This morning in church, the reverend prayed:
"Let us seek to understand, rather than be understood, let us seek to love, rather than be loved..."
This upset me, not in some "righteous anger" way because he "said something wrong" or is perpetuating something I "don't like," but in a sad way, because I know, that at this point in my life, where and how I live, I do not do this.
I am not saying I do not seek to understand others, but when there is a problem or a fight, I absolutely seek to be understood, especially when I feel that it is not happening. I become consumed with myself, with my point of view, with anger at the person for not understanding or trying to understand me.
I recognized a while ago, from living at home, that when I feel no one cares to listen or understand, I make sure to defend myself. If no one else will, then I will. This has, of course, carried over into other things, and I assume it will change as the places in which I live and the people with whom I live change.
I'm pretty sure I was not like this while living in college. I'm pretty sure I was more concerned with other people, with friends, and their lives. I'm pretty sure we took care of each other, and it was good.
Now I live at home, and for the most part, feel alone. I have a boyfriend, but he is far away, removed from much of my daily life. I have my sister, but she leaves soon, and I have my parents, with whom I watch movies and t.v. shows in a bonding sort of way, but I mostly only live in my head. Memories of times and places and people with whom I fit reside there, in my head, and there I remember when I was less alone. While those memories are occasionally comforting, they do not make up for the lack of people with whom I feel I can live in a sort of community.
All this to say, I think the reverend is right, in that we are to care for each other rather than ourselves, but I think he does not completely encompass the matter of which he speaks. Yes, we are to care for those who do not care for us, for people outside the Church, but I think there is a problem when we are required to do so for people within the Church. Church is a place where, I think, people are supposed to be wanted, loved, and cherished. Christians are supposed to matter to each other. Requiring someone to never need to be loved is unfair; though Christians are to love enemies, they are, too, supposed to be loved by their Christian family.
I feel, though, that in our society, full of "individuals," we often have enemies within the Church. We see ourselves as individuals, all being exhorted to the same love command with no distinction between those within the Church and without. Perhaps the lack of community is a problem to be addressed within Church; perhaps unity in love is what we as a Church are to be exhorted to; perhaps loving our enemies needs to be qualified, saved for specific (though often) discussions of how to live with those not in the Church. Perhaps these things were addressed with such specificity by Paul, and perhaps Jesus, in the Sermon on the Mount, was not speaking to a collection of individuals, but to a group of people, teaching them how to respond to those not of their group.
Perhaps I am still to care for those in the Church who do not care for me regardless, but perhaps their lack of caring is a problem to be addressed, and not accepted, as well.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Bastard Children--A Sexist Assumption?
My boyfriend, Danny, recently finished a book about European sexualities from 1400-1800. From it, he discovered that much like the Aristotelian concept of women as the reverse of men (who are considered the only sex), women are the would be, should be bodies of men who probably didn't develop properly. With this in mind, let me turn to this morning's sermon.
Reverend Richard discussed the four weeks of advent, describing them as such: Week One, the End Times; Weeks Two and Three, John the Baptist; and Week Four, Mary. Of Mary he focused on the difficulty of her accepting a child as an unmarried woman (I call her a woman because she would have probably been considered such at that time). He went on to interpret her experiences as an "unwed, pregnant girl" with a future, "illegitimate child."
I thought this interpretation interesting, and culturally (for us) appropriate, though I do not think the problem for Mary would have been a modern judgment of unwed pregnancy, but a different (though maybe similar, but probably for different reasons)dilemma. Maybe Mary did not suffer the Aristotelian understanding of her sex, but I do believe later Christians (and others) did, and I think that understanding created the idea of the bastard child, a child who, only born of a woman, a nothing but an empty vessel which to carry children, a child whose acceptance and identity is based solely upon a family (father's) name, a father's blood, a father's line (though that an abandoned, pregnant woman only became so because of some kind of "father" goes neglected).
That Aristotelian understanding of women seems out of place in our culture; no, women and men are not treated equally, woman are violently and often abused, etc., and there are some communities that don't think of women as much other than child bearers, but there does seem to be a contemporary social "acceptance," or at least ideal, of women as "people, like men." Why then does the stigma attached to unwed, pregnant women (usually younger women or "girls") persist? Why the shame, when these children are born of "equal" women? Perhaps we are not still thought of as "equal" in these regards; but why?
