to respond to the experience of Holy Week at this church: as a liturgist, attempting a quasi-removed perspective and somewhat objective analysis. I will probably get into my emotional response as well, but luckily, for the postmodernist, that must be taken into account as a valid part of the experience. But mainly I just wanted to put in all this disclaimer so that those from the church who might read this would know I’m not trying to be disparaging or personally attack anyone’s beloved liturgy, I’m simply attempting to evaluate, with the professional tools I’ve been given and the experience I’ve had in this denomination and others, how well the self-professed experimental approach has worked in this instance.

So, let’s begin with a general explanation of St. Gregory’s principles, the first and foremost of which, in relation to time, is this: there are two seasons, Easter and Easter’s Coming. Now this is at first glance an exciting and hopeful message, particularly to those who grew up in denominations focused only on the death of Christ (my hand’s up) or who thought of Christians merely as dreary or boring. Easter is our most joyful and celebratory season, to be sure, and there is definitely historical precedent for making every Sunday a resurrection day, the eighth day, the commemoration of Christ’s return to life. That is why we may stand before the altar rather than kneel. It is why we sing, most of the year, “Alleluia” and why we partake of the Heavenly Banquet. Sundays are certainly the most central day for Christians, and if our most central feast is Easter, then it makes some sense to conflate the two.

But if one looks at the span of history of the Church, one finds that Sunday hasn’t been regarded as merely celebratory. There are many other ways to worship God besides pure, unadulterated joy. Indeed, the main complaint against the Evangelical praise-and-worship movement is that it disregards aspects of the human experience outside of happiness and contentment with God. We must have a place to express the full range of our experience with God, including our doubts, fears, and grief. And, yes, our rebellion. One of St. Gregory’s other primary principles is that the only thing that matters is being God’s friend. Well, as our rector reminds us often, really being someone’s friend is not just sweetness and light; it means calling each other out on wrongdoing and hurtfulness, it means sometimes being unsure of the other’s motives, it means working through tough times because you believe that your friendship is worth it and that it will get good again. Not much unlike marriage, in fact, or parenthood.

And God is more than just Jesus the risen Christ, although God is absolutely and totally that. But She is also the God who is questioned in Job, who is yelled at in the Psalms, who changes Her mind in the Prophets, who judges harshly in Exodus, who shakes the mountains, casts down the mighty, lifts up the lowly, and feeds the hungry. If we are to truly be in relationship with this God, and enact that relationship in truth through our liturgy, then we cannot only celebrate the resurrection. It is a central thing, yes, but it’s not the only thing (and many – including me – would argue that the central thing might just be the incarnation, and the resurrection – like the crucifixion – simply the logical result of what really began at Bethlehem).

OK, so that’s my preface. Let me now talk about what I experienced.

First, let’s look at Lent. There was an Ash Wednesday service, which I unfortunately missed (it’s just too hard to get into the city on a weeknight). So the first time I attended church during Lent was on a Sunday, and it turned out to be just like all the other Sundays in Lent…which was, almost entirely, just like every other Sunday of the year. The words of the service did not change. We opened, as we always do, singing an “Alleluia” (and continuing singing or saying this “forbidden” word throughout the service, as usual). There were some minor changes to the vestments, but the icons were not veiled nor were the crosses changed. The bread and wine were the same as always (I wish that, in a church so in tune with food, they would at least try changing up these elements!). Most tellingly, while the hymns changed, the dance did not. And while the words of the hymns were bespeaking a Lenten season, and the keys were minor, because we danced in the same way (and the dancing often takes much of one’s attention), the changes were not felt in our bodies as much as they could have been. To jump ahead: on Good Friday the dance slowed down…waaaaay down…and I wondered: why couldn’t this have been done the entire Lenten season? It was difficult to do it that one time; after four or five weeks, though, we’d have had it down and could have really focused on whatever we were singing for the Good Friday liturgy. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

The other thing that is never done at St. Gregory’s on Sunday because it is the belief of the founders that it is never appropriate on Sunday is that we do not confess sin publicly. Ever. And I have to say that as much as I don’t like dwelling on sin, I really dislike never having an opportunity to stand up with my Christian family and admit we all mess up sometimes. Even when I don’t have personal sin to confess, I am always complicit in some kind of corporate sin (in every sense of that word). Going too long without confession makes one just start to feel, well, either dirty, or – much worse – like there’s nothing to confess. And I get a sense that there’s some self-righteousness going on at my church. It’s disguised in a very attractive package: one that says God loves you exactly as you are, which is a message that many of those who visit us desperately need to hear. But those who have been in the faith for a while need to stop taking milk and start on the solids, and that means admitting that while God of course loves and accepts us as we are, that doesn’t mean She necessarily wants us to stay that way, because many times how we are now is inhibiting us from living our life most abundantly.[1]

So, we have Lent without too much liturgical change, and without confession of sin. This all bothered me in the first weeks, but after a while I just went with it. And I discovered that my other attempts at Lenten discipline went lax as well. It just didn’t seem like it was all that necessary, since my only church experiences were pretty much the same as ordinary time. There wasn’t that weekly reminder that the season was different, so I had no impetus to remember that I was dust, that I was in rebellion against God, and that I needed to be redeemed.

Palm Sunday began with “Christ is risen!” “He is risen indeed!” and some alleluias, just as every Sunday does at St. Gregory’s. We did a lovely procession around the neighborhood with palms and pretty umbrellas, stopping to sing and pray and hear scripture. This would have been really effective if we were in a neighborhood that wasn’t industrial and therefore mostly abandoned, but it was still a lot of fun, and Maggie sure had a great time waving her palm branch. I did feel a bit of a cognitive dissonance replying that Christ was risen on the week when the Passion is usually read, but I was really trying to go with it so as to experience Holy Week “their” way (which I was assured was “awesome”). We did not read the Passion story but basically just did Palm Sunday, which was really fine since that’s the day it is after all.

The next event was The Maundy, which they do on Tuesday, pretty much for logistical reasons (Thursday is for choir rehearsal, and besides, everyone gets too tired if there’s a three-day Triduum – which is kind of hilarious since they don’t even do anything on Easter Sunday…at my old church, we had services Wed. and Thurs. nights, Friday at noon through the afternoon and into the evening – with an all-night prayer vigil – then the Saturday evening vigil, then three services on Sunday. You wanna talk about tired clergy, talk to those troopers!). It was probably my favorite service of Holy Week. It actually wasn’t much of a service at all. We had a potluck meal (very appropo), then blessed some bread and wine and shared it. The priest gave a little sermonette (which was really unnecessary), and we washed one another’s feet. Then we all cleaned up together (again, very poignant action) while singing the dreaded Alleluias (yes, by this point I was actually getting a bit sick of the word). We were essentially stripping the church, and we finished with a prayer taking us into the deeper mystery of Holy Week. Then we broke for three days. Well, you know, logistics.

Really, I loved the service. Because it was entirely, precisely that: service. We cooked for one another, we fed one another, we washed one another’s feet, we told stories and listened to one another, we cleaned up after one another, and we held hands and prayed for one another. I think that’s why I didn’t care for the sermon: it broke the flow of it being all about everyone serving everyone else in the room – it was just one person talking to us and kind of framing everything. But it didn’t need framing. It spoke loud and clear on its own. And even as a liturgist – no, especially as one – I’m all for cutting unnecessary elements, particularly words.

So, next we have Good Friday. Well actually, next for our family was a dinner party we were invited to on the real Maundy, Thursday. Which was wonderful and exactly what church should be: small, intimate, full of laughter and tears (thanks to Maggie’s meltdown), lots of food and wine, and a little poop (again thanks to Maggie).

But on to Friday. The service was in the evening and I actually spent the majority of it taking my infant in and out. So I missed a lot of the flow, and I’ll rely on my husband’s reflections on the parts I missed. This was the ONE time we didn’t say Christ is Risen or Alleluia. Thank God for that. Though once really wasn’t enough to get it out of our systems (more on that later). It was a very looooong service with a very loooooong opening concert by the choir. The music was haunting and beautiful, though. Just not great when you have a squirmy baby in your arms.

There were two main elements to this service, which could probably be called the Services of Word and Sacrament. The Word part was what most Episcopal churches do: reading the Passion story. We read – actually, chanted, which was lovely – the John version. But with a twist (of course, there’s always a twist): the people, rather than reciting our usual part (“Crucify Him!” “We have no king but Caesar!”), sang the lines of Christ!

