do you want to be made well?

While knowledge and truth can be found anywhere, the kind of wisdom that leads to shalom is indigenous to the margins, among "the least," forgotten, and last. Those who know the way to peace and healing are the ones whose bodies, like Christ's, bear scars of others' war-making. Any who sit at empires' thrones feasting on its spoils cannot lead us into justice. The powerful offer up all sorts of expertise, but paths to peace they do not know.

Peacemaking is not a top-down operation, nor does its wisdom flow from center to margin. Peace is forged through conflict (not around), and the way to communal well-being and wholeness is paved with all sorts of interpersonal discomfort, tension, and sweat. Justice cannot roll until subtle and glaring hierarchies and broken systems are identified and ripped out. 

And that much-lauded (and alarmingly misunderstood) rebuilding work of crafting something just and new? It, too, is rooted firmly in Wisdom from the margins! The top and center are architects and upholders of injustice, well practiced in the status quo affirming appearance of peace, but rarely the presence of Kingdom-of-God shalom. Despisers of the critical work of dismantling oppressive systems are incapable of building anything truly new; they lack the empathy, will, and imagination to envision and create alternate paths. Resurrection wisdom lives at the margins, where Jesus anchored his own life and ministry alongside fishermen, lepers, women, peasants, the colonized, unqualified, Samaritans, sinners, and sick.

Peacemaking is the sort of messy work from which many would rather run, particularly those of us benefiting from How Things Are [Unjust]. Privileged voices are quick to paint protesters, critics, and marginalized bodies as disturbers of a peace which does not yet exist. It's a tricky game, with clear winners and losers, actual shalom being the latter.

But we can't hope to take part in fixing what's broken if we refuse to recognize the depths of what's wrong, and that requires going to the margins and sitting at the feet of people the majority are most accustomed to demonizing and writing off.

Until Christians hear and heed Wisdom from the margins, we actively stand in the way of peace, no matter how "gracious" and gentle our words or noble our intentions. Civility is a tool of empire, defined by power and expertly wielded against those who step out of line or refuse the terms of their faux-peace. The Kingdom of God springs up out of far deeper, more fertile soil--and on the backs of none.

So many Christian voices claim--and honestly desire--to be on the side of Jesus, justice, and peace, but shalom wholeness requires a radical de-centering of power, the active subversion of hierarchical systems, and a good bit more staying in our own lanes.

White people can't know the first thing about dismantling racism unless we are sitting at the feet of Black people and other people of color. Men who refuse to learn from and defer to women are incapable of leading anywhere just, no matter how impressive their CVs. Straight and cisgender opinions on homosexuality, marriage equality, transgender identity, and intersex bodies aren't nearly as helpful (or faithful) as many imagine. Edgy tattoos and good book reviews are clanging cymbals accompanied by discrediting survivors and sheltering powerful friends. People who are depressed, in recovery, marginalized, and hurting have a great deal to teach the rest of us about a God who is near to the brokenhearted, but we can't receive their wisdom if we're so busy blaming them for harshing our happy vibe.

It's not the healthy who need a doctor but the sick.

Many Christians are so accustomed to seeing ourselves as the healthy bringers of a gospel of wellness to a sin-sick world, but we're just as sick as anyone. (And we're not the doctor in this metaphor, either, particularly when our actions and neglect contribute to making our neighbors sick!) We trust a pallid gospel of go-to-heaven-when-you-die, but the "personal" Savior Christians claim inaugurates systemic, all-things-made-new, salvific work among and within our communities here and now. We are saved together for greater works than these.

Do you want to be made well? 

Well, do we? We've got to acknowledge the depth of sickness in our systems as much as our hearts, and we can't expect the same voices who taught us hierarchy and complacence to lead us out into wholeness. De-throne the experts: shalom-deep wisdom resides at the margins, with the suffering and bruised.

There, among the despised and rejected, we'll finally and fully encounter the Man of Sorrows we've long claimed to follow. And only there, together, will we be healed.

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shall we strike with a sword?

Shall we strike with a sword?
Shall we crucify, terrify, vilify, war?
Shall we wound with our words?
Shall we seethe?
Shall we shame?

Shall we strike with a sword
or a fist
or a chain?
Shall we make them submit to our rule?
Shall we reign?

Shall we strike with a sword?
Shall we live by it, die by it,
crown it our god?

Shall we bow? Shall we break
every bow that we've made?
Shall we love a more excellent way?

Compellingly uncoerced,
casting out fear. Lay down arms,
forge new tools in the fire that consumes
every dross and illumines strange paths.
Plowshares strike only soil: till our hearts,
may the verdant grow wild.

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but what are you FOR?

When you've got an analytical eye, folks may chastise your negativity. Why waste energies tearing down? Upright citizens less easily offended are actually contributing something worthwhile, so quit complaining and do something already!

Here's the thing, though: that binary is false. We can critique and create. We can do and do better still, and analysis is one of many tools that can move us forward. Gardens must be weeded if they are to flourish, and weeding is as much work as planting, watering, or harvesting the fruits of our labors. Each of us is uniquely gifted, and there is value in all sorts of service.

But a lack of concern for systemic injustice (especially that which hurts others and benefits me and mine) exhibits neither moral authority or Christ-like leadership. Despite the common refrain (often from those with most at stake in the status quo), critics and activists are not the reason Why We Can't Have Nice Things. Hierarchy and protected power, secrecy, greed, and oppression inhibit shalom far more than "the surfacing of tensions already present." A peace that does not yet exist cannot possibly be kept by silencing dissent, discouraging critical thought, or demonizing the hurting and those with eyes to see.

But what are the rabble-rousers, troublesome "mobs," and angry "social justice warriors" actually FOR, anyway?

The Fruits and Fire of the Spirit

We are for wholeness, hard truth, and a preferential option for the margins. We are for hospitality, boundaries, and diverse gifts. We are for accountable leadership, transparency, and learning. We are for knowing better and doing justice.

We are for indicting and exposing systems and patterns antithetical to the Kingdom of God. We're for assigning positive intent and showing our work. We are for taking responsibility for our own feelings and actions. We are for peacemaking, conflict, repentance, and seeing it through.

