This week has been unbelievable in the SBC world. Well, let me back up and sadly say-believable. It is kind of surreal that my experience from a few years ago is now giving me the voice I need for such a time as this. And I no longer feel arrogant saying this. My whole life I have been taught not to be noticed, or conceit will inevitably follow. While that can be true, that is only true if we get away from those on the margins who are saying this system isn’t working for me – and they are literally dying and suffering abuse. Also, this message was never given to men. Men were taught to be leaders, and were trained to be one-whether they wanted to be one or not. Women it was a no-go, even if our desire is to lead.

My voice is smaller than most, and for that I don’t mind. There are plenty of women with larger platforms calling out abuse because they actually were abused by the SBC. My abuse came elsewhere, and it is harder to organize, because it isn’t one big organization. It was little pockets of every facet of my life. I am here to say it isn’t just the SBC – it their theology. It infects a lot of churches and flows into public life. I am grateful for my friends on Twitter today who noticed how I was treated by a complementarian pastor. It is not social media causing this abuse. That has been happening my whole life. It is being brought to light.

Before I tell my story, I want to express my grief for all the women and men witnessing the lack of care by SBC leaders regarding abuse. Our experiences are erased because we aren’t at the table. And for some reason “women can’t be pastors” is more important for them to shout vs addressing the abuse that is rampant in their organization. They have this idea women want to take over versus be friends. At least I think that is the reason. There is something sinister happening, and we must loudly denounce it. My experience witnessing the lack of care from my own church regarding abuse prepared me for this moment. When the SBC abuse was revealed – I knew they weren’t going to care. Giving up theology that gives men power is a Hell of a drug.

Here is why theology matters – it plays out in public life. My story.

I was raised in a complementarian church-‘Church of Christ’. We do not have an organization that combines our voices, so calling out their theology is much harder. I actually think organizations are good. They are supposed to combine resources to serve the world, our faith is for the world-not from it, and be friends. I love the connections I am making through CBF (Cooperative Baptist Fellowship) and Alliance of Baptists. Plus, all the seminary connections I am going to make. This is setting my soul on fire. Friendship is the name – not a competition. Numbers is not the overall goal (membership, baptisms and budgets). No! While those are good things – that is not our driving force in our faith. Our faith is to live like Jesus. Truth is our driving force. And we will lose those who do not want to go along with the truth-because it can get uncomfortable. Truth will unseat the powerful. Owning a narrative has gotten comfortable for too many. No one owns the narrative. The story is all of us.

From the time I graduated High School and went to college, and I went to a state school (not christian) – Oklahoma State University, misogyny was only growing. Here is a post I wrote about my friend who ran for SGA (Student Government Association) President, and how she was treated by the newspaper the O’Colly, and the fraternity with the man running against her. Anxiety, My Story (It also addresses my anxiety growing up with certainty.) She won, but it was an abusive experience. I could not believe what was happening. I called the former president who was in the same fraternity, and I ripped him. I did not know I had in me to do that. He talked to me for a bit, and told me he was trying to not be involved. I let him know he had no choice- he was involved. I have been fighting my whole life for my place in this world. I end up being appointed the Treasurer. My bestie wanted her fighter by her side. Ha!

Then I graduate and move on to the Oil and Gas Industry. I wrote about this in this blog post Learning about Politics before I was political. This was an eye-opening experience too. Also, we were Venezuelan owned, and had another set of politics going on. I was treated like a peon who had no value, but they wanted me because I work hard and would play by the rules. There was a project they threw at me, and right away I saw what might be the problem. I was told it wasn’t possible, so I wasted a year, long hours, and tears working on it – just to come to the conclusion I saw from the beginning.

