Getting Comfy in the Liminal

One of my favorite concepts is one called liminality, which was developed by Victor Turner, a cultural anthropologist. Liminality (coming from the word "limen", which means threshold), is described as a time when individuals are "betwixt and between": not belonging to society in the way that they once belonged, and not yet being reintegrated to society in a new way. Wikipedia writes, "Liminality is a limbo, an ambiguous period characterized by humility, seclusion, tests, sexual ambiguity, and communitas." Turner explored liminality during religious rituals like pilgrimmages and trances. According to Turner and the many theorists who have followed, there is something especially auspicious, especially sacred about the liminal. During those "in between" times, magical things happen that would never happen during ordinary day-to-day life. And interestingly, it is often during these magical periods of transition throughout history that women have flourished and risen to positions of power-- somehow, women seem especially comfortable during these periods of change and journey.

One thing I can say quite absolutely about motherhood is that it is one of the most liminal experiences that exist. From pregnancy, in which the body becomes a vessel for flourishing life, to childbirth, when the bodies of mother and child separate in an experience that is like no other, motherhood is marked by thresholds and transitions. And even now, with two small children in the household, it often feels like there is nothing I can quite grab hold of-- just as soon as I feel like I have figured my child out, she transforms, expands, recreates. Just as soon as I feel like I can name my relationship to my children, it changes. Just as soon as I feel like I have my feet firmly situated on something concrete, the earth beneath me shifts.

Mothers are guardians of their children from birth to adulthood, and in many ways that entire span is one huge threshold-- from small to big, from pathetically dependent to capable, from suckling to weaned. We live in the liminal, and that is where we learn to flourish, because for us that ambiguity is where we find the sacred. There is no joy greater than observing discovery, creativity, transformation. And for mothers, for me, that is a place that I can call home.

Moving Towards a Sabbath

Sometimes at the end of the weekend, Ben and I look at one another, and can just exclaim, "That was perfect." We feel rested, rejuvenated, connected. We do not feel hurried or anxious or stressed. We feel ready for the week, and the home is in working order.

And then there are the weekends that are not like that. When we end the weekend feeling more stressed than when we began, when the weekend flew by without what felt like true relaxation, when the week has not even started and already we feel overwhelmed and tired and ready for another weekend.

So lately I've been trying to be more mindful during the weekend to try to figure out: why are some weekends pure bliss while others are chaos? What's the recipe for the perfect weekend?

I certainly haven't "figured it out." With five sentient beings in our household (more if you count the ants), there are just too many variables to pin anything down. But, I have come to the conclusions that weekends when we have one "sabbath" day seem to go more smoothly. We are much more likely to feel joyful and rested at the end of them than weekends when we are "go go go."

Like some other mothers out there, I don't feel like our family functions very well on strict schedules. There are rhythms to our life, but they can't be written out on a chart because they are natural and irregular and varying. So I don't think our family will ever observe a hard and fast Sabbath where the electricity is out and we do no work at all and we have twenty four hours of peace. But, if we can carve out some semblance of Sabbath, it works just as well.

When we set aside a day without any social engagements, without any entertaining, without any trips (once restful but now with two kids anything but) and without any errands, it is like balm to the soul. On days like this we might bake at home, go for a walk and visit with neighbors, read together, take a nap, sit outside, work in the garden. Not strict "sabbath" rules, but what qualifies as rest for us. We might watch a video or just be silly together.

I love the book Miriam's Kitchen, which is the story of one contemporary woman who journeyed into orthodox sabbath keeping. Her description of Friday night, when her whole family would sit around a table in a clean home and enjoy an intentional meal by candlelight, is absolutely beautiful. There are no chores to worry about (because by some miracle she finished them on Friday), there are no sleepovers or playdates. There is simply a single family spending sacred time in one another's presence and in the presence of divine. This is what I'm dreaming of, the destination of my pilgrimage.

How do you keep Sabbath? What are the rests that give you strength and energy?

Quotable Sunday

"Rites and symbols use the ordinary and earthy elements of our existence and, by encircling them, ratify, sanctify, complete. The ordinary becomes the container for the divine and safely holds what is uncontainable. The transcendent is disclosed in what is wonderfully familiar: bread, wine, fire, ash, earth, water, oil, tears, seeds, songs, feastings and fastings, pains ad joys, bodies and thoughts, regressions and transformations." --Gertrud Mueller Nelson in To Dance With God

Bonus points if anyone who was at this ritual can identify when it took place, and who owns the boot in the corner.