We are for the fruits and the fire of the Spirit. We are for testing everything and holding it up to the light. We are for one holy catholic and apostolic Church, the least, last, and lost.

We are for embodied faith, common prayer, and all things made new. We are for subverting power, dismantling empire, and love with roots, feet, and wings. We are for liberation and not losing heart or giving up. We are for belonging to one another and the good, hard, messy work of practicing resurrection and working out our salvation together.

"Our Struggle Is Not Against Flesh and Blood"

The sin in our systems cannot be addressed solely on an interpersonal level, and our best intentions do not exonerate us from participating in or benefiting from patterns favoring the powerful over the marginalized. When criticism and a desire for accountability and consistency are pathologized as ungracious and even satanic, it baptizes, protects, and reinforces power, which is, more often than not: white, monied, influential, male, cisgender, heterosexual, able-bodied, neurotypical, educated, etc. "Mob" voices deemed malignant, irrational, and un-Christlike overwhelmingly belong (not coincidentally) to women, people of color, survivors, LGBTQ people, and those experienced in mental illness. Widely parroted ideas about civility and grace sound pleasing but may not resemble the way of Jesus.

Healthy leadership is accountable, humble, and willing to learn, and criticism is integral to public discourse. Pretending that criticism and social media are the exclusive domain of trolls is disingenuous, silencing, and frankly, ridiculous coming from the mouths of those who have built sizable platforms on both.

Criticism is a discipline that does not exist in opposition to Christian discipleship. Neither people nor criticism is the enemy. Our systems are sick, and it'll take surgeons' scalpels; healing hands; faithful prayer; and good, hard, all-hands-on-deck work to make us whole.

also: 

what it means to take abuse seriously (R.L. Stollar)

detox: on conflict, criticism, & who writes the history
violence in the snowy fields

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strangers in a strange land

Caesar’s imperial census compelled Mary and Joseph to the pilgrims’ path, far from home for their son’s birth to a world brimful of heartache and cruelty. King Herod’s murderous edict set the young family fleeing to Egypt where they lived several years as refugees. The sword, foretold by the prophet to pierce Mary’s very soul, would first cut countless others’ to the quick.

“A voice is heard in Ramah,

mourning and great weeping,

Rachel weeping for her children

and refusing to be comforted,

because they are no more.”

Few carols lament the empty-armed mothers of Bethlehem, but their grief bore witness to ruthless political expedience and state violence long before that dark day in Golgotha. Or a tear-filled August in Ferguson.

“Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.”

The nativity of our manger-born King reveals an oppressive displacement not adequately conveyed by children’s Christmas pageantry. But Jesus’ babyhood did not exempt him from the rocky stranger’s path even as he was nursed at his mother’s breast. Lamb of God, on the lam before he was yet weaned. To follow in Christ’s steps is to know that same uncertain insecurity, the felt constancy only of the target on one’s back. Wholly welcome no tangible place, belonging only to mercurial sisters and brothers and an unseen, unchanging God, Emmanuel’s path leads ever outward from comfortable center to harried margin, dispossessed people, and cross.

And yet, somehow, to joy. Christ’s own chosen displacements–from heaven, Rome, and custom–can mend this hard world’s sharpest breaches. And we who’ll “do even greater things than these,” will call the castaways, bind up broken hearts, and walk the weary wanderers home at last. Repenting of our own callous casting out, wayward hearts, and dirty, colluding hands, we’ll “stay woke” this advent to light kindling even now in lands of deep darkness, fueled by cast off boots, blood-soaked garments, and every shattered yoke.

“to give his people the knowledge of salvation

through the forgiveness of their sins,

because of the tender mercy of our God,

by which the rising sun will come to us from heaven

to shine on those living in darkness

and in the shadow of death,

to guide our feet into the path of peace.”

We do not walk this lonesome way alone. Be strong and take heart, all who wait and watch and weep: Emmanuel, ransom of captives, is near.

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with the sound the carols drowned

As advent begins amid swelling protest and lamentation, the poem-turned-song, I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day, echoes in my ears.

And in despair I bowed my head;
"There is no peace on earth," I said

The meditative timbre of advent never fails to resonate with me. Its melancholic, hopeful longing jars against the flashy lights and blur of the Christmas [shopping] season, mirroring the tensions and promise of the now-and-not-yet-fully-realized Kingdom of God.

We wait, and we watch. We cultivate hope, awaiting the coming of Emmanuel, already present and at work among us and within us. We take heart, pushing together against hate and trusting in the peace on earth that is come and shall come at last.

those without a horse

Label, lie, vilify
simplify, Other. Brother,
"Can't we all just get along?"

Those without a horse
dismiss the race with record speed.
Whose stories have we snuffed with severed
cries to settle down?

Prophetic voices rise 

above the fray from muted margins;

shalom whispers the heat of conflict, too.

We practice resurrection: calm, storm, 

work and wonder. Rooted and built up,
rebuilding in love, we'll blaze a most excellent way.

re-worked from the archives

violence in the snowy fields

The cover of the October issue of Harper's belongs to Rebecca Solnit's Silencing Women. (Her popular essay, Men Explain Things To Me, appears in a forthcoming book of the same name.) The article is behind a paywall, so I read it at the library and drove two towns over to get my own copy like the responsible literary citizen I can be.

The piece, about how women's testimony and voices are discredited, will be achingly familiar to many. It's worth a trip to the newsstand or library to read in full. Here's an excerpt:

Still, even now, when a woman says something uncomfortable about male misconduct, she is routinely portrayed as delusional, a malicious conspirator, a pathological liar, a whiner who doesn't recognize it's all in fun, or all of the above. The overkill of these responses recalls Freud's deployment of the joke about the broken kettle. A man accused by his neighbor of having returned a borrowed kettle damaged replies that he had returned it undamaged, it was already damaged when he borrowed it, and he had never borrowed it anyway. When a woman accuses a man and he or his defenders protest that much, she becomes that broken kettle. 

So many broken kettles. 