The one time I got praise working for this company was when an auditor (from Venezuela – not a normal auditor) told me to stop a process I do every night, and we never went back to make sure it was set up again. I emailed the refinery and my department to apologize that I had dropped the ball. My boss asked me why I did that, because it was the auditor’s fault. But something strange happened, the Refinery Manager emailed everyone back praising me for taking responsibility. He wished more people were like me, because it is easier to identify problems when we can admit mistakes. I still have that email. And I still admit mistakes. 🙂

Then I work in the soccer world – for no pay- because I want to help tell a better story. We had seen what the big club soccer-machine was -and still is- doing to parents and children. Here is the story: Our Mutiny FC Story . I was ignored by the leadership team for the value I added creating teams, and finding space for people to play when weather was bad. I was ok with it, because I was doing this for the kids. Parents loved me, and would reach out to me when they left for various reasons. They knew I cared and wanted to know. This meant so much to me. This is where I feel Beth Moore and I have an intersection happening. She is fine not being valued by SBC leaders, because she is adored by people who grow from her ministry. The abuse heaped on her is seen as her standing up to the oppressor. While that may be true, she is human. Just because she has a high tolerance to take on emotional pain-doesn’t mean she should. I am not here to control her, or condemn she is staying-and wanting to keep the same theology of complementarian (calling her version soft-no such thing). She is taking on something where they don’t value her humanity, and it is crumbling despite her wanting it to be as it was. That was me at Mutiny FC. Our humanity has to be valued. Holy Spirit says so.

When I saw my own church barely react to the most vulgar sex tapes released of our President’s words, and how he admitted he treated women by grabbing them- because he is famous! And the church said -Meh, but the emails. Dear Lord in Heaven. I left. Also, Hillary was blamed for her husband’s actions. I could not believe my ears.

So I will close with my journey to Wilshire, and how egalitarian theology has changed my life. I walk into church every time not believing this is real. I leave wanting to come back immediately. I love them, and they not only love-but like me back. And my pastor says I am called. I was (and still am) so disoriented by this attention, because I am used to being ignored. I was on cloud 9, and then I went through depression from it. I know that is weird but Science Mike addressed this when he finally accepted Hillary McBride, one of his co-hosts on the Liturgists podcast, liked him. We both had to go back and remember our abuse. We have had a young child hidden in us waiting for the bully to come and get us, and everything fall apart again. The Journey to Wilshire

 

 

I am including our statements we made when repenting for the sins of our nation.  These are powerful. 

The other day on Facebook I posted this:

Want to hear a story about me and Donald Trump? We don’t know each other, but it feels like our lives have these intersections where we meet, and I think to myself; “that’s not business” (when I worked in business) and “that’s not Christian behavior” (when I realize even my christian world isn’t what I thought it was).
This is going to be condensed. I am fleshing this out in a blog post. It’s not lost on me I got to go to DC during his term as President (hopefully one and only)-and counter his rhetoric.
Years ago, I watched a show called “The Apprentice”. The concept was interesting to me as I had just started working in the business world. Also, I was never deceived that Trump was a good businessman. I knew he was bankrupt most of the time-so it made me more curious. I was feeling like I was lousy at work, so I wanted to know what this guy did that was so great- even though he pretty much loses all the time.
Turns out I was right. The show wasn’t about business. This was him getting out of debt. The misogyny was fierce. He let go of one of his sidekicks to put in his children. I looked into it – it wreaked of something wrong. This show was flat-out to get him and his bank out of trouble, and gain a competitive advantage for his empire (that is actually fake) with the show. He has branded his name.
By season 3, I could not take his arrogance (which now I know is narcissism-which gets worse with more power). It was clear the show was going towards celebrities verses training future business people. I turned off the show, and thank God he’s now out of my life.

I was going to write about my trip to Washington, D.C., last week, but my beloved Rachel Held Evans passed away. I am still at a loss without her. I never knew how much I relied on her guidance.

Rachel is the first person I talked to George about when I said why I am at Wilshire. I had just read Searching for Sunday, and I longed for everything she wrote. I was so mad at church, but I still believed in her too. I knew it could be better than what we were doing. I came with a fire in my belly because of her; and I heard Mark speak these words I longed to hear at Moxie Matters: “We welcome everyone.”

I know I have written about this before, but this matters, because now I find myself going to seminary, and I went to Washington to attend the Alliance of Baptists conference a few weeks ago with the help of a few friends. A few years ago, I thought I was just listening to podcasts and talking on Twitter to pastors for my own healing. Now I have lost the ground beneath my feet, and I have not regained my footing since. Speaking of, I had to take my shoes off in D.C. because I had horrible blisters. A police officer on a bike immediately saw me do this and asked: “Are you sure you want to take your shoes off here?” I told him about my blisters, and he felt compassion for my plight. But I could not help but think that this happened because I am standing on holy ground. I know all ground is holy, but this was a moment. This also happened at the Diana Butler Bass presentation I got invited to attend.