Well, this just brings up all sorts of liturgical ramifications! On the one hand, I can see the logic: we’re identifying with Christ – and with God – in suffering for the world. And we’re the Body of Christ, so it makes some sense for us to sing Christ’s part. But there are a LOT of dangerous other ways to interpret this, ways that seem a lot more immediate and even flow out of that logic. We’re suffering innocently and unjustly, as Christ did (no, we are not innocent, and while we sometimes suffer unjustly, we also bring consequences on ourselves – and Lent was supposed to remind us of that!). We’re suffering at the hands of sinners, the Sinful, Judgmental Other (besides being potentially anti-Semitic, this reflects what churches can be at their worst: clubs for like-minded people who sit around congratulating themselves that, in the words of the Pharisee, God “has not made me like them”). And then there’s the more obvious mistakes: we’re Divine, perfect, holy sacrifices (rather than imperfect clay being molded into something God can use). And I really do believe that one of the primary points of the cross is that God is showing us who God is (this was the point of the sermon, to give credit to our rector) by suffering, and this is the one day when we have to admit that we did – and do – this to God.

We’re not the victims. I mean, we are often victims, but on Good Friday, we’re not the victim. We’re just not. I’m going to be kind of fundamentalist about this. If we can’t see that God suffered for us, not just with us, then we’re going to keep ourselves on the throne, instead of prostrate before it.

Which, ironically, is what we did during the Sacrament portion of the service. And this part was really lovely. We all brought flowers up to the altar, which was bare save for an icon of the burial of Christ. Some of us kissed the icon. It was very similar to reverencing the cross, which I’ve also participated in and taken great meaning from. After everyone had laid down his or her flower, a chanter intoned a Middle-Eastern sounding melody and we prostrated ourselves several times before the altar (I keep calling it this, even though it’s really a Table in this church, but on that day, I think it was also an Altar – and this was the only service at which there was no food). Because of the sound of the chant and the way we knelt, it was reminiscent of Muslim prayers. We went up and down enough times that I really started to feel the devotion in my body, and I can see how that kind of bodily prayer would put religion deep into your bones. I didn’t want that part to end.

But it did, and we departed in silence, until the next night.

And so we came to the Easter Vigil, which until this year had always been the capper to Holy Week (this year the new rector tried out a dénouement on Sunday afternoon: an egg hunt and barbeque, which wasn’t widely attended but was a lot of fun for the kiddies – Maggie included, followed by Vespers, which we were too exhausted to stick around for). I was really pumped for this event: it has always been the absolute highlight of my year, and for the first time, I was participating as a reader! Exciting stuff.

So, this service was also prefaced with a choir concert. The choir opened by walking up to “Freedom Come”, the first of several gospel songs we would intone throughout the evening. Then they launched into a quite varied repertoire of pieces about the resurrection, most containing the words Christ is Risen and Alleluia.

Um. Oops.

So when the priests got up to start the service, rewinding us back to the Exultant, it was kind of too late because the Christ was out of the bag (or tomb, as it were). It felt really strange to suddenly pretend like Christ wasn’t yet risen when we’d just heard for half an hour that he was (and indeed had heard it every Sunday as well). So there’s my first issue. That was just a bit weird.

Then we moved into the readings, which were not the traditional ones, and were read out of order. We heard the story of the Creation last, for instance, after the burning bush, the Exodus and a reading from Isaiah (mine). Again, this interrupted the narrative flow of the service. But in a sense it worked, since we were saying, with our gospel music and stories of freedom, that we were being freed from slavery (one assumes by Easter). But this does beg the question of what exactly we were enslaved to, since we hadn’t confessed anything nor heard much preaching about what was wrong with us. In fact, it felt more like we were the innocent slaves – like the Hebrews under the Egyptians and the Africans in the South – who were taken by the evil forces that God ultimately defeated. But how could white, upper and middle class, mostly wealthy San Franciscans be oppressed? Or was there simply a martyr complex going on, fueled by the misplaced identification with Christ and the constant stories of rejection by the Evangelical establishment (we get at least one a week)? Had we been told so often that we are fine “just the way we are” that we’d lost any sense that we needed saving from ourselves??

[An aside: many of the parishioners are GLBTQI and so forth, and I realize that, in much of the country, this is an oppressed minority. But I think I could successfully argue that it’s not one in San Francisco. And while many of us were oppressed by the churches in which we were raised, that doesn’t mean we ourselves aren’t also sinners – if for no other reason than that we may not be loving our enemies!]

I missed the sermon this night, because of the baby again. But she finally went to sleep and so we joined the procession around the church, singing about the saints and martyrs who’d come before us (all the way from Perpetua to Ling Ling the panda). At the end of our procession we stopped before the doors of the church and had some singing and prayers, and then, without too much ado (I almost missed it, in fact), the priest called out, “Christ is Risen!” and everyone responded “He is risen indeed!” and we repeated that several times.

But here’s where it got weird(er): try as I might, I couldn’t muster up the same joy in response to that call as I have in previous years. And I pretty quickly figured out why: there wasn’t really anything special about calling out “Christ is risen!” on this night, because we’d been calling that out every single service (except Good Friday) all year. There was never a time that Christ wasn’t risen. Now, I realize that’s a true statement; and in the theology of this church, that’s exactly the point. But somehow I needed that space – that Lenten time when we mourn the loss of our Savior and acknowledge our complicity in that – before I could fully celebrate the resurrection.

As we began to dance around the altar and sing, “Christ the Lord is Ris’n Today” I closed my eyes and imagined myself back at All Saints in Beverly Hills, where they’d be singing the same thing right around that time. I remembered the blaze of light after the darkness, the organ cranking up after a week’s silence, the blast of trumpets and timpani, and the glorious cacophony of sound – bells and shouts – rising from the congregation. The first time I really got Easter was at their Vigil. So of course I’m biased. But I know I’m not alone in believing it’s the best.

There is just something about Carol yelling at the top of her lungs “Christ is Risen, Alleluia, Alleluia!” (pointedly, St. G’s leaves out the Alleluias, for once; and again, they are more meaningful at the church where they’ve been unsaid for 40 days) and all of us responding with voice and bell and music after this long desert of Lent. We’ve self-examined and self-disciplined. We’ve walked together through the dark places. We’ve seen only empty branches in the place where now flowers are bursting forth. We have lived Lent, not just paid it lip service.

And without Lent, I’m sorry, but there isn’t much of a Holy Week, and there’s really no cause for celebration on Easter. I know this from growing up without Lent, and I experienced it again this year.

And then I realized the other thing that was under my skin: there had been no baptisms. How unfortunate! (that’s sincere, btw) I realize that it’s hard to come up with candidates, and I’m sure it’s harder for a church that doesn’t really attach much theological import to baptism (it’s not required for membership or Eucharistic participation). But wow, Easter was so much less without it. There was nobody dying and rising with Christ, and heartbreakingly, I did not get to confirm my own baptismal covenant with my church family around me. I love doing that, and being sprinkled; and I really looked forward to holding Maggie as she confirmed her own for the first time (at least she won’t remember this year). Just like with no Lent, not having baptisms really lessens the impact of Easter, and particularly the Easter Vigil.

One other quick comparison and then I must close this tome (it could go on for ages, but I haven’t the time for such things anymore). At the end of the ASBH service, there is a tradition of people lifting their hands during the last song. The chorus goes like this:

And I will raise them up

And I will raise them up on the last day

I went through a journey with this gesture: at first I loved it, then I found it cheesy and rote, then I learned to love it again while having a sense of humor about it (because, i.e., there’s this moment when everybody knows to raise their hands, and it hits at the same note every time – it’s kind of funny). It turned out that, along with the singing and dancing and “Christ is risen!” in several languages (which I liked – neat touch), the people at St. Gregory’s seemed to have a “hand-raising” song as well, one that is particularly set aside as the time when it’s “accepted” for the Episcopalians to do this rather charismatic gesture. And that song is “Mary Don’t You Weep,” the lyrics of which are as follows:
Oh, Mary, don’t you weep, don’t you mourn

Oh, Mary, don’t you weep, don’t you mourn

Pharaoh’s army got drown-ded

Oh, Mary, don’t you weep

Now, I won’t continue to pick on the white folks co-opting the gospel music (although I find the grammar error offensive, as if to hold the “black folk” in perpetual stupidity), and I won’t comment on the confusing nature of conflating Mary’s (Magdalene or Mother) weeping over Jesus with the story of the Exodus. I will simply say that the hand-raising song is, from my experience, the song most emotionally “felt” by the congregation; the song that, for them, seems to hit them in the gut with the meaning of Easter. If one goes with that definition and looks purely at the lyrics of the songs, the result is disturbing.

Church A: Easter is about raising “them” (everyone?) up on the last day; the meaning of the resurrection of Jesus is the resurrection of all!

Church B: Easter is about joy in the violent defeat of our enemies.

Of course I realize that nobody at St. Gregory’s actually believes this is what Easter is about, nor would many of them ever condone violence (nor do I believe gospel music to be intentionally violent, but rather it uses the violent metaphors of Scripture to bring hope to the oppressed; when sung by the powerful, it takes on very different meaning). This is a church that prays openly for our enemies weekly, and for that I am appreciative. I’m not saying they are doing something that is bad, I’m simply pointing out the dissonance between their liturgical actions (song and gesture) and their professed theology and politics. I believe there are far superior songs and acts that could more accurately reflect what this community truly believes about Easter; just as I believe that they could have a far richer experience of Holy Week if they would find ways to alter their Lenten Sundays.

