and this world has everything

Back in college I loved the band Caedmon's Call. I had all their albums, saw a few shows, and was enamored with boys who could play their songs by heart. They were the only Christian band I didn't backtrack on there for a while, but when I got out of youth ministry, I sorta let them go, too. The over-dose was probably inevitable. One does not live by [Christian culture] alone.

I hadn't listened to or thought of them in years when the chorus of "This World" got stuck in my head:

This world has nothing for me
And this world has everything
All that I could want
And nothing that I need

But this time, these once-familiar lines caught me off guard. I don't believe anything close to that anymore. Did I even back then? (This is why I bang the media literacy drum!)

What about the Genesis creation narrative in which everything God makes is unequivocally deemed to be good? Are Christians somehow exempt from basic human needs: food, shelter, security, love? Is the kingdom of God not inaugurated here among us, "on earth as it is in heaven," as Jesus proclaimed? What the hell kind of world is this song even talking about?**

This world is making me drunk
On the spirits of fear

Despite believing "perfect love casts out fear," Christians can be among the bigger manufacturers of it. Isn't fear partly what drives the desire for safe alternatives to "worldly" bands, movies, gyms, and schools, so Christians can be "in the world" (ish...) "but not of it"?

I don't believe retreat from the world is what Jesus prayed for in John 17. I realize "the world" (and "the flesh") function as metaphors, but words shape our thinking, and overemphasizing these can lead Christians into devastating and idolatrous territory.

A world vacant of value is disposable, and so are its inhabitants. Dualistic theology prizing the spiritual and heavenly over the material and embodied cannot functionally practice neighbor-love or the sort of ministry Jesus models. In that worldview, people of other faiths and no faith at all are easily seen and treated as projects--which is objectifying and dehumanizing--rather than kindred, beloved co-bearers of the image of God.

I get that the Bible talks of Christians having heavenly citizenship, being strangers on earth, and following Jesus above all else. Christians believe in more than whatever we see and experience now, but ours is not a pie-in-the-sky gospel of go-to-heaven-when-you-die. It's the gospel of "Today salvation has come to this house,""the kingdom of God is at hand," and "all things new," even now. Even here.

Creation, incarnation, and resurrection reveal deep, abiding goodness in our world and bodies. In beauty and pleasure. Learning and work. Art and play. Friendship and hospitality. Birth. Growth. Sex. Justice. Community. Love. We worship, serve, and practice our faith in this world, with our bodies, like Jesus did. This side of heaven, there is no apart: falsely elevating the spiritual divorces our bodies from our very selves, diminishing wholeness and shalom among and within us. We are physical, emotional, rational, sexual, spiritual beings all at the same time, and it's good.

The gospel of Jesus is good news for people-with-bodies and a world which God created, loves, and redeems.

And now I'm waking up
And now I'm breaking up
But now I'm making up
For lost time

**Edited to add:
YOU GUYS. Amy Peterson told me she read "This World" as a rejection of the insular church subculture the group grew up in, [There's tarnish on the golden rule/ And I want to jump from this ship of fools/ Show me a place where hope is young/ And people who are not afraid to love] and my mind is blown. Please weigh in, nerds.

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)

{image source}

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.

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]

on objectification {or, how people aren't objects no matter what they wear}

As hemlines and the heat index rise, so do temperatures of the modesty debates among Christians. 'Tis the season, and nothing says summer quite like barbecue, swimsuits, and a good, old fashioned slut-shame.

What interests me especially is how the language of objectification creeps into these conversations about modesty. Feminists have long rallied against objectification of women in pornography and culture, and in an unexpected plot twist, conservative Christians seem to be jumping aboard the anti-objectification train, too. At first glance, this appears to be a step in the right direction. Yay for diverse coalitions against the idol patriarchy!

But somehow that train always seems to derail somewhere in Gnostic Territory, a grim and fearsome wasteland. Wallala leialala. Do. Not. Want.

I want to talk about what objectification is and isn't, how the premises of these debates are flawed, and how we can reframe this conversation to reflect what we believe about the incarnation. Feminism and Christianity may be strange bedfellows, but together they really can shape a positive counter-narrative to the stifling, demeaning, and heretical ones casting men as feral beasts and women as objects of lust (or scorn) instead of all of us embodied, fully human people bearing the image of God.

We are {created for} so much more than this.

---

Recently, a Christian website put up a much shared video called The Evolution of the Swimsuit: Can Modesty Make a Comeback? In it, Jessica Rey, owner of a one-piece swimwear line, blames the bikini for cultural decline and the dehumanization of women. So scandalous was the first modern bikini, it was modeled by a French stripper! She cites Modern Girl Magazine in 1957 opining that "no girl with tact or decency would ever wear such a thing"--that is, until the sexual revolution and women's movement seemingly sent both out the window. For Rey, women exercising power over their wardrobe, body, or sexuality by donning a two-piece cannot be construed in any sort of positive light. Citing a Princeton study and an article about it, Rey makes this bold claim:

Analysts at the National Geographic concluded that bikinis really do inspire men to see women as objects, as something to be used rather than someone to connect with. So, it seems that wearing a bikini does give a woman power, the power to shut down a man’s ability to see her as a person, but rather as an object.