The story is always timely, but it seemed especially so to me having just read a thread over at David Hayward's Naked Pastor where a number of women spoke out about just that kind of treatment at the hands of leaders in the Emergent/emerging/progressive church movement. Nearly one month and eight hundred eighty-six one thousand seven comments later, that thread is still live, but I've not read much external commentary on it. A lot of people probably wish it would go away. It's unseemly, distracting. When such conflicts arise, it's worth examining who assumes the role of arbiter of What We Should Be Focusing On Instead and who are considered to be indecorous, un-Christlike troublemakers and unreliable narrators.

Of course, women are not alone in the experience of having their witness discredited or personhood diminished. Historically, it's even more common for people of color, (and women of color get it on multiple axes). Queer people and abuse survivors of all genders can similarly find their perspectives cast as untrustworthy against those who, across lines of power, are deemed less emotional and more objective, rational, and deserving of the benefit of the doubt by default.

It's exhausting. So many of the supposed "bad guys" and "good guys" behave in identical manners, which shouldn't surprise: no camp, theology, or political bent is immune from protected power, boys' clubs, gaslighting, mean girls, misogyny, bullying, or systemic violence. Across the board, our celebrity emperors have no clothes, but few even bat an eye.

It’s not just bros and jocks and finance dudes and yuppies and Christians and Republicans who are shitty to women. Being part of a counter-cultural or progressive community does not give you a free pass to be shitty to women without being called out on it. We need to hold our own communities to an even higher standard than we hold those in the opposition, we need to welcome criticism, and we to realize that the ones who call out shitty behavior in these communities are not the threat, but that those who protect it and shield it from criticism are. (On sexism, sexual assault and the threat of the ‘non-bro’) 

It lacks integrity, consistency, and frankly, faithfulness, if left-leaning Christians point fingers at abuses at Mars Hill or Sovereign Grace and then ignore the same destructive and marginalizing power dynamics repeated in our own backyards and communities. The sun still hasn't set on empire: it's hardly exclusive to the right, and "empire" is decidedly not a vague and lazy Jesus-juke available for leaders to wield against whichever criticism, tone, or perspective they don't appreciate (or find threatening to their own status).

Empire is present in every system privileging the humanity, word, and work of the powerful at the expense of "the least of these." Followers of the One who esteemed outcasts and undesirables, whose own inner circle offered nothing in the way of legitimacy or prestige, and who was ultimately executed by the literal Roman Empire colluding with religious authority should know better than to water down this most potent theological concept and critique of abusive, violent power.

We can do so much better, friends. Eyes to see. Ears to hear. Hands to heal. Feet to move: first to last, last to first.

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is "progressive christianity" a useful distinction?

Some have gravitated away from labeling themselves "Christian," even if they've largely kept the faith. They just follow Jesus or perhaps consider themselves to be more spiritual than religious. Others add modifiers like "progressive" or "post-evangelical" to differentiate their beliefs from the faith of their fathers.

My faith has evolved, too, as I've grown, which I imagine is the case for most people. I've never felt drawn to exchange labels, but I recognize also that I hold the advantaged position of not bearing deep trauma wounds from the Church. I've been a Christian since I was a kid, and I'm still a Christian. I'm not particularly concerned that you'll think I'm one of those Christians. Christianity is diverse, and while I claim all Christians as kin, I speak only for myself.

Even when my bag was pinned with a "Who Would Jesus Bomb?" button and my feet marched in anti-war protests, I didn't consider myself a "progressive Christian." My politics were surely formed by my faith, but I considered myself as regular a Christian as anybody else at church, even if we voted or interpreted Scripture differently.

Recently I stumbled across a conversation on Twitter about the difference between "liberal" and "progressive" Christians/Christianity. One respondent offered that in the UK, progressive means "hyper liberal," but in the U.S. it seems to indicate "moderately liberal." The terminology can certainly function that way in the lexicon of politically centrist post-fundamentalist American Christian social media users, revealing in part why the label is so profoundly unhelpful.

For one thing, on the political spectrum, although progressive and liberal are sometimes used interchangeably, progressive does not functionally mean "moderately liberal." Political progressives are more radical and populist than liberals, rooted historically in the United States with activist movements for labor and education reform, environmental conservation, women's suffrage, and more. Liberal politicians are generally establishment Democrats, while progressive candidates are more likely to represent third parties and more radical reform platforms. Candidate Obama was fairly progressive, but he isn't a progressive president by any real stretch of the imagination. Progressives, who by definition seek greater progress, exist further to the political left of liberals.

Then there's the other problem, which Fred Clark explains: "The theological spectrum does not mirror the political spectrum for many, many reasons, the most important of which being that there is no such thing as the theological spectrum.'”

You could try telling that to third way-ers, whose theological identity seems to hinge on a unique ability to mediate the allegedly hostile, polar wastelands of progressive and conservative Christianity, but I don't think it would go over any better there than with the crowd who narrowly defines orthodoxy as whatever they believe, branding anyone and everything else "liberal," regardless of affiliation. (Adding to the confusion, liberal theology is a historical thing, but it's worlds apart from what many of us would recognize as postmodern or progressive Christianity.)

[Slacktivist]

I suspect that growing up in evangelical communities for whom "liberal" was akin to a Scarlet "L" pushes post-evangelicals to embrace "progressive" as their preferred signifier, but does progressive indicate anything meaningful in the context of popular theology?

Blogger Zach "Quitting the Progressive Christian Internet" Hoag "heartily embrace[s] the progressive label in its simplest definition of 'not conservative or fundamentalist evangelical.'” I agree with Zach that plenty of Christians claim the label as a static "not like those Christians" badge of distinction, but that sort of definition by negation is a weak baseline for an identity (particularly for one employed by a progressive Christian website). Failing to adequately define one's terms leads to the unhelpful lumping together of disparate theologies, people, and groups, as well as throwing other Christians under the bus in ways that aren't entirely charitable. Fundamentalism isn't interchangeable with evangelicalism, and I'm left wondering what exactly sets Hoag's or anyone else's faith apart as progressive? Comfort with mystery, tension, and questions? Affinity for liturgy? Less rigidity? More diversity? Social justice? I'm not pretending that I have no idea what folks mean when they say progressive Christianity, but many of those signposts aren't peculiar to Christians of a more progressive political bent. Christians across time and tradition practice a generous orthodoxy.