There is always more we can do to bring our liturgy in line with our theology. We have to remember that everything is saying something – there is no silent action, word, song, gesture, artwork, movement, furniture, banner, vestment, cloth, food, or drink in a liturgy. Ritual goes deep into our bones with meanings we cannot always articulate, but which may surprise us when pointed out by the outsider.

That’s all I’ve attempted to do here: present an outsider’s (or really, newcomer’s) perspective of what I saw enacted over Holy Week and Easter. I sincerely hope I haven’t offended anyone, and it was not my purpose at all to rip apart a beloved tradition. But if there were interest in changing anything at any point, I hope this essay would be of help.

[1] Thanks to my friend Sylvia for putting it this way.

Food for thought

2009-03-27T08:31:00.001-07:00

Appropriate title, since I've been blogging over at FoodiEvangelist a bit more lately.

But this quote seemed more to fit in over here. Thanks to my FB friend Tony Mills for the citation...

The world is barren enough. It is stacked against love, and against hope, and against those very few and precious emotions that enable us to go forward. Your marriage only stands a 50-50 chance of lasting, no matter how much you feel and how hard you work. And here are people overjoyed at the prospect of just that chance, and that work, just for the hope of having that feeling. With so much hate in the world, with so much meaningless division, and people pitted against people for no good reason, this is what your religion tells you to do? With your experience of life and this world and all its sadnesses, this is what your conscience tells you to do? With your knowledge that life, with endless vigor, seems to tilt the playing field on which we all live, in favor of unhappiness and hate... this is what your heart tells you to do?

- Keith Olbermann, the host of MSNBC's TV news show Countdown, shortly after Proposition 8 was passed in California.

Heads up!

2009-03-23T10:43:00.000-07:00

Hi friends and neighbors...

I've created a new blog to cover my interests in food and spirituality. I'll post all the foodie stuff there, as well as anything that is related to what would have been my dissertation work/might be my Christian bookstore book if I ever have time to actually write it.

So if that's why you check this blog, bookmark me over at:
http://foodievangelist.blogspot.com/

Bon Appetit!

Portia De Rossi Apologizes For Marrying Ellen

2009-03-23T09:36:00.001-07:00

eat, drink, bleed, and live in communion

2009-03-17T12:28:00.000-07:00

This is a sermon by Sara Miles, and I post it with her permission because it is just so darn beautiful particularly in light of the stuff I've been posting in the last week or so. (did I mention I stood up in church and talked about breastfeeding? I don't think that could have happened in the congregation of my childhood...)

Sara Miles • St Gregory of Nyssa

Sermon 7:30PM • 24 August 2003

…Jesus said, Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood lives in me and I live in that person. As the living Father sent me and I draw life from the Father, so whoever eats me will also draw life from me…..After hearing this, many of his followers said‚This is intolerable language. How could anyone accept it? Jesus was aware that his followers were complaining about it and said, Does this disturb you?…Many of his disciples went away and accompanied him no more. Jesus said, What about you, do you want to go away too? Simon Peter answered, Lord, to whom shall we go?

Eat my flesh and drink my blood.

Does this disturb you?

What about you, do you want to go away too?

Yes, I want to go away, fast. Because this disturbing demand of Jesus, that we eat him and become him, is just so intolerable, so invasive, so shocking I can’t accept it, want to go away.

But to whom shall I go?

I plan to talk about children a little bit tonight. But not their cuteness or their niceness or anything sweet or pastel. I want to talk about children as the gift of life. That is, about sex and pain and blood and eating.

And no, I’m not going to tell you amusing stories about what it’s like to be a mother. (It’s pretty wild.) You may not have kids, so what I’m going to tell you, remind you of, is what it’s like to be one. Because we all are.

You are somebody’s child. Think about this. You grew inside a woman, you came out of her, you ate her. You ate her body, literally, to live. You became her and she became you. She’s in you in ways that ––if you’re like me—can still feel as elemental and violent as the moment when you were pushed out from between her legs in a great rush of blood.

This is intolerable.

You are somebody’s child.. A man helped make you, in ways that are ridiculously mysterious and absolutely powerful. He went inside somebody else’s body and became a part of you. The shape of your hands, the way you clear your throat, the color of your eyes—he lives in you, literally in the code that turned on each cell of your being, and in your spirit.

He became you, and you became him, in ways seen and unseen, that will follow you all the years of your life.

This is intolerable.

We can read tonight’s Gospel story as being about the ways Jesus’ disciples and the people gathered at Capernaum were shocked by his breach of religious convention There certainly was enough in Jesus’ claim to set the teeth of the faithful, and their priests, on edge: who was this man daring to come into the synagogue and use the language of blood and sacrifice? How dare he talk to them about their ancestors, who ate manna in the wilderness and died there? What was he doing, telling them to be cannibals? Some of this story is about the ways God, through Christ, turned religion on its head. And the idea that God may still, through Christ, be doing that today is certainly hard for us to take.

But I think what we really find intolerable in this story is the literal truth. God’s truth, that Jesus tells us without flinching. Without pastels. That we were made out of flesh, and are also suffused with a huge longing spirit we can’t entirely understand. That we each are someone’s child–– a new body made by other bodies. That we hunger to eat our parents, that we do eat them, that we are eaten ourselves, that our bodies help make new people. That we are penetrated by and inside each other, irrevocably and indivisibly connected to each other, that we live through each other’s flesh.

Do you want to go away, now, too? Yes.

But to whom shall we go? There is nowhere in Heaven or Earth to hide from the intolerable fact of our own bodies and blood connected so intimately to others; nowhere to escape the vivid reality of our unseen spirits, nowhere God is not. God is in our mouths, our stomachs, our flesh, in all the blazing facts of creation.

I took communion for the first time in my life about five years ago. But that’s backwards. The truth is, communion took me.

I had no intention at all of doing this. I grew up without ever going to church. I never heard a Gospel reading, never said the Lord’s Prayer. I was certainly not interested in becoming a Christian—or, as I thought of it rather less politely, a religious nut.

I walked in here at eight o’clock one morning because my wife, who also had no intention of joining a church, just wanted somewhere quiet to sit and pray. We came here and sat down and stood up, sang and sat down, waited and listened and stood up and sang, and it was all peaceful and sort of interesting, and then we started moving up to the Table. And then we gathered around it. And there was more singing and standing, and then someone was putting a piece of fresh bread in my hands, saying, “the body of Christ,” and then giving me a cup saying, “the blood of Christ,” and then something outrageous and disturbing and terrifying happened. Jesus happened to me.

It was intolerable. I could not accept it. But I was so hungry I kept coming back. This went on for a while–– me taking the bread and crying and drinking the cup and crying. I started to read the Bible. I sat by myself a lot and mused about God. I thought I got control of myself and thought I understood things. I started to feel pretty sanctified and pleased about where this little adventure of mine was headed until, a year or so later, I began to serve as a deacon.

So I started to deacon. And then I had to pass the body of Christ to you, the body of Christ. Well, that was to lead to my baptism. Which is another story. And to the setting up of St Gregory’s food pantry, which is another story, though maybe it’s really the same one.

But right away it disturbed my nice, pastel plan for my religious future. What happened once I started distributing communion was the truly disturbing, dreadful realization about Christianity: you can’t be a Christian by yourself.

And while you can work quite hard to find the religious community, the denomination, the particular church where you feel comfortable, and while you can make a real effort to impose rules that keep the wrong kind of people out of your cozy tradition, sooner or later you’re going to have the inescapable reality of your connection to other people, without exception, right up in your face.

You are going to be touching Christ’s body through the angry old guy with the clenched jaw. Looking into Christ’s eyes, through the face of the self-satisfied yuppie with the sports car. Listening to Christ’s voice, through the middle-aged woman with the annoying nasal whine. You are not going to get to sit by yourself and think loftily about how much God loves you in particular. You are not going to get to have dinner, eternally, with people just like you. You are going to get communion, whether you want it or not, with people you didn’t choose. People you don’t necessarily like. Screwed-up people, with bodies. The people God chose for you.

Sort of like the way God chose your parents.

These are hard words, Jesus’ followers say, and they’re right. Each of us has to be born, eat, drink, bleed, and die in the most intimate communion with strangers – our mothers, our fathers, the boring, infuriating, unacceptable, intolerable people around us. Like you, Christ is in them, and they in him. Like you, they are becoming God.

Each of us on Earth has to eat, drink, bleed and live in communion with other people’s bodies, and with their souls. And with God, whom we didn’t choose. Who chose us.

So, are you ready for some bread and wine now? Come, let us draw eternal life

I neglected to mention...