Reverend Richard discussed the four weeks of advent, describing them as such: Week One, the End Times; Weeks Two and Three, John the Baptist; and Week Four, Mary. Of Mary he focused on the difficulty of her accepting a child as an unmarried woman (I call her a woman because she would have probably been considered such at that time). He went on to interpret her experiences as an "unwed, pregnant girl" with a future, "illegitimate child."
I thought this interpretation interesting, and culturally (for us) appropriate, though I do not think the problem for Mary would have been a modern judgment of unwed pregnancy, but a different (though maybe similar, but probably for different reasons)dilemma. Maybe Mary did not suffer the Aristotelian understanding of her sex, but I do believe later Christians (and others) did, and I think that understanding created the idea of the bastard child, a child who, only born of a woman, a nothing but an empty vessel which to carry children, a child whose acceptance and identity is based solely upon a family (father's) name, a father's blood, a father's line (though that an abandoned, pregnant woman only became so because of some kind of "father" goes neglected).
That Aristotelian understanding of women seems out of place in our culture; no, women and men are not treated equally, woman are violently and often abused, etc., and there are some communities that don't think of women as much other than child bearers, but there does seem to be a contemporary social "acceptance," or at least ideal, of women as "people, like men." Why then does the stigma attached to unwed, pregnant women (usually younger women or "girls") persist? Why the shame, when these children are born of "equal" women? Perhaps we are not still thought of as "equal" in these regards; but why?
A Brilliant Illumination
My sister is brilliant. We were talking about schools and cultures, comparing ours with what we understand of England's and Australia's (especially since she's about to attend university in Australia). We talked about how laid back Australians seem to be about university, especially at her school, James Cook University, considering their common posts about campus reminding students that they must wear shoes to class and the lack of university paraphernalia in the bookstore (though the University of Tasmania had plenty of clothing, school supplies, and other objects all labeled UTas). Don't get us wrong--education seems to be important in Australia, but it's the education that one receives at a university rather than which university one attends that seems to matter.
On to the brilliant point: Charise (my sister) rightly associated America's obsessiveness with "school names" with its same obsessiveness with brand names. The schools' names, not necessarily their programs, professors, etc. are what are important to we Americans, not the quality of the education (though the quality may be what created the prestige behind the name in the first place), or education itself, really (more on that in a different post). Just as you are cool or hip or hot if you are dressed in The Gap or Abercrombie & Fitch, so are you entitled to honor (or have honor heaved upon or assumed of you) if you attend one of these prestigious, "brand name" schools.
Why are we so caught up on names on prestige? Why are we not more interested in what these actual places or products have to offer, are made of, or how they affect us?
On to the brilliant point: Charise (my sister) rightly associated America's obsessiveness with "school names" with its same obsessiveness with brand names. The schools' names, not necessarily their programs, professors, etc. are what are important to we Americans, not the quality of the education (though the quality may be what created the prestige behind the name in the first place), or education itself, really (more on that in a different post). Just as you are cool or hip or hot if you are dressed in The Gap or Abercrombie & Fitch, so are you entitled to honor (or have honor heaved upon or assumed of you) if you attend one of these prestigious, "brand name" schools.
Why are we so caught up on names on prestige? Why are we not more interested in what these actual places or products have to offer, are made of, or how they affect us?
Thoughts at a Christmas Service and After
The phrase "born again" was used in a traditional song tonight, somewhere after a line implying a resurrection. The resurrection verse struck me, and as it was in my head, when I heard the phrase "born again" I started wondering if perhaps that could be one thing it means--resurrected.
As I began to think of the infamous verse, John 3:5, where it is written: "Very truly, I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit," I began I thought of the kingdom of God as a (fully?) renewed earth, though I do believe that all are resurrected, so I guess this "meaning" doesn't quite add up.
Perhaps, then, being "born again" means being baptized, and perhaps, as I like to think of it, that baptism is a rebirth into a new community, a new family, where not familial blood, but perhaps Jesus' blood, as entered into by water and spirit, is the binding factor. The kingdom of God, then, could be the work of the community of God, the Church, of the past, present, and future, in a kingdom that (I think?) will be restored when Jesus returns.
I think I like the idea of a new birth as an entrance into a new family, and I also think, though it may not line up "perfectly" and "logically," that I like the idea of being "born again" at least as a symbolic depiction of an entrance into a present family and a future (after resurrection) garden.
Amen.
As I began to think of the infamous verse, John 3:5, where it is written: "Very truly, I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit," I began I thought of the kingdom of God as a (fully?) renewed earth, though I do believe that all are resurrected, so I guess this "meaning" doesn't quite add up.