The whole weekend was amazing. Every little detail was savored and enjoyed. I feel like a child who is finally getting to play after years of being benched because I am a woman. I had no idea it took this much of a toll on me. But the joy I am experiencing now leads to nothing but gratitude for the life before — and the life now. The life I had before plays into this weekend too.

I went into the airport by myself. I hadn’t flown in 14 years, and things have changed. Geri McKenzie told me to just look like I knew what I was doing. I did a great job at this, because immediately a TSA agent asked me if I needed help because I looked confused. I totally cannot do anything undercover. Then I got on the airplane, and a kind lady immediately asked me to sit with her. I told everyone around me I hadn’t flown in 14 years. A man immediately got up and helped me put my bag in the overhead bend. I got to my seat saying: “Everyone is so nice.” Then the flight attendant brought me two Dr Peppers because they accidentally prepared two. My neighbor on the flight said: “They heard you hadn’t flown in 14 years.” (Mark Wingfield burst my bubble later by telling me not to be deceived that courtesy has increased in air travel.)

The conference was amazing. I heard sermons by Rev. Jacqui Lewis. She also hugged me and told me she loved my hair. I could have passed out. She is a hero of mine, and her sermon brought me to my knees. Then Judge Wendell Griffen the next day. It was supposed to be Otis Moss III, but he got snowed in at Chicago. But with less than 24-hours notice, Judge Griffen brought us a word. I wanted to join the interpretive dancers during the singing because I was on fire. And I am laughing so hard writing this: A Church of Christ girl-turned weird Baptist, in Washington, D.C., doing almost everything I was told no to. Women preaching, music, dancing, non-binary bathrooms, and I got to be involved in voting. I have never done that before. I got to vote on a statement to counter the Nashville Statement. That is huge to me. That statement grieved me for our LGBTQ siblings, and now I find myself getting to be a part of the counter-narrative. Joy!

What is craziest of all is a friend from middle school who now lives in the D.C. area saw on social media that I was there, and we got together. We had not seen each other since middle school, and that night you would have thought no time had passed. Then the second day in D.C, even though I was tired from all the excitement, a friend from my previous church was sitting next to me in the pew. Neither of us knew it until we turned and looked at each other. I thought I was having a vision. It was pure joy to see her and hug her. I worked with her mom for 10 years, and her mom loved on both of my babies. I also met one of my friends I have chatted with on Twitter for a year. She is a transgender woman, and we had the best time talking face to face. Our God is a God of connection.

I wish I could write more. This journey is wild. There is something about letting go and saying yes to something new — something you never thought you were allowed to do. I am getting to live and tell a better story because of Wilshire.

I

I was going to write about my trip to Washington, D.C., last week, but my beloved Rachel Held Evans passed away. I am still at a loss without her. I never knew how much I relied on her guidance.

Rachel is the first person I talked to George about when I said why I am at Wilshire. I had just read Searching for Sunday, and I longed for everything she wrote. I was so mad at church, but I still believed in her too. I knew it could be better than what we were doing. I came with a fire in my belly because of her; and I heard Mark speak these words I longed to hear at Moxie Matters: “We welcome everyone.”

I know I have written about this before, but this matters, because now I find myself going to seminary, and I went to Washington to attend the Alliance of Baptists conference a few weeks ago with the help of a few friends. A few years ago, I thought I was just listening to podcasts and talking on Twitter to pastors for my own healing. Now I have lost the ground beneath my feet, and I have not regained my footing since. Speaking of, I had to take my shoes off in D.C. because I had horrible blisters. A police officer on a bike immediately saw me do this and asked: “Are you sure you want to take your shoes off here?” I told him about my blisters, and he felt compassion for my plight. But I could not help but think that this happened because I am standing on holy ground. I know all ground is holy, but this was a moment. This also happened at the Diana Butler Bass presentation I got invited to attend.

The whole weekend was amazing. Every little detail was savored and enjoyed. I feel like a child who is finally getting to play after years of being benched because I am a woman. I had no idea it took this much of a toll on me. But the joy I am experiencing now leads to nothing but gratitude for the life before — and the life now. The life I had before plays into this weekend too.