2009-03-17T12:23:00.001-07:00

BTW I should have also said that I met wonderful, amazing people at this gathering the last couple of days. I'm delighted with the new friends I've made. And I'm not even kissing ass; I really am excited about knowing these people. Particularly the awesome Minneapolis contingent - who knew the Spirit was blowing her wind so strongly there? I thought Chicago was the windy city, ha ha. (groan)

Now I have all the more reason to take Maggie to see her cousins there, because she's blessed with a whole new set of aunties to love her. We are so blessed to have such a village willing to raise this child with us (now if only we could somehow live in 15 places at once...).

The whole General Convention thing is starting to sink in and get a little scary, but I've already heard from some LA people who will team up with me. I almost feel like maybe I was specially prepared for this job by having the connections down there that are needed to help pull together the strands of this web. It is at once daunting and exciting.

OK, I can't spend too much of naptime on the computer - got to eat, do housework, take a shower (!!), all those things we try to cram in before the inevitable cry calls a momma back to her primary job.

anglimergent

2009-03-16T20:50:00.001-07:00

I spent the last couple of days at a gathering of people who self-identify as “anglimergent” – or at least, spend some of their time networking on a website entitled “anglimergent”. It’s a tricky group to pin down: many of them are uncomfortable with labels, particularly labels that identify them with the rather evangelical world of emerging church. I find the label helpful as a way to shorthandedly say, “people who are interested in seeing the church move forward in whatever way works” or “people who want to help write the next chapter of the Episcopal story (as my husband puts it: not rewrite the former chapters, not write a totally new book, but write a chapter that builds on the chapters that have come before and adds our generation’s input).”

So that is the kind of person we’re talking about – someone who wants to see a new era of ministry going in the Episcopal Church that makes it open and relevant and generally the kind of place that I’ve already been lucky enough to find it to be. Turns out that many people have had horrendous experiences in TEC, and I feel awful about that. I’m super spoiled to have only gone to churches that, for the most part, got it right. At least, they were authentically who they are. And I’m not going to pretend I haven’t been burned – we just have to revisit the sad pathetic story of my ordination process(es) to know that my attempts to serve have not always been well-received (or well-offered, I hasten to add).

All that to say that there actually ARE Episcopal churches that need to be dragged kicking and screaming into the postmodern era, or into the 1979 prayer book (which hasn’t nearly finished being mined, as Louis Weil reminds us), or just into a general sense that the church should be kind of an open and loving place and not so much an exclusive club or a political stance or a family tradition. It is, after all, about God’s kingdom on earth; about spreading God’s love; about Jesus’ way of living into the most abundant life possible. These are the things that the folks I met with are about.

Oddly, I was really only there because Sara Miles asked me to be. I didn’t feel remotely like I belonged. But as I was preparing to attend and was thinking about my experience with emergy type stuff, I realized I had a remarkable amount of background in that world (especially for someone who never officially has been a member of an actual emergent church). I was pretty involved in the planning process for Thad’s in LA (until they decided not to have regular Eucharist, which I couldn’t live with), and I helped write some of the liturgy for Barry Taylor’s services at All Saints’ (including parts of the Eucharistic prayer that they still use). Then there was my independent study on the EC, which led to our (unfinished) documentary on COTA. At seminary, one of my closest friends was a founding member of Three Nails in Pittsburgh, and another had lived and served in an intentional community in East LA long before emerging became a thing (incidentally, both of these people had left that kind of church to join more traditional Episcopal congregations, citing the liturgy as what drew them to the tradition…gee! Ya think?). For heaven’s sake, I never would have gone to seminary if Carol Wade hadn’t told me to, and she’s in this conversation too! I never would have become Episcopalian without being discipled by Christopher Martin, and the whole thing with him was doing spiritual disciplines – the real hard-core monastic stuff that you can’t really do just once a week at church. And now, I go to St. Gregory’s, and I used to go to All Saints’ BH, and even at St. Barnabas – all these churches have one thing in common: they are unapologetically authentic to themselves. They don’t try to be something appealing, they don’t try to find a niche and fill it, they don’t try to be relevant. Hell, St. B’s didn’t even have bulletins and everybody had the liturgy memorized! But all these places we were drawn to, we realized, were places that – though there was NO alt-worship going on – embodied the principles of the anglimergent group (or at least those who had gathered). They are open, nurturing, playful, incarnate, sacramental (!!), collaborative, passionate, and deeply contextual. They are places of freedom and hospitality. Sure, they have their stumbles and drawbacks, and not all these values are lived every moment. But they are held, I believe, by the majority of the membership. And they are what keep the churches living and, in some cases, thriving.

A word on the sacramental bit: Sara pointed out that most of the people in the room were serious about sacraments, particularly about gathering around a Table where everyone is welcome. And I realized, making “sacramental” one of the core values of “anglimergent” would exclude some communities which believe that sacraments are not necessarily…necessary. Or perhaps that they are something quite different from what the church has said they are (e.g., Eucharist isn’t important, but perhaps there is something else which takes its place?). And I suppose that, to be true to our principles, we’d have to say yes, you can still be anglimergent and not give a rat’s ass about sacraments. Because you can’t define anglimergent, or at least, it seems, you can’t make boundaries around what it does and does not define.

Which actually is really confusing. Like, they kept saying there’s “no such thing” as anglimergent and there’s no “there there” – but obviously something brought all us people together, and isn’t it helpful to have (as my friend Andy put it) a “handle” to call it (since apparently “label” is too loaded of a word to just throw around)? I don’t know, maybe it’s the meds or something, but my brain starts to hurt when I try to figure out how something could be nonexistent but yet we’re talking about it and identifying with it (but it also can’t be defined or have boundaries...ouch, headache).

One really interesting moment was when someone suggested that if a group formed that wanted to drop bombs on muslims and call themselves anglimergent, that obviously they wouldn’t be. And Sara, God bless her, actually had the cajones to say no, you can’t say that – you either have to let everybody in or make really strict boundaries. So far, the group is resisting boundaries, is resisting placing authority in any person or group or even set of rules, so that kind of leaves the field open for nutjobs. But I guess that’s better than getting stuck obeying one small vision of what anglimergent could mean.

It’s so easy – especially in a room of people who are almost all the same generation or two, and probably all hold the same views politically and mostly the same theologically – it’s really easy and really tempting in that scenario to start thinking we know what everybody thinks, to start believing that we’re all the same. But we’re not. And more importantly, we have to be OPEN to other expressions of what church can be, because without diversity the kingdom just isn’t Godly.

So that means, as hard as it is, we have to drop our own agendas and reach across the aisle. We have to do like Fuller’s Episcopal/Anglican group did – people from churches that had left and churches still aligned with the diocese would meet weekly and pray together and pray FOR each other. And there wasn’t any way to reconcile our churches on a large scale, but one-on-one, we could at least talk, at least agree that we all loved Jesus, and we actually did help bust a lot of myths about each other.

But all that is simply to say that if a group wanted to form and call itself part of the anglimergent community that was not like us, not like our vision of what emergent or Anglican or even “cool kids” are…I guess we’d have to be stuck with it. I personally feel like there should be some kind of boundaries – I mean, to call something Anglican there should at least be a modicum of Anglicanism involved (I could care less about the emergent label) – but perhaps that’s why the name isn’t helpful and should be rejected….perhaps we need to just be who we are. And for me, that would involve something interfaith and certainly interdenominational, so right there you have to lose the Anglican handle (or DO you – I love the tension-holding value of TEC – is it really anything goes??)

Anyway this is all getting a bit rambly and confusing and of course it’s just my own thoughts and in no way reflects anybody else’s impressions, I’m sure. Plus please recall that I’m chronically sleep deprived, and had a margarita this evening. So if I’m totally misremembering things, I apologize to my colleagues who were there, and I look forward to your musings on the meeting. These were just some of the thoughts that came up in my head as I pondered our discussions. And as you can see, I’m really quite a confused little girl. Oh well.

Somehow in a fit of excitement I wound up volunteering to go to General Convention and do…well we don’t know what yet, but do something. This was possibly a very naïve and ridiculous move. God knows I am not at all qualified to talk about the emergent church, having always been on the fringes of it. Then again, if it’s just about being a kingdom gal, that I can do.

Ay. I’m tired of writing now. Hope there was something worth reading there.

Breastfeeding: Pro and Con

2009-03-13T09:55:00.000-07:00

OK, I have to post these links. First an article that made me feel rather like a fool for believing all the hype and going ahead with breastfeeding even though, at first at least, it was incredibly difficult, stressful, tiring, and time-consuming (these days it's rare, something I anticipate, always floods me with joy and peace, and makes me feel super-close to my daughter). Had I read this article 9 months ago, I would have given up probably in about week 3 or 4. Stuck where I'm at, having played the fool for 9 mos now, I was at least glad to be in the meager 17% of people who bfeed exclusively for 6 mos (until I realized I hadn't: Maggie wanted solids at 5 mos, so oops - but she still mostly breastfed - we didn't do more than 1 "meal" - more like a few teaspoons - per day until after 6 mos. Still my tiny rush of pride faded, as I realized I was just another of the dupes).