Hoag expresses concern for "unhealthy conversation...which so often wields the 'progressive' label as a weapon against anyone less 'progressive,'" seeming to argue that interrogating a self-identified progressive is off-limits: folks are progressive if they say they are, and any challenges to aim higher, go deeper, or listen more closely to the margins will be dismissed as unhealthy and even violent. That's certainly played out in his comment threads lately, where queer, female, and other dissenters have been deleted, blocked, and branded as toxic trolls while a sexist, sexually demeaning joke is left to stand. Also perplexing is the cake/too desire to don the progressive label, transcend it by exemplifying Jesus' own alleged "third way," and then grump should anyone point out that the left is more progressive than the center by definition.

If this absence of demonstrable belief and praxis is "Progressive Christianity," the theobrogians and conference circuit celebrities can have it. But unfortunately for them, progressive remains a political label. It doesn't function particularly well as personal branding, but as long as they claim to be progressive, we will ask to see their work:

• Are they/(we) practically oriented toward progress, justice, reform, growth, and those existing at the margins?

• Do they/(we) pass the mic, or do they/(we) prop up entrenched hierarchies further benefiting them/(our)selves?

• Are learning, change, and liberation ongoing--or is a one-and-done changing of the mind on an issue good enough?

• Are they/(we) truly affirming of racial, ethnic, economic, sexual, gender, body, and class diversity; Blackness; people of color; women and survivors; disabled and neurodivergent people; and gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, non-binary, intersex, asexual, and queer Christians and people--or is nicer, gentler discrimination sufficient "progress?"

• Can they/(we) recognize and subvert oppressive power dynamics--even if personally implicated? Do they/(we) caution patience, civility, better humor, greater reason, and less emotion across lines of privilege, assuming faux-neutrality and a moral high ground they/(we) are perhaps not worthy of?

That's some of what I mean when I use the term progressive, and as long as we're operating from different definitions, worldviews, assumptions, and expectations, progressives are bound to conflict. More than that, we are talking past each other in essentially different languages, and the ways we communicate often reinforce rather than subvert established hierarchies and systemic injustice. Perhaps acknowledging that self-described progressives aren't on the same theological or political pages, easing up on the language of forced-teaming and hyperbolic war, is a step forward.

As a Christian whose politics are progressive and whose theology leans feminist and liberationist, I'm looking for a demonstrated commitment to justice, peace, and liberation among those who'd claim the progressive label, and I want to know that you believe in inequality. In Christian terminology, I'm seeking to loose the chains and break every yoke. I'm looking and working for repentance, resurrection, and all things made new. Yesterday's victories are worth celebrating, but the harvest is plentiful, and there's much yet to do. I name white supremacy and misogyny among the "powers and principalities" for which Christ died and over which he rose, and I admit that the rules are different according to privilege and power. There are times to listen and times to move our feet, and those most accustomed to leading are not necessarily best equipped for the work of birthing and building better paths forward. 

Progressives of faith, like all humans across time, won't agree on everything, but at the very least, might we affirm a commitment to ongoing growth as a community? Can we pin down a definition more meaningful and motivating than "Not X!" Can we interrogate whatever's standing in the way of our movements toward justice--even if it's u!--unafraid of "surfacing tensions already present" and seeking the sort of peace that's hard-won?

I dare say we'd be making progress.

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#FaithFeminisms: i believe in inequality

My feminism is (almost) done talking about equality.

If we take folks at their word, it would appear that almost everyone already believes in it. We wouldn’t dream of being racist, sexist, ableist, homophobic, or otherwise discriminatory. We know better. We’re good, welcoming people with the best intentions, but if Wisdom is truly proved right by her deeds, something is deeply amiss.

The Declaration of Independence asserted “all men are created equal,” but history proved white, Protestant, propertied men to be considerably more “equal” in practice, and not nearly enough has changed. “Separate but equal” Jim Crow segregation couldn’t demonstrate anything remotely resembling racial equality, and its shameful legacy persists to this day in our neighborhoods, schools, prisons, and halls of power.

Although certainly not analogous in degree or kind, plenty of Christians profess to believe in gender equality right alongside female submission and a hierarchy of roles in church and home. But more inclusive theologies and progressive politics aren’t a reliable indicator of functional equality either. If they were, certain denominations and communities would be that great Promised Land where none were limited by gender, skin color, ethnicity, status, sexuality, or any other difference, but we’re not there yet by a long shot. We’re not post-racial or post-feminist, yet we’re so eager for progress (and distance from those sorts of people) that we’re ever tempted to claim victories prematurely. Belief in equality of worth slowly morphs into the misconception that structural equality has already been functionally achieved. Mission Accomplished. We did it!

But a presence overlooked and ignored is not an absence. Those benefiting from the continued marginalization of others are in no place to proclaim how far we’ve come or what counts as harm, and despite all our believing in equality, white / male / heterosexual / cisgender / educated / Christian / conventionally attractive / upwardly mobile / neurotypical / able-bodied  perspectives and people are still honored as more “equal”. More authoritative. More respectable and civil. More rational, more trustworthy, more gracious, and more deserving. Gendered and racialized micro-aggressions exist perniciously (alongside other types), even if those in power fail to recognize them.

If a noble concept such as “equality” can be so consistently twisted to include or overlook subordination, propped up hierarchies, and a host of harmful and exclusionary practices and beliefs, perhaps it’s time to change the conversation.

I believe in inequality. I’m seeking confirmation that you believe in it, too – that you believe me – that together we may work to subvert hierarchies and birth another Way.

Can you acknowledge people as experts on their own lives and experience? If people of color, women, and  LGBTQ voices speak up about discrimination, will you write us off as bitter or toxic? Do you assume we’re overreacting, uneducated, or being emotional? Are we “playing the victim?”

If you hear talk of oppression or marginalization, do your eyes glaze? Are your lips quick with a sigh and rebuttal about the un-Christlike perils of “ideology” or “identity politics”? Do you really believe that your own perspective is somehow neutral and above the fray, unmarred by social location, assumption, or worldview? Is it possible that the benefits granted you by systems actively privileging your voice and value over others have compromised your ability to be objective or to assume the moral high ground?

Each of us is biased, formed by our own histories, identities, and experiences. I cannot leave my middle class whiteness at the door when I do theology or anything else, and each situation and perspective I encounter I experience as a woman.