Firstly, weird use of "inspire" there, but secondly, this power women allegedly have to cause men to dehumanize us is pretty much the worst superpower ever conceived, huh? Rey imbues certain types of clothing with the ability to override men's capacity to see women as fully human. The bikini transforms a woman from a person whose body, sexuality, and autonomy are integrated parts of her humanity into some sort of sex kitten patronus existing for male service and fantasy--and it's her own damn fault. The weak-willed man (and they're all weak according to this narrative) is helpless against this overwhelming swimsuit-induced urge to define a woman entirely by her body parts and his own projected desire.

WHAT. This is an astoundingly low view of masculinity, and it's also the same sexist woman-as-vixen/Jezebel/temptress trope that folks have been peddling ever since Eve tasted the fruit in the Garden of Eden.

I couldn't find the original studies to read, but that National Geographic article mentions a few details Rey left out: the sample group included just twenty-one men, some of the photos the students reacted to were of headless torsos and breasts (not women with faces), and the men who seemed to objectify those disembodied images also "scored higher as 'hostile sexists'—those who view women as controlling and invaders of male space."

It doesn't exactly read like the moral mandate to ban the bikini like Rey seems to suggest. The Daily Princetonian, interviewing the study authors, reported:

Study participants were also asked to fill out a survey designed to measure how sexist they are. The researchers found that when the men whose surveys indicated that they were the most sexist saw the pictures of women in bikinis, they were least likely to activate a part of the brain associated with thinking about people’s minds and thoughts, Fiske said.

“I think [the study] does relate to the effects of having pornography and sexualized images of women around and in the media because they spill over into how people treat women in general,” Fiske said, adding that these images may dehumanize women and encourage men to see them as objects. “You have to be aware of the effect of these images on people,” Fiske explained. “They’re not neutral. They do have an effect on how people think about other women.” 

Cikara said she agreed that the reactions observed in the study might be a consequence of society’s emphasis on sexualized female imagery. 

“This research can certainly help to further our understanding of the effect of sexualized women, whether in advertising or in the office,” Cikara said, adding that “men can totally override this response.” She noted that men do not look at their wives or sisters in the same way that they look at a sexualized image of a woman on an advertising billboard.

Now we're getting somewhere. While Rey argues that the bikini causes men to objectify women, implying both feminine blame and a female onus to change men's minds and their dehumanizing behavior (assumptions that are a quick jump to disturbing "she asked for it" rape apology), the Princeton study's authors suggest instead that objectification is rooted in pornography and sexism, and that men are in fact empowered to control their own gaze and action, a remarkably different conclusion than Rey's.

From The Princetonian again: "Fiske said the results indicated that some men may objectify or dehumanize partially clothed women, though further research is needed to confirm these findings." 

*Some men* may objectify partially clothed women. *Further research is needed.* to confirm these findings.

I won't jump on the "Bikinis Are Bad" bandwagon just because researchers flashed images of boobs to a few Princeton co-eds whose brains activated "regions associated with objects or 'things you manipulate with your hands.'" As Jonalyn Fincher argues, that can certainly be seen as a natural response! Sexual attraction is hardly indicative of viewing people as objects, and desire is something distinct from objectification. 

Desire says, I want you. Objectification says, I want that. 

Sexualized and pornographic images can cast women as objects in a way that an actual woman in a bikini on the beach does not replicate AT ALL. Objectification treats people as tools existing for the pleasure or utility of others. It reduces people to their body parts and appearance, denying their agency, autonomy, and personhood. Christians mistakenly conflate sexual desire with objectification in these discussions, but that betrays a gnostic suspicion of bodies and a lack of understanding that objectification is rooted not in attraction (or sexiness) but the commodification of women's bodies and sexuality.

[Edited to add: Attraction and a temptation to objectify fall along a spectrum that these heteronormative modesty debates fail to acknowledge. As I unpack harmful assumptions implicit in these discussions, I want to recognize that LGBTQ people and attractions (and female desire in general) are generally rendered invisible in these conversations, and that's not okay either. Objectification denies the imago Dei intrinsic to all of us: male, female, queer, gay, straight, and otherwise.]

Sexuality is an integrated part of our humanity even if we are celibate and no matter how we're dressed. It's pornography that can divorce sexuality from humanity, but strangely, so does much evangelical Christian teaching, especially aimed at single people and teens. We've falsely elevated spirit over flesh, misunderstood attraction as lust, and expected something akin to asexuality from unmarried Christians instead of wrestling honestly with what it looks like as individuals and communities to honor God and one another with our sexuality (even if we aren't having sex).