The Case Against Breastfeeding

Then my friend JTB alerted me to The Case Against The Case Against Breastfeeding, at the "mother of all parenting blogs," Strollerderby (love that name). There, Madeline Holler eloquently expressed many of my feelings about the former article, including the main points which are: the workplace system in this country can't handle motherhood, and those who cannot breastfeed shouldn't be judged or made to feel "less than" (in my more soapbox moments, however, I do feel that those who just "don't like it" maybe should try a little harder, like I did...but I realize that's bitchy of me. Wanting others to suffer like you did is one of the worst things women do to each other - especially in the workplace and academia - so I really have no place adding to that misery. Still it's sure tempting).

For more on fixing the first situation, see this older article in the Atlantic: The Parent Trap.

As for those who can't breastfeed and really want to, my heart goes out to them. For those who don't want to, I've said enough above. But I don't find it helpful to present a case that makes those of us who managed - who did grit our teeth through the pain and endured the endless nights and finally, finally found that perfect latch that made it actually pleasureable (which lasted about 10 minutes until teeth set in and everything changed...including the wonderful new world of biting!) - I don't find it helpful or feminist (in the sense of promoting what's best for women - which includes our baby daughters, I add) to make those women feel like tools because we haven't figured out that we could really be liberated by science if we'd just get over ourselves.

Bleh. The line that keeps sticking with me is when she says that breastfeeding is only free if you consider a woman's time to be worth nothing.

Good point. Except: what in the world could I be doing with my time that is more important or fulfilling than feeding another human being?! Than providing her everything she needs - not only physically, but emotionally and spiritually! The whole problem is thinking of bfeeding as a waste of time, as something you have to get through to get on to whatever in your life is more important than this little leech that just wants to suck your life juice out.

Or...you can think of it like this: there's a helpless human being that knows nothing in the universe except the sound of your voice and heartbeat, who trusts you with her very life, with everything she is, to provide her warmth and love and fill her tummy, all while giving her the only thing she needs besides nourishment: your attention, your self. Yes, sometimes it's all of yourself. Yes, sometimes you lose yourself in it. Yes, you don't have your own thoughts or worries for a while.

Wait, isn't that a good thing?

I have gotten to the point with breastfeeding that not only do I derive great pleasure from the act, both chemically and just from the closeness it provides, but I welcome the respite from the busyness, and I am glad to have something to offer that almost always serves as a comfort and a sanctuary of peace for us both, and you know what? It is good for this mommy. It's not taking anything away - it's adding to my life. It's so much better for me than if I were trying to mix bottles and convince J to offer half of them. How much nicer to just lay down next to my darling one and pull her close to me? It's so relaxing, and there's no wondering if she's had enough, and no forcing more on her, and no waste at all. And when I can remember to calm down about it and just be there with her, I derive so much satisfaction and fulfillment from the act. I feel complete as a woman.

Maybe that's horribly un-feminist to say; then again, what is more womanly than using what God gave me? I not only helped to create life; I help to sustain it. In this way, I emulate my Mother in Heaven. What's more awe-inspiring than that? Why in the world do we think that is somehow less than going to an office all day?? If it is what I want to do, what I feel called to do, then I'm not selling myself short at all.

Lately Maggie has been rather fascinated with my nipples; she stops feeding and then kind of plays with them and looks at them with I swear is love in her eyes. She clearly knows where her food comes from and she's grateful. She kind of has this amazed look - like she's starting to understand the difference between what I feed her on a spoon and what comes straight from momma. I love that she's getting that.

This morning when I'd had enough of her play I said, "OK, nursing goes bye bye" and I closed up shop. And she actually waved bye bye to my boob! Then she said, for the first time ever, "bye bye." And I stopped and I looked at her and said, "What?!" and she repeated, "bye bye."

It was so adorable (I love her little voice - can't wait for her to talk more!). My child actually bid adieu to the breast. It's basically a friend to her; it's definitely her security as well as her food source. It's so much more than a bottle could be. So while not diminishing those who cannot, let me just add that for those of us who breastfeed, there IS a lot to be said for it. I, for one, am in no hurry to give it up (may feel differently with future kids, of course), and I no longer EVER do it out of some sense of guilt or dispensing medicine. Maybe at first, but those days are long gone. And in the future, I will know that this feeling is coming, even if it's not there at the beginning, so I really can't see myself not pushing through to get to the wonderful stage.

OK, that's more than I meant to write, but this really got me going! Time to get my little helper and be off to church.

scary

2009-03-13T09:23:00.000-07:00

You know what is scary and humbling? Googling the words "the Feminarian." I didn't exactly do this - J showed me how to look up the IP addresses and referral sites of the people who visit this blog (so watch out...I know who you are now! Who's reading from USC by the way? Fight on!). As I was noodling around on there, I clicked on one of the referral links, which was a person who'd googled those words. And what a scary lot of stuff came up!

Mostly I found other bloggers who had found me back in the glory days when I was writing my posts on sex and/or stuff about theology and exclusivism that totally makes me balk now (not the sex, the exclusive stuff). It's actually pretty wild to look at another person's questioning take on my views (cough...Hugo), that I now totally agree with.

That is what has made writing this blog so worthwhile: I've sensed that I'm changing so much through these last few years, and through the blog I have actual evidence that it's so. I can track the twists and turns in my journey, the days I was stupid and the days I got it right. I guess this is why people keep diaries, huh? Somehow I never could journal on paper (my handwriting can't keep up with my thoughts, I suppose), but I've managed to keep this blog going for what, like 5 years now? And I'm really excited that one day I will be able to show it to my daughter and she'll learn way more than she ever wanted to know about her mom. Ha. My own mom learns way more than she wants to know about me by reading this...although I don't think I can surprise her anymore.

These days, I feel so guilty because I know I'm not up to the par I used to be at, and I post so irregularly (but you can be a "follower" now if you have blogger, so you don't have to check - or I've just posted the blog on the networkedblogs app on facebook, too, which I think will send you updates). My brain's a little consumed with other business, or is so fried when I have a moment to write that nothing will come out.

So to those of you who've stuck with me thank you, and I'm sorry, and I will try to be brilliant again one day. I really am serious about trying to make a go at writing, so I need to stay in practice. I can't let my brain lose all its theological brilliance quite yet.

BTW if you didn't already know it the job market sucks and is especially crappy for newly-minted Phds in the humanities. So if you're one of those lucky ones in school, stay there. Seriously, there's no reason to finish. Poor J is rushing through his dissertation but only Starbucks awaits on the other side. At least he'll have good conversations with the other highly-educated baristas.

I'm kidding: J can't work at Starbucks. He once was hired there and stopped showing up when a Hollywood gig came along. Little did we know that after two masters and a doctorate he'd need to be knocking on their door again. Oh well, at least there's always Peet's.

As usual I wind up being the one who's imminently employable. It makes trying to be a SAHM very difficult. And maybe we'd just send me off to work and let J stay home except he hates that and I do too. Bummer.

But I found this amazing job opportunity: it's a campus ministry position at UC Santa Cruz. It's part time. It's progressive. It's for a ministry called "Feast," for crying out loud. I was born in Santa Cruz (well, close by). There are a lot of funky stars aligning on this one. It's the one thing I could see myself coming out of "retirement" to do. We'll see. They're not interviewing until after Easter, but I sent in my resume and I really genuinely want to go for it. Of course, me working p/t isn't enough, but it's better than nothing.

Anyway I am thrilled that it is Friday so I get to go to the Food Pantry, the highlight of my (and Maggie's) week. I've even gotten a new friend from CDSP to come along this time. No matter where I go in life, I now know that I must find a way to feed people. It's one of the most wonderful things any of us can do.

But back to my original topic, the finding out of what other people say about me & the blog. I always stayed blissfully ignorant of my "press"; I preferred to pretend nobody actually read this stuff, which kept me able to be honest and forthright. Now I know who reads it (too many relatives! and colleagues) and I'm all self-censoring and nervous and I can't get all uppity like I used to. The Feminarian has been spayed. Not really, but it's no longer a separate character - a crazy out-there version of my extreme viewpoints. It's a lot more just me these days. Which has good points and bad points and is probably a lot more boring.

Well I have to run too soon, as always anymore. Glad a few of you are still out there, even if nobody's written about the Feminarian for a few years. She's not completely retired. Perhaps now that I've got a tiny bit more time, she will rise again every now & then.

45 Questions

2009-03-10T17:16:00.000-07:00

So these crazy lists have been going around facebook and I already did my 25 random things on there (become my friend to see it), but I figured might as well answer this one here on the blog, because I find the questions sort of interesting and you all might want to see, and it will import to facebook anyway so two birds and all that.

I didn't do the list of questions to ask your kid b/c my kid can only say "Da" and "Cat." No "mama" in sight. Sigh.