But we can work to cultivate lenses oriented toward the margins and liberation. We can refuse to spiritualize Jesus’ declaration that he brings good news to the poor, recovery of sight for the blind, and freedom for prisoners and all who are oppressed. We can remember that Christ was executed by the state only to rise from the dead, making spectacle of its powers and principalities of violence and domination. We can listen to perspectives unlike our own, allowing ourselves to be softened and shaped by them. We can exercise compassion and humility, honoring Wisdom from the margins where Jesus pitched his tent and dwells.

WISDOM FROM THE MARGINS

Does not Wisdom call out?
Does not understanding raise her voice?

To you, O people, I cry:
set your hearts on me and listen
for my lips will speak the truth

Sophia is not voiceless.

Have we not listened? We are distracted.
Have we not heard? A gift not ours to give.

Incline your ear and understand:
amplify her voice. Her story is her own
but our salvation is entwined.

For those who find me find life
together and to the full.

------------

The conversations happening around #FaithFeminisms this week are tremendously challenging and inspiring. It's rare to find evangelical, liberal, and radical voices in one place, but it's happening here, and I'm excited to contribute my voice in print (and literally, as well). Spend some time on the site and consider linking up a post of your own. Good things are afoot.

[Archived here, here, and here.]

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#FaithFeminisms: A Calling Out

Pssst. Exciting happenings are afoot, and you're invited to contribute. The Spirit is making ways in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland. Come by and have a look. 

[Archived here.]

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we're here to stay, we're here to stay, we're here to stay

PREVIOUSLY: because purity culture harbors rape & abusers

What Kind of Leadership Blocks Dissent & Privileges Predators, Christianity Today?

They took down the post. Late last night, the president and C.E.O. of Christianity Today and the editor of Leadership Journal took responsibility, removed the destructive article, and issued one of the better apologies I've seen, which you can read in full here.

The conversation is changing, and our work is bearing fruit. Evangelicalism's flagship media group, read by 2.5 million people a month, is beginning to address consent and take steps to change harmful language and ensure survivor care. Because of a grassroots movement aimed at accountability and concern for child protection, sexual abuse prevention and after-care is on the hearts and minds of thousands of pastors, laypeople, and church leaders this week instead of functioning as a niche concern for survivors, therapists, feminists, and activists.

We are kicking at darkness, and daylight is breaking through. Abusive patterns and oppressive systems, once hidden in plain sight, are being named and dragged into the light, and this is a big deal! There is so much work yet to do, but what happened this week is no small thing, and we should celebrate that victory.

I'm so grateful for the work and witness this week of Dianna Anderson, Tamara Rice, Emily Maynard, Becca Rose, Samantha Field, Bethany Suckrow, Mary DeMuth, Hännah Ettinger, Elizabeth Esther, Micah Murray, and so many others.

They'll call you firebrands, gadflies, and honey badgers, but we know you're lionhearts, the lot of ya. xo



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what kind of leadership blocks dissent & privileges predators, christianity today?

Last night, after a flurry of attention in social media, there were dozens of dissenting comments on the youth pastor abuser narrative at Leadership Journal. The comment count was around eighty, but today there are just eighteen.

My comment was the first on the piece, and it's gone now, too, so I decided to post it here:

this is disgusting. you were not involved in an "extramarital relationship." "extramarital relationships" don't land people in prison. you are a child predator, an abuser, and possibly a rapist. you say that "we gave the devil a foothold", but that was all you, bro. you abused your power and a young person whose care you were charged with. no minor can consent to sex with a adult. have you learned nothing in prison? five pages of this junk? really, CT?

Oddly, the following response comment to me still stands on the piece, and without my own comment, it shapes another sort of imaginary narrative about the behavior of people who are sickened by a leadership publication allowing a predator to cast his teenage victim as an adulteress:

Hey Pastor Tim and Suzannah...you're both SO full of grace...unbelievable...it's not a wonder people don't want to stop sin habits in life (no matter WHAT they are) when the response is so grace-filled as the ones above...you both are missing the point - he is admitting that he will be labeled (and rightfully so) a sex offender for the rest of his life - but what he IS doing with his story is warning ANY of us about ANY sin pattern that will destroy ANY one who ignores God's plans and ways. instead of calling him names (which may be true or not) we should be confessing, forsaking, and finding mercy for the sin that can so easily entangle ANY ONE of us...we should be saying 'Thank you for sharing your story' and then 'Father, keep working on him (and me) to be more like Your Son.' This isn't five pages of junk...this is the story of the beginning of a restored heart - the kind of story that Jesus began regularly with "Go, and sin no more." Thanks, Name Withheld and CT

I didn't engage in any "name-calling." Adults who prey on minors are very much abusers and predators. If he was convicted of statutory rape--and the piece asserts plainly (and problematically) that he had a "physical relationship" with a minor--he is a rapist. Obscuring those truths--and calling it Christian leadership--is deeply troubling and dangerous.

We're gonna keep dragging this into the light. Downgrading rape to "a sin that can so easily entangle ANY ONE of us" is not grace; it's a manipulative sleight of hand favoring abusers and re-victimizing the people whose trust, bodies, and childhood they violated. Deleting comments and blocking critics on twitter (as editor Drew Dyck has done) will not make this important conversation go away.

People don't abuse kids--or fail to "stop sin habits"--because "ungracious" Christians won't let them paint young victims with their shame. I rebuke any abuse-enabling, oppressive grace-talk that lays the fault for abuse on anyone but abusers and the cultures and systems favoring them. 

Grace and good leadership protect the vulnerable, not power and predation. Take down the post, Leadership Journal and Christianity Today.

PREVIOUSLY: because purity culture harbors rape & abusers
UPDATE: They Took Down the Post

 {image source}

because purity culture harbors rape & abusers

Content note: child sexual abuse, victim blaming, Christians behaving abominably

Last week I got the chance to talk to our summer staff about sexuality, challenging them to rethink some of the ways we traditionally frame the discussion for young people. We talked about how "sexual purity" marries the language of dirt and shame to sex and bodies in ways that misrepresent God and cause a great deal of harm, and we talked a lot about consent, which most purity teachings erase from the equation altogether.