I went into the airport by myself. I hadn’t flown in 14 years, and things have changed. Geri McKenzie told me to just look like I knew what I was doing. I did a great job at this, because immediately a TSA agent asked me if I needed help because I looked confused. I totally cannot do anything undercover. Then I got on the airplane, and a kind lady immediately asked me to sit with her. I told everyone around me I hadn’t flown in 14 years. A man immediately got up and helped me put my bag in the overhead bend. I got to my seat saying: “Everyone is so nice.” Then the flight attendant brought me two Dr Peppers because they accidentally prepared two. My neighbor on the flight said: “They heard you hadn’t flown in 14 years.” (Mark Wingfield burst my bubble later by telling me not to be deceived that courtesy has increased in air travel.)

The conference was amazing. I heard sermons by Rev. Jacqui Lewis. She also hugged me and told me she loved my hair. I could have passed out. She is a hero of mine, and her sermon brought me to my knees. Then Judge Wendell Griffen the next day. It was supposed to be Otis Moss III, but he got snowed in at Chicago. But with less than 24-hours notice, Judge Griffen brought us a word. I wanted to join the interpretive dancers during the singing because I was on fire. And I am laughing so hard writing this: A Church of Christ girl-turned weird Baptist, in Washington, D.C., doing almost everything I was told no to. Women preaching, music, dancing, non-binary bathrooms, and I got to be involved in voting. I have never done that before. I got to vote on a statement to counter the Nashville Statement. That is huge to me. That statement grieved me for our LGBTQ siblings, and now I find myself getting to be a part of the counter-narrative. Joy!

What is craziest of all is a friend from middle school who now lives in the D.C. area saw on social media that I was there, and we got together. We had not seen each other since middle school, and that night you would have thought no time had passed. Then the second day in D.C, even though I was tired from all the excitement, a friend from my previous church was sitting next to me in the pew. Neither of us knew it until we turned and looked at each other. I thought I was having a vision. It was pure joy to see her and hug her. I worked with her mom for 10 years, and her mom loved on both of my babies. I also met one of my friends I have chatted with on Twitter for a year. She is a transgender woman, and we had the best time talking face to face. Our God is a God of connection.

I wish I could write more. This journey is wild. There is something about letting go and saying yes to something new — something you never thought you were allowed to do. I am getting to live and tell a better story because of Wilshire.

Rachel Held Evans has died, and I am crushed. She died Saturday, and I was lined up to lead our Bible class discussion on Sunday. I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to do it through all of the tears. I had no idea she meant this much to me. I have experienced pain before losing people unexpectedly and tragically, but never felt this much for someone I did not know personally. We interacted some on Twitter, but without that this grief would be the same.

So many people are apologizing for their grief because they did not know her. I am glad PantSuit Politics addressed this; if someone has affected your life, even if you haven’t broken bread together, it is ok to grieve them. We need more grief for people we have never met, not less.

Rachel went after the hypocrisy of white evangelism. She wasn’t doing it out of a sense of urgency because she might die tomorrow; no, she did it because it was the right thing to do, and the only way to fully live.

She made some mistakes, and she apologized. I have been crying out for an apology from men who have hurt so many woman and children in their evangelical, catholic, protestant and mainline churches. Not only will they not apologize; they won’t even address it. Rachel demonstrated everything we desperately need to see more of in our churches. She wasn’t afraid of anything- including being wrong.

Her writing sent me on a journey. She opened my eyes to a new day through her books. My world went from black and white to color. Rachel saw the hypocrisy with our Christian superiority. She knew there was no way because she was born in the US to Christian parents that somehow she had an advantage of going to Heaven over people not born to Christian parents, or those born in predominately Muslim countries. She could not understand why we prayed for parking lots in our churches-and those prayers were answered-but her prayers for starving kids in third-world countries were not being answered. She took on racism, sexism, and our politics. There was nothing she was afraid to take on if injustice was present.

Reading so many Twitter posts of people she lifted up using her platform gives me chills. She was looking for writers who were unknown to lift up. She was especially looking for writers addressing their own injustice. She made room for voices the system was trying to silence. She not only lifted them up, but they became friends. And that is the gospel story-to become friends.

She was a controversial leader. She was unapologetically for the LGBTQIAplus community. She said this: “What makes the Gospel offensive isn’t who it keeps out, but who it lets in…starting with me”. She also said she used to believe it was her job to make gay people straight, but turns out they were teaching her how to be a Christian.