We might disagree on the appropriateness of certain outfits in certain settings, but the choice to wear sexy clothes (something that will always be culturally and personally relative) is never an invitation to view a person as an object. Can we maybe also stop projecting our preferences and prejudices onto people who don't share our faith? A million factors play into how we present ourselves, but dressing to receive sexual attention is still not asking to be seen or treated as a thing instead of a person. A sexual person (and we're all sexual people) is still and always a person.

Clothing and people do not send "Objectify me!" messages, and presenting oneself as female, attractive, or even sexy does not compromise anyone's humanity. Gnosticism, not Christian orthodoxy, casts suspicion and shame on bodies and sexuality, and it was struck down as heresy by the Church long ago. The God who made our bodies called them good and the Incarnation, in which God became flesh, further affirm the value of embodied life.

Women are people; we don't use our "powers" to cause anyone to dehumanize us. Men are people, too, capable of taking "every thought captive" and refusing to let pornography be the lens through which they relate to others. None of us is defined by desire, appearance, sin, or anyone's approval; our intrinsic, unchangeable worth stems from being made in the imago Dei.

Some will objectify a woman no matter what she wears; a cute one-piece, like those in Rey's swimwear line, is unlikely to make a difference to anyone who is predisposed to disrespect women (like the "hostile sexists" in the study). It's sad that Rey's video serves to normalize rather than challenge objectification and shame, but it's deeply troubling that she blames women for men's sexual brokenness. Upholding dignity (as Rey argues for) is a worthy goal, but if we're arguing and living like men are animals and women are objects, we're practicing the sort of terrible theology that can't get us there. There's not a thing a woman can wear to change a culture that treats her as subhuman.

Christians call this Sin. Feminists call it Rape Culture. Either way, it's the sort of brokenness for which Christ died. Resurrection sets brokenness aright, and as Christians, we too are called to be people who push back the effects of the Fall. We can't shrug our shoulders about the inevitability of sin and objectification when we worship a God who raises the dead and breathes new life from ash. When the world is not as it should be, we kick at the darkness 'til it bleeds daylight and commit to growing something better.

But we can't create a faithful alternative to an oversexed, objectifying culture by pathologizing sexuality and imposing modesty rules rooted in bad theology, misogyny, or dysfunction. I believe in seeking to honor God, others, and self, but modesty is something best wrestled with privately and locally and has considerably more to do with humility than swimwear anyway. Universalized rules weigh like chains, and we're not called to bind others to to the specific ways we discern God leading us.

What if instead of reacting against an increasingly sexualized culture with shame, fear, and legalism, we demonstrated what a whole and holy sexuality might look like? What if Christians were known less by our self-righteous spiritualizing and more for being people who understand what it is to be fully human? What if we countered objectification by treating every person we meet with dignity, as one who bears the very the image of God?

Because we do, in swimwear and anything else. We're beloved and fully human, no matter what.

image source

Anything, Nothing, or Something Well (a #FitchTheHomeless follow-up)

[Find my original critique here.]

When I was a youth pastor, my students and I volunteered in some sort of ministry or community service capacity every month. We generally connected with local organizations, doing whatever they told us they needed: making chili, serving breakfast, hanging out, collecting toiletries, sorting clothes, washing cars, picking up trash, playing with kids. We didn't generally get as many students out for those events as laser tag or ice skating, but it was always meaningful connecting in the community and learning to step outside ourselves for a bit to love with our hands.

But there was at least one time that we didn't coordinate our serving through an agency, which I look back on and cringe. It was the Martin Luther King, Jr. Day of Service, back before that day was well organized. Our church was next door to several hospitals in Pittsburgh, and I thought, Wouldn't it be great to bring food to folks in waiting rooms?

It's not the worst idea in the world, right?

Well, it was and it wasn't. See, I never called ahead to find out if my Super Great Idea would be received in actuality as either super or great. Instead, I just showed up with a bunch of teenagers, juice boxes, waters, rice crispy treats, and a whole mess of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. That we made ourselves. And attempted to pass off to strangers. Who may or may not have been in fragile emotional states since their loved ones were in the hospital and all.

We couldn't get into Children's, because, hi, they don't actually allow random, un-cleared teenagers inside. Two other hospitals actually did allow us to traipse about willy nilly, but can you believe that folks were not especially amped to eat peanut butter sandwiches made offsite and unseen by middle school kids?

How could anyone have possibly foreseen that consequence???

We meant well. Our intent was to be helpful and kind, but good intentions alone will not suffice. It was an exercise in well-meaning-but-foolish naivete. We didn't hurt anyone (that I know of), but we didn't exactly provide a meaningful service, either.

Were our snacks appreciated? Perhaps. Was our presence appreciated in the midst of so much family stress and pain? Maybe not. What about those sandwiches? We made them because we were on a budget, but it was a waste of money and time if most of that bread, jelly, peanut butter hit the trash untouched (except by all of our hands, of course!).