Two Fetishes

You know what it's like right after you have a baby. Your house is filled with stuff. Large, colorful, fluffy stuff. Everyday you are receiving packages and gifts of other large colorful fluffy stuff. Stuff that you are deeply grateful for, that you will use until it's worn to pieces, but that nevertheless accumulates in your home with a frightening speed.

After Zosia was born, we were surprised to receive a very small box in the mail from Ben's beloved Aunt and Uncle-- definitely not your everyday baby gift. My surprise was compounded when I opened the box to find a "list of fetishes." Now, I'll pause here to explain that English is not, technically, my first language (the first three years of my life were spent speaking Polish). So, there are various idioms/nuances of the language which, and I blame my Polish-speaking upbringing, I don't grasp. Perhaps if I had paid a little better attention in my humanities class, I would have learned that the primary meaning of "fetish" is actually " an object regarded with awe as being the embodiment or habitation of a potent spirit or as having magical potency." But, given the fact that my knowledge of the English language was primarily acquired through cultural references, I did not know this. So, now both scandalized and shocked that someone would give my daughter a "list of fetishes" in a small box, I lifted the folded list to find a small stone raccoon staring back at me.

And a small card. Explaining, "The Zuni people are world-renowned for their fetishes. They believe that the power of a fetish comes from the power of the animal that resides in the carving. They also believe that abundance and fertility are blessings a fetish can ensure and they not only protect an individual but the community as well." Aha. Mystery solved.

Over the last two years, Zosia's fetish has become a very sacred object in the house (the fact that this small figure even made it from our move from Boston, to our temporary house, to our current house is testament to the fact that we treat it with reverence). I was delighted when the same beloved Aunt and Uncle came to visit and had another small box with another small fetish-- this one a bear-- for Lily. Here are the meanings behind each:

raccoon: Transforming into our desired self, dexterity, disguise.
bear: Healing, strength, transitional courage, introspection, power of the soul.

My experience thus far with parenting has been that it's easy to get sucked into the practical day-to-day stuff without pausing to make room for the sacred. Dinner has to get made, diapers have to get changed, but rites of passage can wait. These fetishes have been a welcome little sacred pause. I hope that one day each of our girls can venture out into the world with their fetish tucked into their pocket, or placed gently on their dresser, or whatever, knowing that they have a special place not only in our family, but in the world.

What are your sacred rites of passage/introduction? How do you carve out space for the sacred in your home?

The Universal Baby or: Baby in our Midst

There are two theological concepts that I have been thinking about lately: one from my own faith tradition and one from another, both very related to the experience of motherhood.

Buddhists have an idea they call "the universal mother." Here's the gist of it: since Buddhists believe in reincarnation, when you look at any human being, however obnoxious, you must remember that this individual was once, in some previous life, someone's mother. No, it doesn't end there. In reality, this person, in some previous life, was your mother. And to Buddhist monks, who were probably the ones responsible for coming up with this idea, their own mother was quite probably the closest person to them in the world, seeing as how they didn't have families of their own (and most Buddhist countries have a much stronger respect for parents than some might argue we have here in the West).

I have always thought that this principle was somewhat analogous to the idea of Jesus in our midst. The idea here is that Jesus is always around us, always appearing in unexpected places. It's along the lines of "Whatsoever you do to the least of my people, that you do unto me." We are always waiting for Jesus to reappear, looking around us to try to discover his presence. And some theologians would even argue that every person actually carries the presence of Jesus. So just when you want to blow off the beggar, or cut someone off in traffic, you have to remember, "That could be Jesus!"

So here's my contribution to these two ideas, born out of my experience of motherhood. I have found that most of the time, I am much more generous with my own children than I am with the rest of the world. Because I know them so intimately, I tend to respond patiently and gently even when their offense is obnoxious. I sometimes laugh when one of them is giving me a particularly tough time, because I just find it charming. And I almost always grow alarmed and even mad when someone else disciplines them too harshly, misunderstands them, or insults them (don't cross me and my babies!). They're my own, and I am often surprised with the grace that I am given to interact with them (although God-- and Ben-- knows that there are days that my patience runs dry). But all in all, I tend to interact with them on the basis of love and not mistrust or anger.

This is my hope: The next time that I am growing peeved with someone in the world-- which will probably be later today-- I will take a deep breath and realize that in some previous life, this person was my child. Or I will take a deep breath and realize that this person is my own child in my midst. I will imagine the sassy store clerk, the reckless driver speeding through the stop sign, or the difficult family member as a helpless little baby, or a nervous little toddler, needing my grace and attention.