According to the purity script, any sex and even attraction apart from heterosexual marriage falls under the category of sexual sin: consensual pre-marital or extra-marital sex are indistinguishable morally from sexual abuse and rape, and victims are rendered "impure" and at fault alongside their abusers.

In the purity culture framework, fooling around with one's girlfriend is the same as a youth pastor sexually abusing a minor: just erase consent, harm, and exploitative power differentials, and file together under sexual sin and selfishness.

I wish I were exaggerating, but this specific example played out at Christianity Today's Leadership Journal this week, when they offered up their platform to a convicted child predator, giving him five pages to convince readers that what he was involved in, what got him sent to jail, was an "extra-marital relationship." Nevermind that this "relationship" was with a teenager that he was in a position of spiritual authority over, whom he groomed for sex.

In this abuser narrative, the victim and crime are wholly erased. Instead, the youth pastor and his teenage "friend" are presented as being mutually seduced by the "allure of sin." They both are to blame for "giving the devil a foothold" and "quenching the Holy Spirit", and this is held up as worthy lesson for Christian leaders to learn from:

The "friendship" continued to develop. Talking and texting turned flirtatious. Flirting led to a physical relationship. It was all very slow and gradual, but it was constantly escalating. We were both riddled with guilt and tried to end things, but the allure of sin was strong. We had given the devil far more than a foothold and had quenched the Holy Spirit's prodding so many times, there was little-to-no willpower left.
We tried to end our involvement with each other many times, but it never lasted. How many smokers have quit smoking only to cave in at the next opportunity for a cigarette? We quit so many times, but the temptation of "one more time" proved too strong.
Like David, my selfishness led to infidelity.

Leadership Journal allows a convicted child abuser a platform to manipulatively frame this as a story of personal selfishness and infidelity without one word about molestation, statutory rape, sexual grooming, or the abuse of power and children entrusted to the care of adults at a church. [A "clarifying" author's footnote hardly cancels out five still-standing pages suggesting and flat-out asserting the polar opposite.] Also alarmingly, the article is tagged for these "related topics": accountability, adultery, character, failure, mistakes, self-examination, sex, and temptation.

This is not leadership. This is rape culture, abuse apology, and re-victimization under the guise of education and grace. It's not even a bad redemption narrative, as the youth pastor, publication, and many of its commenters fail to demonstrate a most basic understanding of the fact that what transpired was the rape of a minor, not an adulterous affair. Repentance requires actually accounting for--not glossing over--the actual harm one commits.

An affair is a mistake, but sexual abuse and rape are crimes, and good leadership recognizes the difference, particularly for survivors. Good leadership understands that there is no preventing sexual abuse without also dismantling the systems obscuring and favoring coercive abuse of authority. Good leadership doesn't privilege the stories and presence of abusers over the humanity, recovery, and safety of children and victims and then have the audacity to call that "grace."

Abusers aren't "monsters," and they aren't "just like us," either. The former leads to disbelieving victims and prevents us from seeing abusive dynamics close to home. The latter actively obscures exploitative power differentials, encouraging sympathy for abusers at the expense of those they continue to harm.

If we care about ending abuse, we must expose the systems that prop it up everywhere. Abuse isn't just an isolated or interpersonal problem: it is supported by theologies, policies, editorial guidelines, language, assumptions, and even biblical interpretations.

In the piece, the youth pastor likens his own moral failings to King David's adultery with Bathsheba. He uses the Bible to frame his own sin as adultery instead of abuse, but the stories are similar in more ways than he lets on. A "yes" is only a "yes" if a "no" or a "yes" is possible. A minor cannot consent to "sex" with her youth pastor, and in David's time, what woman had the right to say "no" to a king (or at all, for that matter)?

It matters tremendously how we tell and interpret stories. Abusers are masterful at sweet talk and spinning webs. They manipulate, coerce, shift blame, lie, erase their victims, and then collect congratulations for being so brave while those who object are chastised with myriad bible verses for their lack of grace and "unresolved victim issues".

That's not grace. Abusers aren't entitled to platforms, mics, or teaching positions, and actual grace exists alongside justice, accountability, and consequence. Grace protects the vulnerable. Using grace to favor the powerful over the hurting isn't grace at all: it's oppression-as-usual and the way of empire rather than the upside-down Kingdom of God.

Take down the post, Leadership Journal and Christianity Today. Host a conversation--that does not center abusers--about the need for working Child Protection Policies in every Christian church and organization. Talk about consent, and then talk about it again. Don't let anyone on your watch--particularly convicted abusers!--frame rape as a personal moral failing or sexual sin, neglecting the ongoing impact sexualized violence has on survivors and communities.

Care about survivors, never assuming that your audience of leaders doesn't also include survivors of abuse. Moderate your comment sections (and not like THIS). Give a platform to those in recovery. Don't imagine that you can fight sexual abuse without actually calling it abuse or interrogating the assumptions and exploitative power dynamics that enable it to thrive.

And please don't publish another judgey article about why entitled Millenials are leaving the church until you can show your work on what you and other Christian organizations are doing to combat abuses of power and people in the the name of Christ.

We've got to dismantle the frameworks that enable, hide, and baptize harm in our midst.

NEXT: What Kind of Leadership Blocks Dissent & Privileges Predators, Christianity Today?

FINALLY: They Took Down the Post

Related:
On How the Church Discusses Abuse: Denying the Endorsement (Dianna Anderson)
Leadership Journal, Christianity Today, and #TakeDownThatPost (Samantha Field)
Because It's Time to Take Down That Post (Tamara Rice)
Why Did a Journal for Christian Pastors Give a Platform to a Sexual Predator? (Hannah Ettinger & Becca Rose)
It’s not an “extramarital relationship.” It’s rape. (Elizabeth Esther)

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because white supremacy & misogyny are violence

Writing off what happened in Isla Vista as the work of a madman so unlike ourselves serves only to obscure the misogyny and white supremacy that undergirded Rodger's crimes, conveniently letting us off the hook for the ways those violences are rooted, too, in our own hearts and communities, on our watch. 

Unless we see and name the misogyny and white supremacy in our midst, we baptize a status quo that is inherently violent, hierarchical, and unjust.