I believe that #FitchTheHomeless is a similar example of the kind of ill-conceived helping that doesn't play out as well in practice as imagination. That doesn't make the filmmaker a bad person. My critique was of the idea, not the person who conceived it (or anyone who shared it).

Never in a million years would I argue that it's not worth doing anything when everything we could possibly attempt could potentially be picked apart and faulted. I never want to cause paralysis or convey that everyone might as well pick up their ball and go home, cuz some hater on the internet is sure you're doing it wrong.

I'm not here for pooping on parades or making anyone feel silly, and if it came across like that, I am sorry. I'm just a media nerd with a penchant for unpacking cultural messages and a desire to esteem people at the margins--but not at the expense of my readers or anyone else.

None of us gets it right all the time. Risk-taking means risking failure and opening ourselves up to critique. Love is messy and sometimes awkward, and answers come more often in shades of grey than black or white. We change our minds and disagree, make mistakes and learn love as we go.

#FitchTheHomeless worked as a bit of corporate sabotage, but it offered a lousy service model. They sought to make Abercrombie & Fitch look the fool, but it's damn near impossible to paint them as a brand for "douchebags" and "date rapists" and then have photos of Abercrombie-clad homeless people be seen in a positive light. #FitchTheHomeless doesn't work as both gotcha brand slander and meaningful altruism. When the service component functions as an ancillary to the smear campaign, the "charity" feels tacked-on and cheap rather than kind or worthwhile. Their campaign missed executing its greater good piece by casting marginalized people (possibly against their will) as symbolic pawns in their corporate take-down.

If Christian privileged people aren’t careful, their problem-solving heroics can easily dishonor the image of God in oppressed people. Most obviously, this occurs when privileged people bypass the crucial stage of “weep with those who weep” listening. This type of listening requires the privileged people to stand in paradigm-shifting, time-consuming and uncomfortable solidarity with oppressed people. Instead, they go straight to the “Let me solve your problem for you” type of non-listening. (Dr. Christena Cleveland)

Doing Something is generally a better strategy than, say, couch-sitting, but "something" isn't the same as "anything," so let's try to Do Something Well, shall we? Our grandiose ideas can take on a life of their own sometimes, and we need people on the ground helping us to see through our own blind spots if we are to truly be part of working together toward the kind of just, positive outcomes we desire.

So by all means, get involved. Let's commit to serving in ways that uphold one another's dignity and help us to learn. But let's ask first, listen well, and assume nothing. Don't be like me, the misguided youth pastor with her peanut butter sandwiches, trying to "help" people who might so much rather be left alone.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions and all that. A simple phone call to the hospital could have helped me to set up a project that supplied actual rather than imagined needs. All I had to do was ask, "How can we best serve patients' families or staff? Is there anything that you need that we could possibly help with?"

Meaning well isn't carte blanche to proceed however we choose or an exemption from critique, but let's never be so afraid to do it it "wrong" that we sit on our hands. Things worth doing well are worth doing poorly at first, but if we'll learn from our mistakes, we'll do better, this time not as Fixers, Savers, or Answer-Givers but kind hands, listening ears, fellow pilgrims, and friends.

After all, we belong to one another in love sincere. We need each other more than we have something to offer. Remembering that might just be the greater good that lights a better way.

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help or harm? power, intent, & objectification #FitchTheHomeless

I tried not to click the link, the one about sticking it to the elitists at Abercrombie & Fitch by outfitting the homeless in their branded gear. It reeked of gimmick and exploitation, so I didn't watch. Until I did.

I'm not gonna link to it. It's findable. The premise is that Abercrombie is terrible (and they are) because they don't want anyone bigger than size ten in their clothes. #FitchtheHomeless' solution? Buy up thrifted Abercrombie stuff, and give it to the homeless! That'll show those sexier-than-thou tools at corporate!

(I'm breaking my first rule of Fight Club Twitter by acknowledging Twitter in this space, but it is what is is.)

#fitchthehomeless is just another way to dehumanize a different group of people. it's no clever dig at A&F when the homeless are punchline.
— the smitten word (@suzannahpaul) May 15, 2013

Abercrombie & Fitch is intentionally branded for fit, white, middle class cool kids. Imagine a similar gotcha! campaign in which A&F clothes were given to bigger-bodied people, underprivileged black kids, or hurting, bullied students, and we were encouraged to photograph them to show their CEO what's what.

That would feel pretty gross, right?

the stunt "works" b/c it's acceptable to dehumanize homeless. we expect them to gratefully accept any and all leftovers. #fitchthehomeless
— the smitten word (@suzannahpaul) May 15, 2013

this is exploitative--> hahaha, homeless people are disgusting! look at your precious brand on the dregs of humanity, LOL! #fitchthehomeless
— the smitten word (@suzannahpaul) May 15, 2013

A non-degrading zinger campaign could have outfitted the elderly in Abercrombie. A&F wants their brand to stay youthful, and recreating their hallmark sexy black and white poses with seniors on Hoverrounds would have made a similar point without the ancillary exploitation. Something like that would have been playful and even provocative, but since Grandma and Grandpa are not generally suffering marginalization or social ostracism, their appearing onscreen would have had a wholly different feel.