Perhaps, then, being "born again" means being baptized, and perhaps, as I like to think of it, that baptism is a rebirth into a new community, a new family, where not familial blood, but perhaps Jesus' blood, as entered into by water and spirit, is the binding factor. The kingdom of God, then, could be the work of the community of God, the Church, of the past, present, and future, in a kingdom that (I think?) will be restored when Jesus returns.
I think I like the idea of a new birth as an entrance into a new family, and I also think, though it may not line up "perfectly" and "logically," that I like the idea of being "born again" at least as a symbolic depiction of an entrance into a present family and a future (after resurrection) garden.
Amen.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Intentional, Quality Time--Not All Day?
The other day at the park, a mom said she wouldn't judge a working mom again. She spoke of how mothers need time, whether it be at work, away, or simply something to do that lets their minds think of other things. This may seem weird to those who think mothers should always and only be around their children 24/7, as if that is their job and duty, and is somehow good, which is sort of how I was raised, but I really liked what this mom had to say.
Later in the conversation,another mom said that she thinks you can be a better mom if you have some time to do other things. This time does not have to be long or complicated--just something other than "mothering" (though maybe this alone-time could be part of mothering?).
Anyway, I think I agree with these mothers. My trip to the hospital for my cousin today spoke volumes about the ideas they spoke of at the park. A woman who delivered food to the rooms was rude, soooo rude to the patients,and I began to think about her and her job. Maybe she was having a bad day, or a bad week, or whatever, but I began to wonder if she's easily annoyed by these "people" who don't know what to do at a hospital. It's not their fault; unless someone is regularly or often hospitalized, and in the same hospital, why would anyone know the procedures off the top of their head? Anyway, I began to wonder if these "people" were just a job to the rude lady, if they were annoying objects she had to "deal with" since working at the hospital is her "job." Her job is, after all, full of people who mean nothing, who are nothing, to her at least. I wondered if constant contact with people you don't know and will probably never know day in and day out is desensitizing, objectifying, and maybe not a good idea.
People in the hospital are usually nervous, emotional, afraid--something--and they need to have people who are interested in them as people, not as "patients" and not as room numbers. The connection with this to parenting is that perhaps constant contact with the same people (or kinds of people you can never know) over and over again allows for a less human interaction.
I watched another mother at the park with her daughter use the time to talk to people on the phone; she apologized for her daughter's interruption, as if her daughter was the problem and not the phone conversation when she was supposed to be at the park with her daughter. I had very little symphathy for this mom when she talked about her daughter's behavioral problems, especially since she seemed so sweet and incredibly people-pleasing (though I think she should be careful of how she talks to and treats her daughter as to not guilt, overburden, or walk all over her).
This mom whom I assumed was of the "stay at home" variety was not in any way immersed in her child's play. She was annoyed by it, and participated begrudgingly, but I thought, what if this mother didn't feel a need to be around all the time, resulting almost inevitably in a half-hearted and distant presence, but instead spent time thoroughly engrossed in her child's play, participating joyfully in the fun that her daughter has for her? Perhaps those short periods of intentional time really are more satisfactory for both the child and the mother (or other parent, of course). Perhaps then there is more love to go around.
Later in the conversation,another mom said that she thinks you can be a better mom if you have some time to do other things. This time does not have to be long or complicated--just something other than "mothering" (though maybe this alone-time could be part of mothering?).
Anyway, I think I agree with these mothers. My trip to the hospital for my cousin today spoke volumes about the ideas they spoke of at the park. A woman who delivered food to the rooms was rude, soooo rude to the patients,and I began to think about her and her job. Maybe she was having a bad day, or a bad week, or whatever, but I began to wonder if she's easily annoyed by these "people" who don't know what to do at a hospital. It's not their fault; unless someone is regularly or often hospitalized, and in the same hospital, why would anyone know the procedures off the top of their head? Anyway, I began to wonder if these "people" were just a job to the rude lady, if they were annoying objects she had to "deal with" since working at the hospital is her "job." Her job is, after all, full of people who mean nothing, who are nothing, to her at least. I wondered if constant contact with people you don't know and will probably never know day in and day out is desensitizing, objectifying, and maybe not a good idea.
People in the hospital are usually nervous, emotional, afraid--something--and they need to have people who are interested in them as people, not as "patients" and not as room numbers. The connection with this to parenting is that perhaps constant contact with the same people (or kinds of people you can never know) over and over again allows for a less human interaction.