It was a blessing, and I rarely use this word to describe anything because it has been hijacked, to lead class the day after her death. The lesson lined up with my feelings of the disciples on the Road to Emmaus, and it was communion Sunday. Rachel said the sacraments are what sent her back to church-and communion is her favorite. How beautiful. I feel I got to lead my own personal funeral for her on Sunday. Here is what I wrote to her on Twitter:

I made it through class @rachelheldevans ! You probably know, but it was good. I talked about you throughout the story. I feel so much grief, like the disciples walking away from Jerusalem. I feel disoriented and confused. How do we go on without you? These disciples wondered too. Then Jesus punks them (thank you Jonathan Martin for that observation Ha!). Jesus hears their pain, as you hear ours now too. Your words are filling us up and setting us on fire. You took me back to church when you walked this earth – a new one-one that values me in every way you taught me. You and Jonathan Martin took me in and told me a great story. Your words guided the very first class I ever led, and your words guided me again today. It’s not an accident I was leading class the day after you left this Earth. It was also communion Sunday. I couldn’t help but think of those disciples as they saw Jesus when they broke bread. I felt your presence strongly too at that moment. Thank you, Rachel. You led me to a church that wants to get me trained. That really scared me at first, because I was just coming to hear the story. They are asking me to tell it too. I feel your energy telling me to do this, so I will.

 

This year we revealed to Blake the Easter Bunny isn’t real. I was really sad about this, because this is the end of an era. We do not plan to have any more children, so this is a time of loss for me. So we spent our first Easter with everyone “in the know,” which is a really funny thing to say at Easter. And this “in the know” about the Easter Bunny was challenged for our whole family.

Easter is a holiday that doesn’t make sense, as George said in his Easter sermon: Good Friday makes sense; Easter does not. George talked about experiencing the Resurrection through our senses, and I had every “amen” in the world bubbling up inside of me. I am still too nervous to bust them out in service at this point. Even those who literally experienced the Resurrection had a different experience. It threw everyone off. They were told this was going to happen, but it didn’t make sense. That wasn’t a concept they could grasp. We still can’t — not without experiencing our own raising, as George said. The sermon had me on fire.

We came home and did all the Easter things: lunch, pictures, egg hunt. Then we rested outside, and Jake discovered a baby bunny by our tree. We could not find a nest anywhere. This sweet bunny, whose eyes were not open yet, was scrambling to survive by our tree. We had no idea what to do, so we decided to move it to a spot out front, hoping mom would find it. We came home the next day only to find it in the same spot, but at least it was still alive.

Blake begged us to do something. Tears were running down his face. Death seemed imminent. Kimberlyn was equally as emotional. I felt helpless, so I called the Sachse Animal Shelter. Even they were not sure they could do anything but encouraged us to bring the bunny in anyway. Jake and Blake headed to the shelter to deliver the bunny while Kimberlyn was still at school. When they came home, Blake asked me if they would give an update. I told him probably not, because, honestly, I did not believe anything good was going to come of it. I was just thankful to give the kids and the bunny some hope. I told Blake the bunny must be a fighter to still be alive today and he gave it the best chance it could at survival.

The next day I checked Twitter and happened to see the Sachse Boys Soccer team retweet the story about the bunny we delivered to the Sachse Animal Shelter. I could not believe my eyes. Here is what the tweet said: “A very kind young man and his Dad (aka to some of you soccer players as Coach) brought this baby to us cause it had been separated from the nest and Mom didn’t come back. Our friends at Cross Timbers have picked him up and baby bunny will get the best of care. ThankU.”

I was stunned. As soon as I picked up Blake, I told him we did get an update. Blake was overjoyed. Then at Kimberlyn’s soccer game, I got another update. This one telling me the rehab transport arrived shortly after we left and the baby bunny is on the mend. I told Blake and he said, “Easter is healing!” He named the bunny Easter. I could not get over how profound that statement was all by itself. Easter is healing.

I think about how we as Christians so easily proclaim Christ is risen. But with so much wrong in the world how does that statement make sense to anyone who is not an insider, or to those hurt by the church? It doesn’t make sense until you have entered the story and experienced your own death and resurrection story. When you see people believe life is worth it, even though death makes more sense.