Hold it up to the light. Make it visible. Make it change.

I've got a profile up at Micah Murray's site today on Elliot Rodger's racism, hatred of women, and related "aggrieved entitlement" as indicators of violence. Let's not lose this moment further (and needlessly) stigmatizing mental illness. Let's interrogate instead our cultures of violence and light a better way.

tell it & think it & speak it & breathe it

[Content note: abuse apology, victim blaming, rape, child abuse]

I'm not much of a crier, not typically. Although my heart could burst sometimes for how deeply I feel injustice, my eyes are far more likely to flash with anger, passion, or mischief than spill hot with tears. And yet yesterday found me weeping, racked with sobs twice. I cried reading The Fault in Our Starsand later upon receiving a maddening email from a stranger.

He had written a post condemning scripture's Esther for joining a pagan king's harem and bed. According to the writer, she could and should have refused the king to keep herself "pure," and failing to do so made her a "complicit adulterer." Nevermind that one was a powerful sovereign and Esther a foreign girl descended of political captives, or that women were considered men's property and without rights, or that the modern concepts of consent and bodily autonomy didn't even exist. (They barely exist now, particularly in many Christian circles!)

[You can read the post here, but know it may be triggering. It's worth noting (although the author doesn't) that the post's parenthetical note appeared this week and was not original to the piece.

The author unconvincingly suggests that believing Esther to be anything other than sexually sinful requires believing in perfect heroes, and oddly, he then paints abusers as "monsters", as if abusers (or abuse/rape apologists for that matter) are not also the sorts of ordinary people we know, work with, and love.

Abuse is predatory, devastating, and unconscionable, surely, but conceiving it as something committed exclusively by monsters leads us to disbelieve victims. ("But he's such a nice guy/ talented man/ respected leader! You must be confused/ overreacting/ imagining things/ lying.") The late addendum doesn't rectify the post's mixed and destructive teachings about gender, sin, and sexuality.]

The author illustrates his point with the story of a woman who was raped as a teenager by her uncle. According to the author, the woman felt complicit in her uncle's abuse of her and found hope in the story of Esther, whom God used despite her "brokenness." The author initially presented this narrative of child victim complicity not only as fact(!) but as something seemingly intended to encourage and teach a lesson: even the most sexually compromised sinners can be redeemed! Glory!

The post had me shaking when I read it the first time and again this week when a new comment addressed to me hit my inbox. This theology isn't just bad: it's abuse apology and victim blaming cloaked in the language of religiosity and grace.

Sexual abuse survivors who have been sinned against require no one's forgiveness. We who miscast blame, heap shame, and side with the powerful and the perpetrators--we are the ones in need of repentance and atonement.

***

When reading Dylan Farrow's description of being abused by her father, Woody Allen; the Vanity Fair profile from 1992; or the recent shitstorm of doubt passing itself off as objectivity, my heart breaks into a million pieces for all the hurting kids who are never to blame for what happened to them, for the ones who never tell, and for those who did and we chose not to believe.

We have a daughter named Dylan, too. At six, she is a voracious reader with sea-green eyes, a playful imagination, and an startlingly sharp mind.

The dark outside is thick like smoke, and I choke to find my breath.

***

The author of that post sent me an email explaining that my comments were deleted because I used "inflammatory language." Perhaps I could have worded things a little differently, he suggested, in order to appear less harsh and encourage more dialogue in his comment section. He even supplied a sample script I could have used.

His email was extraordinarily polite and quite nice in fact, but it was also an outrageously silencing and presumptuous adventure in missing the point. I had been careful with my words. In print, I am nearly always careful with my words. (It is a significantly more difficult task in speech!) I hadn't called names, assigned motives, attacked anyone's character, or engaged in any otherwise untoward rhetorical tactics.

The thing is, I have zero desire to engage in a dialogue about whether or not survivors are complicit in their own rape and abuse, because survivors are not complicit in their rape or abuse. Rapists and abusers are the ones to blame for raping and abusing. Full stop. No apology.

Is that harsh? I can think of a number of things that are considerably harsher, particularly sexualized violence and the cultures and theologies that support, excuse, and enable it to hide and even, to thrive.

When what we are taking about is young people coerced into abusive, exploitative, non-consensual, illegal, and violent sexual experiences, I have an exceptionally hard time imagining that God cares much about optimizing niceness or even fostering dialogue.

The love of Christ looks far less like monitoring language for civility and more like identifying and subverting oppressive power dynamics, holding abusers accountable, supporting (not re-victimizing!) survivors, and transforming rape culture into something far more reminiscent of the resurrecting, upside-down Kingdom of God.

***

I cannot change, control, or be held responsible for another's actions; I am solely responsible for my own. This realization can be tremendously liberating (particularly within purity culture that blames women for men's sins), but as parents it can be extremely hard to accept that we cannot control either what our children do or what happens to them.

We cannot shield them from every shadow or protect them from every harm, but we can raise our voices (and a ruckus if need be). We can grieve each other's pain and celebrate each other's joy.

We can't stop the darkness from falling, but we can kick at it 'til daylight bleeds though.

We can listen to survivors. We can trust children. We can light candles and a better way together.

Children of the Light,
love the day and Dayspring
and each one as ourselves:
beloved, transforming, and renewed

like the dawn of something better

{image source} 

detox {on conflict, criticism, & who writes the history}

Innumerable blog posts, tweets, and think pieces churned out over the past few months offer blazing indictments of "toxicity" in progressive Christian and secular feminist online spaces. As someone who follows conversations in both niches and writes on faith and feminism, I'm particularly interested in how this trend plays out in parallel.

No one would argue the fact that the climate online can and does become hostile sometimes, but in fairness, so can the climate of the local bar, the church down the road, and my own home, if I'm honest. Sin is hardly native to the internet; humans behave badly everywhere.

I have no interest in the defense of personal attack, which has no fruitful place online or anywhere else. But I do tire of how easily and often honest disagreement and even the most careful criticism are conflated with bullying and among Christians, with sin, particularly when those pointing fingers have a stake in propping up the status quo and less-than clean hands.