Changing the power dynamic changes everything.

I've been writing online for over five years. I occasionally poke sacred cows but have never gotten as much blowback as I did yesterday. It got a little out of control up in my mentions for several hours.

@suzannahpaul Quit being so ignorant or just join sides with A&F already.. What type of person are you?
— Trisha Roberts (@TrishaRoberts23) May 15, 2013

@suzannahpaul it's bc your a big ignorant. They Are doing it bc he refuses to donate them to homeless.
— Amy (@ameliac612) May 15, 2013

A lot of folks were adamant that meaning well is all that matters. If we succeed in pissing off Abercrombie's jerk CEO, and a few homeless folks got some wrong-sized pants in the bargain, what exactly is the problem?

@geraldmitchell @suzannahpaul But the worst case scenario here is that the homeless people are getting clothes on their back !!
— Kevin Wagg (@TheKDOG1970) May 15, 2013

@suzannahpaul You can try to call it a punchline but giving clothes to the homeless is still a benevolent act
— Justin Loranger (@DJ4LMNTZ) May 15, 2013

@suzannahpaul it's donating to people in need, and working toward ending degrading any group.
— Michelle (@shellsglitter) May 15, 2013

Is it really? This kind of drive-by "charity" looks a lot like degradation to me, and I can think of a few things homeless people need more than an Abercrombie tee shirt shoved at them by a stranger with a video camera. Did they get permission to film? Did they even ask their sizes? I didn't see much human kindness in clips casting homeless men and women as little more than voiceless human props.

One of my critics told me, "Sounds like you don't want homeless to have nice things." I guess that depends: nice things like Abercrombie clothes or nice things like dignity, respect, need-based services, homes? There are ways of helping that honor the image of God in human beings, and #FitchTheHomeless isn't that.

@suzannahpaul Guys she wear AnF and was a cool kid in hs so of course she would denounce this idea
— fakeCapinclutch_27 (@Capin_Clutch_27) May 15, 2013

You got me! I am an Abercrombie-wearing Queen Bee hot girl. I am in this to protect the brand.

Abercrombie is an ugly company. They sexualize young people, rely on cheap overseas labor, and are known for discriminatory hiring practices on top of every hateful thing their CEO said. But it's a false choice to suggest that we can either support Abercrombie or #FitchTheHomeless. There are a million ways to damn The Man that don't throw marginalized people under the bus.

Helping well starts with honoring people and upholding their dignity. Treating people as projects or points to be made is behavior every bit as objectifying and dehumanizing as the kind Abercrombie is known for. We can't oppose Abercrombie's body snark and bad ethics by turning homeless people into one-dimensional branded billboards for something we loathe. That's careless slacktivism, not altruism.

If you want to help the homeless, do it! Get involved with an on-the-ground agency like the L.I.V.I.N.G. Ministry on Pittsburgh's North Side. Find out what specific kinds of donations they need. (It might not be clothes.) Volunteer. Show up. Meet real people. Find out what housing insecurity looks like in your area. Learn.

I could say so much more about misguided top-down charity, magical intent, or humor that attempts to punch up by punching down, but I need to wrap this up. I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments.

the mermaid of brooklyn

In tv land, there are generally two roles for the thirty-something woman: the (sexy) childless career woman or the (sexy) mother of a (sexy) teenager, a decidedly more supporting role. Motherhood dominates a commercial landscape for everything from paper towels to snack food, toothpaste, and air fresheners, but sustained storylines about parenting little ones are few and far between.

I posted a musing about this on facebook once, and a tired mom, admitting her own preference for escapist entertainment responded, Who wants to watch stories about real life?

I do, I thought. Not stories about diapers and crying, of course, but honest narrative about motherhood, relationships, change, identity, sex, self image, community, family, depression, joy, struggle, work, worth, meaning? Absolutely.

The Mermaid of Brooklyn is that story seldom told, a rare jewel and rough diamond both.

The sophomore novel from Brooklyn dwelling writer Amy Shearn is loosely based on her own great-grandmother, Jenny Lipkin, whose husband disappears one night without a word. He goes out for cigarettes and fails to return, leaving Jenny with their infant and toddler, his dog, and a host of questions.

The story takes place one scorching summer in Park Slope. It could be an enjoyable beach read, but it's no frivolous fluff piece. Shearn writes with honest insight and biting wit about new motherhood and the inevitable trials that set us off, set us adrift, or set us free.

Lipkin is a fascinating protagonist, because although she is not tremendously likable, she is strikingly relatable, and as a reader, you do want to see her succeed  The book takes a novel turn into the waters of magical realism, a charming plot device that serves the story and doesn't take away from its more down-to-earth enchantments.