The story of this bunny doesn’t make sense, but it is good news. To proclaim the Easter Bunny is real will make people think we have lost our minds. But Easter Bunny does exist, and he is going to be OK.

Easter is about healing and believing in life. It is imperative that Christians model this faith. The world wants to believe this is true. We have a story saying this is true.

Something has been plaguing me, and I have had to sit with whatever it is that is making me have really dark days again. I heard a podcast about anxiety, and it mentioned to remember the tools I had used to get through anxiety in the past. If that doesn’t work, then something else is going on that needs to be addressed. Anxiety is not something to push away. Anxiety is telling us something.

So I went back to The Liturgists podcast. Science Mike is one of the hosts, and he told a story about being on the phone with one of the other hosts one night. She told him how much she valued and liked him. He didn’t know what to do with this.

He told his therapist about the phone call. The therapist asked him how it made him feel when Hillary (the other host) said she liked him. He answered that he usually just ignores statements like this and moves on. The therapist asked him to take a moment and believe it is true.

He started weeping. He couldn’t figure out why someone liking or valuing him made him cry. His therapist told him if he sat with it he would figure out why.

He ended up seeing his kindergarten class. He was a bullied child in school. He was bullied so badly it disrupted class. His teacher had to take him to the time-out chair to put the rest of the class in time-out. She comforted him in the time-out chair alone. He started to remember more events. It was confusing him that believing someone liked him was leading him to remember such traumatic events in his life.

Science Mike realized that by believing Hillary actually liked him he could remember things he had to forget to survive. He had this little boy hiding out inside him watching for bullies his whole life. All of the Liturgists hosts reached out a hand to him, and they told him he isn’t a burden. They invited him to the table, and they told him he is worthy.

I wept listening to this podcast. It struck a chord with me. I keep saying how much I love this church, and this church likes me back. I don’t think I ever really let that sink in. Now I am having melt-downs, but instead of people leaving my side, I am receiving encouragement and patience. I never have been treated like this in church or society.

A friend gave me a bracelet that says, “God is Big Enough.” Two of our amazing ministers contacted me, unknowingly, on one of my dark days, and they weren’t scared off. They keep telling me I am not a burden. They will help me, and they don’t feel burdened by it. Listening to that podcast made me realize I have had a little girl inside me waiting for things to fall apart. I have been invited to the table where there is bread and wine, and I am told I am worthy.

A friend who is going through spiritual-direction training came over and listened to me. She let me talk, and when I said this church likes me, she asked me this: “So, now that you know your church likes you, what does that mean for you and God?” I found my spirit go still with this question. I answered, “It means I believe God likes me.” That put me at peace again. Now I am ready to remember things I had to gloss over previously so my soul could survive.

I felt so many emotions going back in time. One day I was crying, the next laughing all day. I was feeling so many emotions that even I, who embraces feelings, was feeling overwhelmed. But I got back home again. I went through my darkest night and made it back to the new day I am living now.

On this Good Friday, I am encouraged by this quote from Ebonee Davis: “The only way to heal is to feel.”

Children of Blood and Bone (Legacy of Orisha) – Tomi Adeyemi

The Underground Railroad – Colson Whitehead

Just Mercy – Bryan Stevenson

I Think You’re Wrong (But I’m Listening) – Sarah Stewart Holland and Beth Silvers

How the Bible Actually Works – Pete Enns

I’ll Be Your Blue Sky – Marisa De Los Santos

Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine – Gail Honeyman

Mathew For Everyone Part 1 – Tom Wright

Mark For Everyone – Tom Wright

Mere Christianity – C.S. Lewis

Bring: The Last Beholder – Megan Beam

Everything Happens for a Reason – Kate Bowler

Dark Matter – Blake Crouch

Shameless – Nadia Bolz-Weber

Tattoos on the Heart – Gregory Boyle

The Lost Book of the Grail – Charlie Lovett

The River: A Noverl – Peter Heller

 