Anyhoo, here's a list of random factoids:

1. Do you like blue cheese?
Very much

2. Have you ever smoked?
I tried one cigarette w/my boyfriend when I turned 18. I thought it was disgusting and threw it down after one drag. He, incidentally, wound up addicted (he finished that first pack so as not to waste it, and the rest is history...)
I had a chance to smoke pot but I had to preach the next day and I was worried about the after-effects (true story). I never got another opportunity and then those friends moved away, darn it. I would try it if I had the chance. Don't tell my mom.

3. Do you own a gun?
Hell no

4. What flavor of Kool Aid was your favorite?
I don't remember. Red, I suppose. We didn't get to have much Kool Aid (I'm grateful for that)

5. Do you get nervous before doctor appointments?
Yes, especially prenatal ones.

6. What do you think of hot dogs?
Once I found Niman Ranch Fearless Franks, I discovered they can be pretty damn tasty. They should only be cooked over an open flame, preferably followed by s'mores.

7. Favorite Christmas movie?
It was White Christmas for years and years, but nowadays it's Love Actually. I also watch Scrooge (the musical) every year on Christmas day.

8. Favorite thing to drink in the morning?
A latte, but usually I just have black coffee

9. Can you do push ups?
a few, tho I haven't tried since giving birth

10.What's your favorite piece of jewelry?
I love the celtic cross that John bought me at the Iona Abbey, and a diamond bracelet I got from my granny when she died

11 What is your favorite hobby?
writing and watching tv/movies

12. Do you have A.D.D?
No

13. What's one trait you hate about yourself?
I talk about myself and my baby too much and feel like I'm not a very good friend anymore

14. Middle name?
Grace

15. Best Birthday?
I think probably when we had the fiesta downtown in our loft, and did the pinata from the ceiling and it was catered by Ciudad (the Too Hot Tamales' restaurant). Yeah, that one was way fun. Although the one I spent in Scotland wasn't bad either.

16. Name 3 things you regularly drink:
sparkling water & pineapple juice (usually mixed together) and whole milk (not mixed with anything except the occasional cookie crumb)

17. How many siblings do you have?
Sister and brother both younger

18. Current "I hate it right now?":
I hate insecurity

19. Favorite place to be?
Los Angeles

20. How did you bring in the New Year last year?
Ha - at my in-laws, fast asleep

21. Where would you like to go?
India and Italy

22. Name three people who might complete this:
No.

23. Do you own slippers?
Yes, thanks to mom who got me some for xmas. Otherwise I have half a dozen pairs of slipper socks with sticky bottoms.

24. What shirt are you wearing?
Blue, textured fabric, and really old - had it since college.

25. Do you like sleeping on satin sheets?
Yes, but I prefer super-soft cotton, and I hate flannel.

26. Can you whistle?
Yes

27. Favorite Color?
Anymore it's really pink, and I know how weird that is for a feminist.

28. Would you be a pirate?
Depends on the booty.

29. What songs do you sing in the shower?
These days it's usually whatever I was just singing to Maggie: either Taize or Baby Beluga.

30. Favorite girl names?
Lux/Lucia, Kumari, Serenity (eat it, J), Joss, Anastasia, Grace

31. Favorite boy names?
Joss, Peter, Ashley, Rufus

32. What's in your pocket right now?
Nothing, but earlier I had my license and a Starbucks card and a twenty.

33. Last thing to make you laugh?
I don't recall but I'm sure it was Maggie doing something

34. What vehicle do you drive?
1998 Mitsubishi Mirage, the little car that just won't give up (thanks be to God).

35. Worst injury you've ever had?
Tearing during childbirth! At least, that was most painful and longest recovery. I've never had anything major go wrong (knock on wood).

36. Do you love where you live?
No, but I'm tolerating it better these days.

37. How many TVs do you have in your house?
One in our part. There are two others in the part we aren't living in that belong to my landlady.

38. Who is your loudest friend?
Jett Whitworth. Sorry dude, it's true. Oh, and my niece Vallarie. She gives him a run for his money.

39. Do you have any pets?
Yes, two neglected cats, Kitty and Tyke.

40. Does someone have a crush on you?
I think Maggie does.

41. Your favorite book(s):
I really couldn't choose amongst them, but I guess I'd say the Bible (to be painfully cliche).

42. Do you collect anything?
I collected bears growing up. Now I guess I collect books and movies.

43. Favorite Sports Team?
USC Trojans (growing up, it was the Bruins. Yes, I'm a turncoat, but I know who butters my bread, so to speak)

44. What song do you want played at your funeral?
Faure's Requiem

45. What are you listening to right now?
John reading "Good Night, Los Angeles" to Maggie. Muted traffic and wind chimes outside. Some ringing in my right ear where the earwax has built up.

My church

2009-03-06T09:27:00.000-08:00

Though I may quibble with some of the liturgical and theological choices my church here in SF has made (someday I will get around to writing about the importance of liturgical seasons, which I'm learning by being deprived of them, and some kind of gospel that does include sin or at least personal responsibility), one cannot argue with the fact that their ministries rock.

I've written about how much I've been blessed by working at the food pantry. Last night Sara served as guest chef for a guerrilla restaurant in the city, serving only locally-sourced (hyper-local - like neighborhood backyards!) food, with Eucharist at midnight, and proceeds going to the pantry. How cool is that? I'm sure it was a huge success...I only wish I could have gone (but bedtime duty prevented me). I was so proud when I opened my ideal bite email and saw them featured!

Now that we're in Lent, preparations are underway for Easter, the biggest deal at St. Gregory's. And I'm pleased to have been asked to participate. Looks like I'll get to do a reading or even cantor. I'm grateful to be involved directly in worship again. And I think after that, after Maggie's just a bit older and going in the nursery (hopefully), I'll start thinking about serving as a deacon, which at this church doesn't require ordination. It just means I'd be part of the welcoming and hospitality crew, and help lead various parts of the service and assist at the altar (basically the stuff I did at my field ed internship). So that will be cool. I've really missed being "up front" in worship, not because I care about anybody noticing me (in fact it's been lovely to be somewhat anonymous for a while), but because I really do feel I have some gifts to offer - projection, smiles, vocal range, memory, and so forth - that are best utilized in this ministry.

Oh, and it looks like I'm going to participate in a gathering of Anglimergent folks that is meeting at St. G's this month. If you're interested in attending, all are welcome. You should at least join the online community if you find these things of interest.

Overall I'm feeling really positive about our church choice. So much so that I'll be sad if we do only wind up there for a year or less. Things are so up in the air right now...more about that another time. Suffice to say that the job situation is looking pretty dire, and no job = no money for rent = possibly moving in with family. Definitely not anybody's favorite option, but there may be no choice.

Anyway the point of all this is that we're becoming members this Sunday, me John & Maggie. Yay us. That means we need to be more involved, thus my musings on ministry. Maggie and I already have our food pantry work, though. I have to tease J that Maggie found her ministry before he did. But he is meeting with the rector today to talk about what his ministry might be. I hope he becomes philosopher-in-residence. :)

I'll end with a quote my mom sent me that feels really pertinent right now:
"You are so young, so much before all beginning, and I would like to beg you, dear (one), as well as I can, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don’t search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer."

—Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

This guy is my homie

2009-03-03T08:57:00.000-08:00

http://gracebeforemeals.com/

(and a Washington Post article on him)

Lenten meditations

2009-02-25T11:56:00.001-08:00

As usual, I am floored by something I read shortly after ranting on my blog. This site from my church home in LA will be updated throughout Lent with meditations from parishioners. Here is how today's meditation ended:

"That is why we set some small portion of ourselves aside this Lenten season, so that we might follow God's Lamb and become one of His sheep. What will you put away? A grudge? Self-doubt? Perhaps disbelief in the gifts God has given you?"

Now there's some stuff I could stand to give up for Lent.

My own thoughts

2009-02-25T11:05:00.000-08:00

OK, baby is down, that only took like an hour. And her dad had to do it in the end. He pretty much always has to put her down for naps...it's not until he takes her that she knows it's business time. (of course, not in the Flight of the Conchords way)

So I realized that what I'm really missing is having my own thoughts and the time to think them. My brain is usually consumed with staying one step ahead of Maggie so that she isn't hungry, bored, poopy, or overtired, and if I get her actually happily playing alone (which is really rare because she bores easily and she wants someone to play with her all the time, little social creature), then it's time to do chores while thinking about what to make for dinner. I'm actually starting to somewhat enjoy cooking (good thing for a foodie, huh), though I wish my knife skills were sharper (ha ha). I have learned that I'm way better at improvising than at following recipes, pretty much the opposite of J, so that makes for some interesting debates in the kitchen (plus his OCD tendencies make him really crazed when I'm not following something to the letter and substituting this and that).