The Power of Language & Discipline of Criticism

Receiving criticism is never fun, and it can take a personal toll. But it also comes with the territory of offering one's work and words for public consumption. Everyone love accolades, but critique is the other side of the coin. Public ideas invite public responses. It's is the nature of the medium.

We seem to understand this as a community when we're the ones talking back to corporations, politicians, megapastors, and gatekeepers. We laud the democratizing power of social media when our little words are heard, shared, and go viral, but how quick we are to cry foul when the tables turn and our own ideas inevitably come under scrutiny. I'm just the Little Guy, the Good Guy! Critique ought to be reserved for the Big and the Bad, right?

But media is media, no matter the scope, and each of us is accountable for the words we share, Joe Politician as well as Jane Blogger. If we want the platforms and re-tweets (and paychecks and book deals), we've got to accept that criticism is par for the course. Critique can't just be acceptable when we engage and hateful when she does, prophetic when it's our side holding the mic and the spotlight but nasty if it's them, (particularly if they are women of color). It's neither fair nor honest to assign malicious motives to anyone else's critique or to hold my own critics to different standards than I keep for my team, my friends, and myself.

Words shape reality, and Christians who worship Jesus the Word who spoke creation into being ought to understand this better than anyone. Feminists who recognize that "mankind" isn't inclusive language or can deconstruct modesty debates in their sleep, should not recoil if it's pointed out that our own language is transphobic, ableist, or otherwise harmful.

The Enemy Within

Our fight is not against people. Feminists don't fight men; we fight the patterns of patriarchy entrenched in our culture's discourse, institutions, and practices. Similarly, Christians affirm that "our struggle is not against flesh and blood" and that sin is as present in power and systems as human hearts (Eph 6:12).

Oppression. Injustice. Selfishness. Sin. Patriarchy. Racism. Violence. These are The Enemy, and they are in all of us to varying degrees. Contrary to popular belief (and privileged distress), critique is not synonymous with nitpicking, infighting, backbiting, or catfighting. We who've read movie reviews, written blue books, studied the liberal arts, or learned a bit about media literacy should recognize this. Criticism is a discipline about analysis and even reform, illuminating patterns that we might acknowledge and dismantle the systems that keep us in chains and inhibit shalom in our communities.

White supremacy doesn't crumble if people stop using slurs or because white people adopt black babies, just like sexism didn't end when women got the vote. The work of intersectional feminist or liberationist criticism is to connects the dots, identifying the persistent and systemic patterns that elevate some voices while punishing others, and illuminating another way.

I critique to make the invisible visible. There is power is naming, not to demonize but to demonstrate that words matter and that with them we can speak life or death. I don't believe in heroes or monsters; the potential for both is in all of us, and criticism of my work or behavior is not an indictment of me as a person, even if it hurts.

All The Feels 

Feelings are important, and feelings make us human, but feelings are an insufficient gauge of the whole truth of any given situation. When I am criticized, I might feel embarrassed, frustrated, or angry. I might believe I am being criticized unfairly, and the tenor or passion of someone's disagreement might make me feel uneasy, but "bullied" and "attacked" are not feelings but verbs. Feeling bullied or attacked is not equivalent to actually being bullied or attacked, and if we're going to introduce those accusations, we better be prepared to back them up. Similarly, feeling ashamed or uncomfortable is not sufficient evidence that another's critique is shaming.

I am responsible for my words and actions, including the harm they cause that I never intended. (No one gets up in the morning with "Marginalize people!" on their to-do list.) I am accountable because my words, behavior, and even inaction can reinforce oppression and stereotype without my meaning to. (How often are men described as hysterical, catty, or contentious? Are white people generally spoken of as savage or brutal?) Misogyny and racism are rooted not in personal prejudice but in structures, institutions, and systems.

I am also responsible for expressing my own feelings in healthy ways. Perhaps I need sabbath, exercise, or firmer boundaries. Maybe I need to stick up for myself, broach a tough conversation, or get away for a while, but ultimately I cannot hold other people responsible for how I feel. Validating each other's feelings is a key aspect of being a good friend or partner, but we don't owe that to strangers on the internet.

Feeling bad isn't a solid indicator that I've been wronged. Discomfort with conflict is valid, but it can't on its own reveal whether a conflict is toxic. Feelings matter, certainly, but using my feelings to derail a conversation that isn't chiefly about me isn't fruitful or fair.

Being implicated in racism, homophobia, sexism, etc. feels crappy, but dealing with that is on me. Can I choose to see beyond my own feelings far enough to care about another's person's lived experience of injustice and my own hand in it? In the grand scheme of things, oppression is significantly weightier than personal discomfort, and compassion looks like acknowledging not just feelings but the uneven and unjust power dynamics at work.

Talking Back

Ugliness exists online, as everywhere, but it's careless to conflate strong words with malice or something that requires cleansing (by whom?). "Women of color know that when we leave the supposed 'toxicity' of Twitter, we are not going to another place that is not toxic" (Kaba & Smith).

There are no shortcuts around conflict to unity, and not every conversation that makes my heart race must be indicted or shut down. Sometimes I just need to shut down my computer and take a deep breath. Other times I need to commit to listening and doing the work, because "constructive crisis and tension are necessary for growth," and constructive is rarely akin to comfortable.

Having or cultivating distance from anger isn't any sort of inherent moral good either. Anger is often fruitful, catalyzing desperately needed change. It's not a fruit of the Spirit, but then neither is apathy, protected power, or smarm.

Social media is eroding the control the gatekeepers have historically held to shape the dominant narrative, and that's a breath of fresh, decidedly non-toxic air. The democratizing effect trickles down, and it's foolish to presume I should be able to control the narrative either. I can't always foresee what will happen after I press publish, which can be paralyzing or scary, but it also can be tremendously liberating.

Any of us is able to talk back, and each one speaks on her own behalf. There is power in naming and in making the invisible visible. Speak we life.

Interlopers on Social Media: Feminism, Women of Color and Oppression
The Color of Toxicity
Bigotry Not Twitter Makes Feminism Toxic
White Supremacy's Toxic Twitter Wars #BigBadWolfFeminism
This Is What I Mean When I Say White Feminism
words like weapons - poem

[shared with #FaithFeminisms]