I don't want to give anything away, but I especially liked the sensuality that Shearn imbues Jenny with as she re-learns to navigate her own body even while sharing so much of it with her young family. It was tender and true picture of life-after-baby.

Darkly funny, smart, and resonant, The Mermaid of Brooklyn tells a true tale about relationships, parenthood, second-guessing and starting over, even when today looks exactly like yesterday and the day before that.


Who is telling good stories about motherhood--or of women as more than romantic leads--in books, television, or movies? Are you reading/watching anything good lately?

TLC Book Tours hooked me up with a book, but these opinions are all mine. But you knew that;) Affiliate links, yo.

Dove's "real beauty" is a charade

Jim and I had the tv on this weekend, and a certain ad had me shaking my head and waxing feminist about the difference between the marketing of products to men and women.

Drink this beer...Get a hot chick! 

Shave with this gel...Get a hot chick! 

Buy this domain...Get a hot chick!

Advertising geared toward women is a different beast entirely, creating fears and providing "solutions" to embarrassing problems we never knew existed in our bodies and homes.

Your couch smells! Your house smells! You smell, not just at the gym but probably on your subway commute, too!

Your (off-white!) teeth are crawling with "bugs"!

Your lashes aren't lush!

Your thighs don't "gap"!

Your hair is flat! Your color dull!

And apparently, there's also something wrong with our armpits. They're not pretty enough, and we're probably not "ready" for sleeveless shirts, no matter what the weather report says.

Yup, the ad that inspired my mini tirade this weekend was created by none other than Dove, the "real beauty" company that brought us that feel-good viral ad that everyone was sharing on social media yesterday.

I should be more grateful of my natural beauty. It impacts the choices and the friends that we make, the jobs we apply for, how we treat our children.

It impacts everything. It couldn't be more critical to your happiness.

Beauty couldn't be more critical to your happiness. Imma go ahead and call that a fat corporate lie, peddled by a company with a vested interest in our believing that they can sell us both. Beauty and happiness are fleeting, at least the versions that come in a lipstick tube or can be purchased on credit. Those pleasures fade, but their elusive promise is a carrot that we keep chasing despite our better judgment.

If only we were skinnier--or curvier. If our arms were sculpted, our nail beds nicer, our lips fuller, our skin darker (or lighter), our stomachs flatter, our butts rounder, our breasts perkier, our hair smoother...THEN we would finally be truly happy, right? 

(Because if we've learned anything at all, it's that beautiful people are the happiest. Celebrities, for instance. Um...)

We spend a lot of time as women analyzing and trying to fix the things that aren't quite right, and we should spend more time appreciating the things that we do like.

Just not our armpits, right? Dove, you're kinda full of crap. You can't sell "real beauty" with a side of insecurity; that's not how this works. Yes, women experience happiness when we feel pretty, but joy is a much deeper well, which you'll never bottle, no matter how hard you try.

Joy arises from inhabiting bodies of all shapes fully and well, and women are not ornaments, shells, or prizes to be won. I may feel happy when I wear a pretty dress, but I experience joy when I dance, recognizing my own body's strength through work or play. With our hands we comfort and serve, and we are so much more than than our skin.

Joy is being present to the moment, loving and being loved, and the satisfaction of a job well-done. It's using our gifts to make the world better, lighting the darkness, and lightening one another's load. My joy is wrapped up in yours; we find happiness in connection and in the beauty of kindness, community, and truth.

Beauty is critical to happiness insofar as it is understood to be something greater than anything that can be photoshopped or purchased at a drugstore. Neither age nor "unsightly" armpits are a threat to the lasting beauty that springs from kind hearts and good works.

(And Dove? I like my deodorant without toxins, thanks.)

raising children to subvert purity culture (& create consent culture)

1.  Each of us derives our inherent, unshakable worth from being created in the image of God. Human worth cannot be measured by appearance, achievement, or "sexual purity" (a dubious and harmful construct). Every person is loved and valued. Full stop.

2.  We are each responsible for our own choices, sins, and lusts. Be wise, be humble, and be free.

3.  We set our own boundaries for touch. No person is entitled to touch another without his or her express permission. This applies in discipline, affection, play, aggression, arousal, comfort...pretty much any circumstance that isn't an emergency. Consent is not implied.

4.  People are not objects. Objectification reduces human worth to sexual or social utility. People don't objectify themselves; we objectify them by seeing them as objects existing for our own pleasure (or judgment) instead of people created in the image of God.

5.  Be media literate, rejecting fear or passive consumption and choosing discernment. Test everything.

6.  Our bodies and sexuality were created by God, and they are good. We're called to honor God and others with--not in spite of!--our bodies and sexuality, even as single and celibate people. Purity is demonstrated not by hemlines but hearts.

7.  Love God. Love your neighbor as you love yourself. Jesus summed up 613 commands in those short two. We'll lighten one another's burdens, choosing love.