But happily, I got an offer today to start doing book reviews for theooze, which is a site I respect and I'd enjoy the writing, I think. I also just signed my contract for the Jesus Girls book, and I'm trying to figure out if there's a parenting magazine that might like my story about choosing the baby over the PhD (for now). All this to say that I have outlets for my thoughts, if I could only find the time to think them.

Life is a strange rollercoaster (mine is way too crazy to be something so prosaic as a "journey"). I should probably be grateful that I don't have time to think. When I catch myself with a moment, I'm usually discovering there is nothing but bad news to ponder. J probably isn't getting a job this cycle, which means it's almost another year before he can look again (and he wouldn't be starting anything until Fall 2010...ay). We have the dreadful decision ahead of us of where to live while we're putzing around waiting for work...both sets of in-laws have the veto from the respective child, and it seems dumb to move back to LA for merely sentimental reasons when that would cost a small fortune and we could probably never find a place like we have here for comparable rent. So I face the prospect of living someplace I'm not very happy with no reason to be here. And yes, I am making the best of it - I love working at the food pantry, I have a few friends, and I try to see my family as much as possible. But it is strange to be stuck here.

You know how you're supposed to live your life so as not to have any regrets? Well I try to, I really do. But when you live that way, you're almost destined to have regrets! Why? Because you're going to take big risks! Or you'll take none, but then it seems that you'd regret never trying anything. No, I think when people say that they mean that you're supposed to get out there and live. But what they don't tell you is that sometimes that means you're going to make a giant leap and fall flat on your face.

Like when I completely screwed up my ordination process, twice. Dumb dumb dumb.

And when I moved my family up here for something I already sensed my heart wasn't in. Idiocy.

I have three friends from seminary who weren't even Episcopalian when I met them (all less than four years ago). I was already ostensibly in the ordination track when I met them. I did my degree and my internships first. I had been Episcopalian for longer. I'd had three freaking committees. Oh, and did I mention that none of them had ever really considered the priesthood as a vocation?

And these three friends are all in the final stages of their parish discernment and about to become postulants. I mean, how does that happen?? Yes, partly it is that they magically chose the right churches to be at and I did not. And partly it is that I did stupid things that messed up my process.

But there's a little part of me that feels like they must somehow be far worthier than me, far more priestly, far more deserving. And they probably don't feel that way, which just confirms their superiority - they're humble servants, and I'm just a whiney baby who is pissed that I haven't gotten my way and that nobody's recognizing the gifts I so obviously possess. Geezu. I'm such a freak.

One day this will all be an anecdote, right?

(that's what my cousin told me about the sleep training we're trying...which I also failed at miserably, btw)

Nobody warned me that if you live life to the fullest you have the chance of falling flat. The party line is that you'll be happy no matter what because you'll be living so well. Yeah, well, I'm in the moment constantly now - and don't get me wrong, it's nice not to think about how crappy, for instance, my financial situation is - but it is tiring. Because there's something in me that always looks ahead to the next thing (it's why I never held jobs or apartments for long); and there's something in me that's always evaluating the past to see how it's led to where I am, and how I can improve. I've always been so driven (my elementary school teachers used to scold my parents not to push me so hard, and they would have to tell them it was all me - they tried to hold back my relentless pursuit of perfection). It's weird to put on the brakes and suddenly not be pushing for a goal - except the goal of raising a human being, forming her perceptions of the world and her language and creativity and empathy. Yeah, that stuff.

I did have a great moment today. I was trying to get her to nap and was frustrated at the endless rocking I was doing (because I would have rather been reading blogs about American Idol, if you must know). And I suddenly realized that my only job in that moment was to love this child, and to make sure she knew that she was absolutely loved and safe and that her mommy would rather be doing nothing else than hold her. And I looked in her eyes and I could see her shift - like she realized she suddenly had my full attention, and she gave it back. It only lasted a few moments, and it didn't help with getting her down for her nap. But it was a helpful momentary reprieve from my racing thoughts and my yearning to be doing something else all the time.

Anyway I'm sure I haven't destroyed my life or anything, that's not what I mean. I just kind of feel like I'm swimming in a sea of, I don't know, peanut butter or something. Life's gotten all sticky and viscous. And sloooooow. And opaque.

And...ha ha...nutty.

2009-02-25T10:11:00.000-08:00

Hi, it's me, resurfacing after a couple weeks of this SAHM experiment. Well damned if it isn't about the hardest thing I've ever tried. These women were not kidding when they said it was all-consuming! Quite honestly, it's not so much the baby care that wears me down - it's the damn housework. I haaaaate housework. I've been thinking I need to go to work just so I can afford a maid. But what would happen then is that all the money I made would probably go to childcare, and I'd be working and still have to clean house. Blech. At least then J would have to pitch in.

Right now I'm a dissertation widow. It's very lonely. You know, last semester, when I was the one supposedly working full-time in school, I still somehow managed to take off 50% of every day to spend with Maggie. I didn't really help around the house, it's true, but I watched the baby so that he could do that. And right now, just someone to play with her so I could clean would be huge.

How is it that women instinctively feel this obligation to be everything, and men actually don't seem to feel any guilt at all about devoting themselves just to their work (or their project or whatever it is that they are engrossed in at the moment)? I bet it has something to do with multi-tasking ability, which supposedly men don't have. If it doesn't occur to you to do two things at once - or even be aware of something outside your current project - then how could you feel guilty for not keeping your mind on multiple tasks?

Speaking of, I need to go get my crying baby. I had a whole great speech about my vocation - how I still want and feel called to ministry, blah blah - but my primary vocation is calling. Toodles.

A recipe, a memory

2009-02-21T19:16:00.000-08:00

I got this email from my foodie list serv about an already accepted book proposal that is seeking submissions! I don't have anything to contribute, but I thought someone I know might, so I'm passing it along. Incidentally, I just got my contract in the mail today for Jesus Girls, and I'll post more info as I learn about its publication (this is the collection of essays by women who grew up evangelical to which I contributed my story about the "exorcism" I experienced in college).

Anyway, here's the message:
I am absolutely ecstatic to announce that my book proposal has found a home at Praeger Publishing! It will be titled: Storied Dishes: What Our Family Favorites Tell Us About Who We Are and Where We've Been.

In the meantime, I am looking for about another 15 more essays of 1100-1200 words each, accompanied by a recipe to round out the collection. These should be compelling memories about a woman friend or family member who has provided a significant recipe. I want to include women with a broad range of ethnic backgrounds, especially right now Mexican, African-American and American Indian, but not limited in any way. If you are interested in details or want to submit a query, please contact me offlist at lmberzok@hotmail.com.

Thank you.

Linda Murray Berzok, MA

So about school...

2009-02-12T10:03:00.001-08:00

A funny thing happened on the way to my PhD.

I fell in love.

I didn't mean to - the people who have known me the longest couldn't have predicted it. I had always said I didn't really want children, then later, didn't care whether I had them or not. When I met my husband, I said I thought I could see having kids with him, since he was pretty cool and all. But then we were married for nearly ten years and I got caught up in career and graduate work and I just didn't really think I had the time or energy to devote to another human being.

But then I met Maggie.

And wouldn't you know it, I fell hard. Even though her first weeks were a mess of screaming and tears and feeding frustrations and complete feelings of inadequacy on my part, I was hooked. No one had ever needed me like this little person did. No matter how unprepared or ignorant or overwhelmed I was, she still needed me above all others.

That kind of trust - that throws itself onto you with complete abandon and just believes that you'll live up to what it needs - rarely if ever happens between adults. But it is required between a mother and her child. It is, in fact, the way that it's supposed to be done, the way things are meant to be - the whole reason, I suppose, that mommies are given all these extra hormones and other physical helps to induce feelings of euphoria, strength, and even love.

I don't know if it was the hormones or the lack of sleep or prescience, but I had a thought a couple weeks after she was born: do I really want to go through with moving us far from home, away from our friends and support systems, to do more school at a place I don't know with people I've never met? I even blogged about it back then. And some of you wrote back to say yes, don't give up, if you don't at least try school you'll always regret it; and at least one person wrote to say listen to the doubt and give in to the oh-so-un-pc desire to halt your academic career.

I took in all the advice, and I prayed, and I talked with my husband the most, and we agreed that I would probably feel differently in a few months, when the whole motherhood thing wasn't so fresh, and besides, we'd already made all the arrangements and given our landlord notice and, well, the train had pretty much left the station, so off we went.

The summer was a beautiful time, and a difficult and crazy time, us getting to know our child and redefining ourselves as a three-person family. Our poor cats became sorely neglected. We painted the living room of the first real house we've lived in. We had to take on housemates, which turned out to be a disaster (but that's another story). Maggie's paternal grandparents met her, and all her Northern California family met her, and a couple dear friends from LA visited. And we found a church.

At some point near the beginning of school, J and I were walking and I admitted that I was terrified of starting the program; I didn't think I was smart enough or committed enough and I didn't want to leave my daughter so soon. He could reassure me about the first, encouraged me about the second, and reminded me, in reference to the third, that he was taking care of her, and really, it was good for her to have that time with her daddy. And so, once again, I relented.