I watched another mother at the park with her daughter use the time to talk to people on the phone; she apologized for her daughter's interruption, as if her daughter was the problem and not the phone conversation when she was supposed to be at the park with her daughter. I had very little symphathy for this mom when she talked about her daughter's behavioral problems, especially since she seemed so sweet and incredibly people-pleasing (though I think she should be careful of how she talks to and treats her daughter as to not guilt, overburden, or walk all over her).
This mom whom I assumed was of the "stay at home" variety was not in any way immersed in her child's play. She was annoyed by it, and participated begrudgingly, but I thought, what if this mother didn't feel a need to be around all the time, resulting almost inevitably in a half-hearted and distant presence, but instead spent time thoroughly engrossed in her child's play, participating joyfully in the fun that her daughter has for her? Perhaps those short periods of intentional time really are more satisfactory for both the child and the mother (or other parent, of course). Perhaps then there is more love to go around.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
An Overused Word
Struggle.
In many Christian cultures, this word is used incessantly. "I struggle to know how to respond to you," or "I struggle with the passage," or "I struggle with this [insert sin here]."
Dear God. Are you climbing Mt. Everest? Are you struggling to pay your bills? Do you have actual social anxieties and not know how to interact with people comfortably? Regarding the examples, Is this passage actually and truly upsetting you, or everything you thought you believed? Are you really tossing and turning in your bed over a "sin" you can't seem to "get rid of?"
If not, please choose a different, less dramatic word. Struggle is a good word. It denotes something strenuous, difficult, challenging, upsetting. It is not a filler word, nor a nice-izing word. For example, you might just want to say to someone, "F off," but you don't want to seem mean, sound mean, or hurt someone's feelings; therefore, you "struggle" to find the right thing to say, the good and nice thing to say. After all, "struggling" does sound difficult, and it does make it sound like you care, and maybe you do, but if you aren't actually struggling (and I don't know how to measure what actual struggle is), then simply say, "I don't know what to say to you right now," or "I'm confused."
I've been in so many small groups, chapels, churches, and other Christian settings, and heard of so many people's "struggles" that I cannot possibly believe all of these people are actually struggling. I think there are real people who are actually struggling who just look like idiots saying so when everyone else seems to be, too.*
I do not mean that a shopaholic's shopping fast is not a struggle, nor am I saying to compare him to that token starving child in Africa; what I am saying, however, is to look around you and gain some perspective. Catch yourself when you use the word "struggle" and ask yourself if struggle is what you really mean.
*Example:
A) My wife hasn't spoken to me in a month. We've been fighting for a year. Our children seem to be affected, but we don't know how to stop, and I don't know if we even want to, except for the sake of our children. It's really difficult, a real struggle.
B) Yeah, man. I know what you mean. Aren't marriages a struggle? I mean, last night I forgot to put the mayonnaise away and my wife got mad. It's really difficult, huh?
Really?
In many Christian cultures, this word is used incessantly. "I struggle to know how to respond to you," or "I struggle with the passage," or "I struggle with this [insert sin here]."
Dear God. Are you climbing Mt. Everest? Are you struggling to pay your bills? Do you have actual social anxieties and not know how to interact with people comfortably? Regarding the examples, Is this passage actually and truly upsetting you, or everything you thought you believed? Are you really tossing and turning in your bed over a "sin" you can't seem to "get rid of?"
If not, please choose a different, less dramatic word. Struggle is a good word. It denotes something strenuous, difficult, challenging, upsetting. It is not a filler word, nor a nice-izing word. For example, you might just want to say to someone, "F off," but you don't want to seem mean, sound mean, or hurt someone's feelings; therefore, you "struggle" to find the right thing to say, the good and nice thing to say. After all, "struggling" does sound difficult, and it does make it sound like you care, and maybe you do, but if you aren't actually struggling (and I don't know how to measure what actual struggle is), then simply say, "I don't know what to say to you right now," or "I'm confused."
I've been in so many small groups, chapels, churches, and other Christian settings, and heard of so many people's "struggles" that I cannot possibly believe all of these people are actually struggling. I think there are real people who are actually struggling who just look like idiots saying so when everyone else seems to be, too.*
I do not mean that a shopaholic's shopping fast is not a struggle, nor am I saying to compare him to that token starving child in Africa; what I am saying, however, is to look around you and gain some perspective. Catch yourself when you use the word "struggle" and ask yourself if struggle is what you really mean.
*Example:
A) My wife hasn't spoken to me in a month. We've been fighting for a year. Our children seem to be affected, but we don't know how to stop, and I don't know if we even want to, except for the sake of our children. It's really difficult, a real struggle.