This post was inspired by a rather pearl-clutchy 7 Things conversation I stumbled across about modesty and raising daughters. What would you change or add?

i love the 90s (skanking to the beat)

Katie’s dad took us to our first concert in middle school, enduring 100 degree temps, ear plugs, and a sea of rowdy youth to win his firstborn’s heart. My parents would never in a million years have accompanied us to see the Violent Femmes, but they were down with handing over their mini van keys a few years later. Newly licensed and suburban bred, I was unaccustomed to highway merging and city driving, but hell if that would keep us from Phish with the hippies, Dave Matthews with the frat boys, U2 with the youth group kids, and myriad festival shows that endeared 90s alt-rock to us forever.

Do you remember when ska was a thing and how it got us dancing? Skanking is the genre’s two-step, an exuberant jumble of hunched-bouncing, skip-kicking, elbow-swinging, and air-punching. Ballroom it was not (and despite its name, it bore no resemblance to club dancing either!).

When I was in college, third wave ska was having its last hurrah. A local band played campus, and I danced my heart out, catching the eye of a cute boy with blue and blond spotted hair.

“I never met a girl who could skank like that,” he confessed with a smile.

That sounds truly terrible. Apologies all around.

I’d seen ska shows before–The Bosstones, The Specials, Goldfinger, Reel Big Fish–but I’d taken them all in from the sidelines as a spectator, afraid that the cool police might out me as a poseur for not abiding unspoken rules of engagement. I hadn’t learned to skank in any legit mosh pit anywhere. Nope, my technique was honed at Christian music festivals and in church sanctuaries, fists pumping to the Jesus-praising horn sections of The Supertones, Five Iron Frenzy, The Insydyrz, and The W’s.

This is my confession. Come and get me, cool police.

Teenage girls are culturally programmed to be self-conscious (which the public scrutiny of women’s bodies does little to ameliorate), but somehow I found momentary freedom from that at Christian rock shows, which pushed me out of living primarily in my head and freed me to exorcise my insecurities on the dance floor. In a sweaty Supertones concert pit on a Pennsylvania farm, I inhabited my own body with the sort of jubilance usually reserved for athletes, earth mamas, and the naturally confident. (And the heathens, natch.)

Christians can be a bit body-phobic, can’t we, uncomfortably embarrassed by our own bodily needs, desires, and weaknesses? I’m not convinced that Jesus was, though. He healed with his hands and looked fallen women in the eye. He broke bread with friends and used metaphors that connected spiritual truths to the stuff of bodies and earth. He stripped to the waist to wash his disciples’ feet and scandalized many by allowing a sinful woman to anoint his own feet with perfume, bathing them in tears and drying them with her hair. He defied religious custom to embrace those whose very touch would make him ritually unclean.

Jesus, the incarnate God-with-us, lived a human life replete with bodily joy, pain, kindness, and indignity. You know that quote that people falsely attribute to C.S. Lewis about how we aren’t bodies but souls who happen to reside in bodies?

That there leads to some pretty jacked up theology.

Our physical selves were knit by God to be wholly entwined with our spirituality, and the latter doesn’t trump the former. In the Nicene Creed, we affirm the resurrection of the dead. Even in heaven we’ll have bodies, and it makes little sense to live spiritual lives divorced from our bodily ones here on earth.

I grew out of my Christian rock phase but remain grateful for lessons learned there in self-forgetfulness and embodied living. In a strangely unexpected way, Christian concerts helped me to begin feeling at home in my own skin. As a wayfarer in the subculture, it did not serve merely as a “bubble” to protect, a mediator of the divine, or a fence to keep me separate from the world. Instead, The Supertones were a launching pad for me to learn to silence my inner critic, to see God outside the church, and to live a more fully incarnate faith.

And they basically introduced me to the blue haired boy, too. Thanks, Christian rock. I could have done a lot worse than you.

beyoncé & policing female sexuality

Last night, Miss Representation hosted a conversation on Twitter called #NotBuyingIt to push back against sexualized and sexist messages in big budget, big audience Super Bowl ads. (The hashtag is used for media critique year round, too.) Media literacy is a passion of mine, and I loved all the conversation sparked last night.

But then came half-time. Beyoncé took the stage by storm and some started wondering, why weren't the same folks objecting to Sasha Fierce's emboldened sexiness?

Here's why: sexually confident, powerful, and beautiful women may make some people (and especially Christians) nervous, but public expressions of female sexuality are not inherently objectifying.

A woman can be sexy and desirable, and she is still human. Dancing or dressing a certain way--or simply existing in the world in a female body with breasts and feminine curves--does not turn a woman into a sexual object. That kind of thinking can lead to draconian (and dehumanizing) modesty codes and "she asked for it" rape apology.

Many ads last night treated women's bodies like commodities to be traded, invaded, won, or owned--degrading messages that reduce women to consumer objects to use, abuse, and discard. That is objectification, and it is exploitative and ugly.