But the first week of class came, and I found myself fighting back tears through the whole miserable three hours I was sitting there. I couldn't concentrate on our discussion, I could only think about my baby. And when I got home, all I wanted to do was play with her and feed her and cuddle her, I didn't care about reading. The things I was studying suddenly seemed hopelessly irrelevant. My brain had switched over to a different sort of intelligence - something more primal and creative and instinctive and, well, right-brained - and it was hard to make the switch back to taking in facts and making arguments and memorizing history and thinking critically.

I was not able to see the big picture anymore - I was living in the moment, because that's how babies live. I was looking as far as the next diaper change, the next feeding, and that was it. That was all we needed. It was incredibly freeing.

So I would take as much time as I dared with her every week, and then endure the grueling hours of reading (when she had to be taken away for I was too distracted with her around) and going to class. It was just the wrong timing. I shouldn't have gone back so soon; I shouldn't have tried to do it all with only a three-month-old. Had I not tried to jump in the deep end, I might have found myself more willing to continue. But I was drowning. I literally felt like I couldn't breathe.

After my nice long nearly two-month break between semesters, I was refreshed and ready to try one (easy) class to get through the spring. I figured if I took something really interesting, and got through the first year of motherhood still in the degree program, I could at least see if I actually wanted to pursue it the rest of the way. And nobody could say I hadn't given it a good long shot.

But then my advisor, ever the wise woman, said to me, ever so simply, "You are consumed by being a mother. And you have to honor that. Someday, maybe, you'll be ready to be mother and..., but for now, you are just mother. So be that. And when you sense that you want to be mother plus something else, then listen to that voice too. Honor both of those callings, because that is who you are."

Ah yes. She was right. I couldn't deny it.

So I am not taking classes this semester. I wasn't ready to completely drop out, because that's just so final, and I keep having inklings that I might feel differently. So I'm holding on just a little longer - don't have anywhere else to be anyway! - just in case. One thing I've learned is that I can never predict where my life will take me.

Plus I have the recent PPD diagnosis, and I know it is not wise to make giant life-altering decisions under the pressure of depression. So I am resting, getting well, indulging myself completely in motherhood, and then I will see: I may be invigorated and in love with life, or I may find myself bored to tears. I cannot say now, I plan to wait and see. It's rather exciting, actually.

As for the PhD, I know that at one time I was a person who wanted to do it. I know I am still a person who could do it. I had every intention of doing it, and my motives were pure in coming here. I could not have predicted the way I wound up feeling about it. But I have to listen.

It is interesting: as I spent time with the other geeks of my field, I saw just how, for once in my life, un-geeky I was. I really didn't care that much about the trivia of our study, and the major figures sort of blurred together, and the history and factoids seemed rather obtuse. I found myself longing for - of all things - the practicality of the MDiv, the on-the-ground action of pastoral work. I kept bringing every discussion back to the here-and-now, to the churches that are the mainstream (instead of those that are the ideal or are at least pursuing that), to the worship lives of everyday persons, not scholars, not priests. And I know that real life is the true passion of every liturgist, but I found myself more impatient than most to get back to it. And I think that is largely because of my baby, of the urgency that life has taken on now that there is this person who is experiencing everything for the first time, and how I see the time passing so quickly, and realize that we have only so much impact on this world. What am I doing with my life?

Many things I would love to do: parish ministry, consultation with churches (diocesan food guru?), creating liturgies, writing, campus ministry - none of these require a PhD. It could help, but it's not all that necessary. And GTU is a great school, and the PhD there is a lot of work. So I have to consider whether I'm up for that - for seven years or so of waiting to put my theory into action. After my experience last week at the food pantry, I'm not sure I can. It's just way too much fun to actually be out doing ministry!

So we will see. I might consider another field, since the liturgy box feels a bit tight at the moment. Maybe spirituality or interdisciplinary studies. Or I might find that I just want to raise my kid, and some more kidlets, for a while. Or I might fall into some sort of ministry, and find myself back on the ordination track by the grace of God. There are so many ways life could go. What a crazy journey it's been already; and there are surely more twists and turns ahead.

This is what I've been waiting to talk about, and bursting to say, for months now. I couldn't, for fear of who might read it, let my hand show. But now it's pretty much all out there, so I can reveal why I've been a bit tight-lipped and anxious for so long. I do feel like I can breathe a bit, and that this reprieve will be an excellent time of soul-searching and path-discerning.

And I hope that my story can help other women to honor the voice inside, whatever it might be telling them, no matter how unpopular it may be, how un-feminist, or how far off the road they thought they were traveling. So life throws a curve ball. So what? That's so often how we find the next great thing, or the part of ourselves that needs to open up and see the light, or the blessing God is preparing us to receive and to give.

Louis Weil said this to me: "We can only know when a new turn must be taken by walking along another path first. In my life, these unexpected turns have been very fruitful..."

I'm excited to see what will happen next. And I'm glad you're along for the ride.

God Feeds Us All

2009-02-07T12:00:00.001-08:00

That's what Sara Miles told me the other day. She also told me that if she'd known, when her child was small, what she knows now, she'd have asked for a lot more help.

We have gotten to the point where we have to ask for help to feed ourselves and our baby. And it has actually been a blessing! I'm really surprised - rather than feel humiliated and/or guilty, the people we've worked with have made us feel welcome and deserving. Nobody, it turns out, seems to mind feeding an infant and a breastfeeding mum. Kudos. [plus it turns out we spent years paying into the system, so, our social worker says, we shouldn't feel bad at all about taking out what we put in! true enough!]

So a shout-out to the WIC program, which is providing me & Maggie with dairy, cereal, and some protein. Unfortunately, we can't get any organics, which is really sad - seems the government should support the healthier options (both for our bodies and for the earth), since in the long run that saves money on healthcare, environmental cleanup, etc. (but of course the long run is rarely considered - just look at the national debt).

One thing that was super cool was when we were in the WIC office we noted that they don't offer any vouchers for basically anything fresh (except dairy) - no fruits or veggies, or even whole grains. Basically, nothing especially healthy. One month a year (one month!) you can get a voucher to take to the farmer's market (at least we have found a local market that accepts WIC, instead of a chain store, thankfully). BUT the woman told us that in October this year, a lot of that is going to change - they are going to phase out the vouchers for processed cereal and start including more whole grains, and probably start including some produce as well.

And I realized - that's the Farm Bill in action! How exciting to see something that I worked on and lobbied for actually going into effect (and I didn't even realize it would be affecting my life!). I was really psyched when I figured that one out. Yay to all of us who wrote to congress - I can vouch for the difference it will make.

It is funny - if you go through our current shopping guide, there are all these photos of GM and Gerber products. It's pretty obvious that this program has been paid for by some corporations. Wow - thank goodness that is changing!

The other thing I did was go work at the food pantry at my church yesterday, and what a thrill that was! I had SO much fun! I think partly it was just really great to get out of myself (you turn in on yourself so much when you are depressed) and focus on others, but also there is this amazing family atmosphere amongst the volunteers. And many of the volunteers are homeless or down-on-their-luck - it's a totally different vibe from the "rich man's burden" approach to helping the destitute. (and I'm among those who needed the groceries, so I was grateful not to feel like a schlub) All the people I encountered were really thankful and happy - it was so collegial and respectful. It felt so good.

I took Maggie along, both to teach her early about volunteering (plan to take her as she grows), but also because I know that babies bring joy. And boy did she! We got smiles, cheek-pinches, "cute" in so many languages! It was such fun. She actually sat on my table and got out the boullion we were in charge of, handed it to me, and I handed it to the people. It was seriously adorable. So many people thanked me for bringing her. She really lit up the room. I consider it such a privilege to have this little hospitality minister to offer to the world!

Plus we came home with SO much food! Way more than I could have imagined - it's such a generous pantry. I wanted to call up my friends and throw a party! Maybe I will - Friday nights at my house, people - we'll cook up whatever we've gotten! Last night we had salmon w/tapenade, caprese salad, and a baguette - all courtesy of Trader Joe's, all just past its date. Wow. Plus I have produce for a week - between the pantry, our CSA box, and WIC, we may never had to grocery shop again. [And the CSA will be the last to go - not only is it a great deal at around $50/month, but I believe in supporting a family farm more than a corporate store]

I'm not sure if I felt so in my element because I was serving, or because I was being a proud mama, or because it was food-related, or because it was joining a new community...probably a combo of all these and more. J and I were trying to analyze it, since I came home on such a high. There was something there that touched my passion and vocation, obviously - I just have to figure out what it was, then find a job/ministry that matches it, right?

Anyway it was a joy and definitely something I plan to do every week. You can't buy that kind of fulfillment!

All this to say, I'm so glad I've asked for help, because it is blessing me a hundredfold, way beyond the actual food. Thanks be to God.