B) Yeah, man. I know what you mean. Aren't marriages a struggle? I mean, last night I forgot to put the mayonnaise away and my wife got mad. It's really difficult, huh?
Really?
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Birth Pains, Christ, and Life
*Disclaimer* Except for the discussion on early church martyrdom, this is not researched, scholarly, or authoritative.
According to the lectionary, we read Mark 13:1-8 this past Sunday. The passage reads as follows:
As he came out of the temple, one of his disciples said to him, ‘Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!’ Then Jesus asked him, ‘Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.’ 2
I enjoyed this image of birth pains very much, since when they end, one in left with life in the form of a little baby.
I understoodd this passage as apocalyptic (in the scary "end of the world movie" sense) because of my upbringing. I had never thought about what happens after the birth pains, that one ends up with joy and life. I am glad the Gospel of Mark made me consider more what birth pains entail, especially because it brought together the wonderful and earthly world to come that I expect with the apocalyptic imagery I was taught to fear, disassembling that fear . Jesus will come, yes, after the horrors of war and death, but wonderfully, full of joy and bringing life.
While thinking on this idea of birth pains some more, I began to think of the crucifixion, which suddenly became connected to and identified with birth pains. Through death (birth pains), came life. LIFE life. None of this is to say, however, that birth pains "must be good," as understanding the birth pains (or crucifixion) as the means by which life is brought about seems like an "efficient" understanding, and one that does not have anything in common with Death as something defeated, but instead "used." Perhaps this is horrible exegesis, but I like the thought: That birth pains are part of the curse in Genesis, I think we are to remember that they are not good, useful, or to be desired. We must remember that though martyrdom was the most prized way of imitating Christ, especially in the early church, those Christians were reminded not to seek martyrdom, as death was not to be desired (if martyrdom came, however, it was to be accepted gratefully and carried out faithfully, as those Christians most likely to be martyrs engaged in rigorous training (Robin Darling Young, In Procession before the World: Martyrdom as Public Liturgy in Early Christianity, 2001)).* We accept them, however, though painfully, as Christ accepted his cross, and the martyrs after him, theirs, and when they are through, we feel a sense of victory (in a non-competitive way) as we gratefully look upon life.
According to the lectionary, we read Mark 13:1-8 this past Sunday. The passage reads as follows:
As he came out of the temple, one of his disciples said to him, ‘Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!’ Then Jesus asked him, ‘Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.’ 2
When he was sitting on the Mount of Olives opposite the temple, Peter, James, John, and Andrew asked him privately, ‘Tell us, when will this be, and what will be the sign that all these things are about to be accomplished?’ Then Jesus began to say to them, ‘Beware that no one leads you astray. Many will come in my name and say, “I am he!”and they will lead many astray. When you hear of wars and rumours of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come. For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines. This is but the beginning of the birth pangs.
I enjoyed this image of birth pains very much, since when they end, one in left with life in the form of a little baby.
I understoodd this passage as apocalyptic (in the scary "end of the world movie" sense) because of my upbringing. I had never thought about what happens after the birth pains, that one ends up with joy and life. I am glad the Gospel of Mark made me consider more what birth pains entail, especially because it brought together the wonderful and earthly world to come that I expect with the apocalyptic imagery I was taught to fear, disassembling that fear . Jesus will come, yes, after the horrors of war and death, but wonderfully, full of joy and bringing life.
While thinking on this idea of birth pains some more, I began to think of the crucifixion, which suddenly became connected to and identified with birth pains. Through death (birth pains), came life. LIFE life. None of this is to say, however, that birth pains "must be good," as understanding the birth pains (or crucifixion) as the means by which life is brought about seems like an "efficient" understanding, and one that does not have anything in common with Death as something defeated, but instead "used." Perhaps this is horrible exegesis, but I like the thought: That birth pains are part of the curse in Genesis, I think we are to remember that they are not good, useful, or to be desired. We must remember that though martyrdom was the most prized way of imitating Christ, especially in the early church, those Christians were reminded not to seek martyrdom, as death was not to be desired (if martyrdom came, however, it was to be accepted gratefully and carried out faithfully, as those Christians most likely to be martyrs engaged in rigorous training (Robin Darling Young, In Procession before the World: Martyrdom as Public Liturgy in Early Christianity, 2001)).* We accept them, however, though painfully, as Christ accepted his cross, and the martyrs after him, theirs, and when they are through, we feel a sense of victory (in a non-competitive way) as we gratefully look upon life.
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