That Kind of Mother – Rumaan Alam

Girl, Wash your Face – Rachel Hollis

Velvet Elvis – Rob Bell

Inspired – Rachel Held Evans

Prototype – Jonathan Martin

Comfort and Joy – Kristin Hannah

White Awake – Daniel Hill –

Tears We Cannot Stop: A Sermon to White America – Michael Eric Dyson

A Spark of Light – Jodi Picoult

Learning to Speak God from Scratch – Jonathan Merritt

Jesus is Better Than You Imagined – Jonathan Merritt

Neverwhere – Neil Gaiman

Pachinko – Min Jin Lee

How to Fix A Broken Record – Amena Brown

Spare Parts – Joshua Davis

Radical – David Platt

Braving the Wilderness – Brene Brown

Church of Small Things – Melanie Shankle

Station Eleven– Emily St. John Mandel

The Third Reconstruction – Reverend Dr. William Barber III with Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove

Paul: A Biography – N.T. Wright

The Road Back to You – Ian Morgan Cron and Suzanne Stabile

 

 

 

Over the past few weeks, I have had ongoing conversations on Twitter with religious leaders that have become a bit overwhelming. Honestly, I am surprised to get a response after being ignored for so long; finally feeling like I am being taken seriously in a world that once dismissed my voice because I’m a woman. Part of the reason I engage with these leaders is because I have been in their world, and I want to add a new perspective. Whether my conversations with them are effective or not is debatable. I don’t think they are ready to hear in one Twitter conversation what took me several years to learn, and they aren’t exactly open to listening. Lots of assumptions were made about me rather than asking questions about who I am. Many of these things are sparking self-reflection for me, but I have noticed it is starting to take a toll. I need to get back to why I like Twitter in the first place, which is engaging in conversations with people who have a perspective I wouldn’t hear otherwise. Twitter has raised my consciousness and has helped me see the world in a new way. I have discovered books and podcasts through this medium that takes a short tweet into long-form story-telling. But Twitter is nice because I can dialogue with the leaders and authors and other people who are part of the comment threads. I have even made some friends through comments; it is delightful. 

 

The conversation that got to me the most had to do with feelings. Someone tweeted something to the effect that we need to eliminate our feelings of the flesh. It was said much more harshly than how I am paraphrasing. I understand what they were saying, but I also know this theology is dangerous. It makes us think being human is evil. They are misusing Paul saying flesh is against the spirit. What they are saying makes sense based on the English translation. And our flesh is weak, but the Greek language has a different word for flesh that doesn’t mean our actual flesh and blood. (This is one reason why I need to go to seminary.) Richard Rohr would describe it as our ego in English. He says it has been a great travesty to our humanity to think we are separate from spirit. I was listening to Richard Rohr on The Liturgists podcast. He says it is too bad we start our theology from Genesis 3 and human sinfulness, instead ofGenesis 1 where we hear over and over again that creation is good. 

 

This is why it was important for me to engage in this particular conversation (and although I don’t regret that I did, I won’t do it again). I grew up with this kind of thinking and it wastraumatizing for me as a kid, but I had the Care Bears and Mr. Rogers telling me a different story. It is amazing how many of us were ministered through our PBS channel listening to Mr. Rogers telling us we are good, and he likes us just the way we are. Knowing humanity now, I am not surprised he was protested against for giving us this message, but I am glad I did not know that as a child. When he died, I was an adult, but I cried as if I had lost him as a child.

 

The Care Bears were my absolute favorite. Looking back, I never realized how prophetic these bears actually were and still are. Every bear had a picture on their belly that let us know their strength. A rainbow for Cheer Bear, a rainy cloud for Grumpy Bear, a heart for Tenderheart. Isn’t it great that they showed being grumpy as a strength? I loved it because when I was grumpy I knew it was okay, as long as I dealt with it like Grumpy Bear. Grumpy Bear has my favorite saying that I always use now: “the caring meter is down!”  

 

The Care Bears could have stayed in Care-A-Lot and not messed with Earth, but they did not choose to ignore human suffering. They went down to comfort any child who needed them – the oppressed and the oppressor both. That is what is so unique about them: they never left the side of either, but never brought together the oppressed as the oppressor until the pain was dealt with appropriately. They would try everything to reach the one who was doing the harm. There was one episode where they were all turning gray because no one cared anymore. Doesn’t this feel so relevant? Then Grumpy Bear yelled my favorite line. I thought it was funny as a child, but now I find myself seriously yelling, “The caring meter is down!”

 

This brought up a lot of feelings for me that I don’t want to destroy. I have been crying a lot more lately.  A very wise friend and mentor told me, “Sounds like you are growing again.”Maybe the tears are a reminder that the caring meter isn’t absolutely zero.