Beyoncé's sexy performance was not remotely the same thing--not even close:

So here, in the midst of commercials and a culture that objectified women and their bodies and in the middle of a sports spectacle that construes power in terms of violence, Beyoncé began her performance by upending the narrative. As she walked the length of the stage, Beyoncé showed more power in a handful of purposeful, defiant strides than both sports teams had during the entire first half. In short, during those few steps, walking as a woman, Beyoncé declared ownership of that stage — that stadium — and, more importantly, claimed ownership of her own body in the most misogynist and objectifying four hours of mass culture. (David R. Henson)

Women's bodies do not belong to men, corporations, or the court of public opinion. We do not exist for public consumption or critique. Beyoncé is a grown woman who wore a costume on a stage; it wasn't a high school fashion show (and her bodysuit was a good deal more conservative than most swim suits at church pool parties).

Our bodies are part of our humanity, and our sexuality is, too. In creating people in the imago dei and having Jesus live a fully embodied life, God affirmed the goodness in human bodies and humanity. Female bodies are not to be feared, hidden, or ashamed of--and it's not the place of Christians to cast shame upon them either.

Now, do I think that the entertainment industry often caters to the male gaze, capitalizing on sexism, sexualization, and the objectification of women? Of course. Am I buying all the messages they're selling about sexuality, value, and beauty? Not at all.

We need to be having these conversations about media and sexuality, especially with young people, but we need to be careful with how we frame them, not conflating all expressions of sexuality with objectification. Modesty policing, body shaming, and gnostic suspicion of female sexuality do not honor women. Additionally, they betray terrible theology and won't change our culture's narratives about gender or sexual ethics.

Women are people. Men are people. Being sexy is not a crime, nor does it make anyone less human. Objectification is something that is externally projected on embodied, sexual people (like us!) who are made in the image of God (like us!). It is dehumanizing and degrading, so let's refuse to engage in it anymore with our libidos, checkbooks, or attempts at moral control.

Let's be not conformed to the patterns of this world. Let's re-train our eyes and take every thought captive.

Let's take responsibility for ourselves: our lusts and our judgments.

Let's honor one another above ourselves and give glory to God. We are all fearfully and wonderfully made.

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consume, critique, create | culture & the Kingdom

There's a difference, isn't there, between evaluation and fault-finding? Discernment and cynicism? Critical thinking and a critical spirit?

We all have people in our lives--teachers, family, bosses, friends--who've judged us and found us lacking. Sometimes, this makes us feel like trash and puts those relationship on ice. Other times, their tough love or gentle truth-telling is the kick in the pants we need to become our best selves. 

Some critique is constructive, firming foundations and helping us grow. Other criticism is destructive, bent on tearing down. When it's personal, it can be hard to distinguish the difference. When I perceive an attack, I can launch into defensive mode, closing my ears to where I need to change. On the other end, I may righteously pretend to offer dispassionate critique, oblivious to my own tones betraying resentment or arrogance.

But thoughtful critique is a far cry from attack, and we shouldn't be so quick to conflate them. While it is true that we are asked to "Judge not lest ye be judged," there is a place for cultural criticism among Christians, and I'm not talking about the kind of finger-pointing or fear-mongering we've engaged in before.

For so long, Christians have told each other what to think that sometimes it seems like we've forgotten how to engage scripture and culture for ourselves--and the pendulum swings both ways. Those who've questioned fundamentalist framework and narrow boundaries can easily come out on the other "I do what I want" extreme, a path that can be just as unexamined and incongruous with the gospel.

We talked this week about how chick flicks are not "emotional porn", and a few people worried I could be swapping legalism for libertinism, but that's not my intention at all. My goal was not to prove the genre worthwhile but to show that the metaphor is flawed and a poor substitute for the work of engaging media through the lens of the Kingdom of God.

Passive consumers are susceptible to messages embedded in narrative and packaged in shiny glamour or gritty realism, but we are called to lives of more than mindless consumption. Christians who approach entertainment, advertising, art, or life without reflection should be wary of insidious messages. When our guard is down, we are easily influenced, but engaged critics can identify conflicting worldviews and hold them up to the light. We critique cultural messages, testing everything against the gospel.

But we never need to be the kind of critics who expose sin in every corner but ours or perceive holiness as a line dividing Us from Them. That criticism burns much and builds little, least of all the Kingdom of God among us.

What if instead we resolved only to be the kind of critics with fewer answers and better questions, the ones who listen closely for words, meaning, and the still, small voice of God? What if we said no to small gods and yes to grace? Could we learn to keep step not with church or culture but with the Spirit's lead? 

Could we find Jesus in everything true? Could we heed the whisper, the one that says, Turn it off. Make something better.? 

Could we train our critical eyes to see stories of redemption everywhere? Could we write them with our hearts and our lives?

Let's be critical like that. Let's critique by creating something new.

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