Being Servant to One Another

I think that my children will grow up imagining that all music is either church music or bluegrass. Which is fine by me. One of my favorite songs to sing the kids is "Jesus is Coming." The tune is pretty catchy, and Zosia definitely gets it stuck in her head. One day I was eavesdropping on Zosia making a "phone call" on a playphone, and overheard her saying, "Addison (her good friend up the street)! Jesus is coming! Okay? Jesus is coming!" My sister has suggested that twenty years down the road we'll be remembering this story when Zosia is a missionary somewhere across the world.

I have recently had Servant Song stuck in my head, which is one of my favorite church songs. It is so simple and beautiful. I played my flute for this song at my friends' Rachel and Sean's wedding-- and they sang the verses to one another. I can't imagine a more beautiful wedding ritual. As I was singing it to Lily this evening, I realized how poignant and perfect the words are for our mother-daughter relationship, too. I truly am her servant in so many ways-- and can imagine that at times in the future I will have to humble myself to allow her to serve me, too.

Breathe, Smile. Ahh.

Few teachings have resonated as deeply with me as mindfulness practice, specifically the teachings/writings of Thich Nhat Hanh. Aside from being a courageous political activist and prolific writer, Thich Nhat Hanh has explored how each person can start to become grounded in the present moment through practicing mindfulness. When I was a grad student, being mindful and present were nice-- mindfulness improved the quality of my day-to-day-life and made me more relaxed. But now, as the mother of two small children, I am finding mindfulness to be absolutely essential. If I am not present and grounded, then things get crazy very fast, and I start to feel scattered and out of control. When I am practicing mindfulness, even when things get out of control, I can remain grounded, calm, and present.

One of my first exposures to Thich Nhat Hanh was a simple meditation exercise that went something like this. Breathe in. Smile. Breathe out. Nhat Hanh writes,

If in our daily life we can smile, if we can be peaceful and happy, not only we, but everyone will profit from it. If we really know how to live, what better way to start the day than with a smile? Our smile affirms our awareness and determination to live in peace and joy. The source of a true smile is an awakened mind.

I will admit: when I first did this centering exercise, it felt weird. I didn't feel especially happy, so forcing that smile felt disingenuous, forced, awkward. And I was in a room full of students. Was anyone looking at me? Did I look stupid? But, if you do this practice, especially if you do it regularly, I think you will experience what I did; smiling is transformative. Even if you don't "mean it" at first, with time, your whole body will start to feel the joy that a simple smile initiates.

Lately I have been doing a lot of smiling at Lily. It's hard not to, because most of the time when you smile at her, you are rewarded with a huge smile or even chuckle. A few times I have smiled at her during a moment when I felt scattered, overwhelmed and stressed. And, sure enough, Nhat Hanh's wisdom proved itself true. When you smile, everyone profits from it.

Theological Thursday: Gluttony

One of my favorite classes in college was one that I took about contemplative practice and social change. In that class, I think that I took one of the only quizzes or tests that I ever took in a religion class (we tend to be much bigger on paper-writing). It was a vocabulary test on asceticism, and while I would probably be hard pressed to define most of the words today, there is at least one that has stuck with me.

Gluttony: an unnecessary need for variety.

Not excessive eating or drinking. Not overindulgence. Unnecessary need for variety.

I think that the reason that this unorthodox definition was etched into my mind is that a need for variety is the driving force of not only my own life, but our entire culture. We seem to have an endless hunger for new things, whether that's new foods to eat, new places to visit, new clothing to purchase. We are (and I certainly belong to the "we") obsessed with variety, so having the term "gluttony," which has universally negative connotations, associated with that desire is shocking.

These days, there is not as much variety in my life as there has been at times in the past. I don't travel far and wide, I don't embark on exciting and new adventures, I don't even try as many new recipes as I have in the past. For the most part, my life is lived in a very set, and, at times, monotonous routine that revolves around the care of two small and vulnerable bodies.

I hope that the next time that I find myself longing for that "unnecessary variety," I will have the presence of mind to know that the desert mothers and fathers knew what they were talking about: getting over my yearning for new and unnecessary stuff is all a part of getting over myself.

A Shout-out from the Back

I just stumbled upon a blog that two of my friends from Divinity school have put together in conjunction with an amazing book that they have co-edited called "From the Pews in the Back: Young Women and Catholicism." Kate and Jen are thoughtful, funny, and real, so it's no surprise that their blog reflects all of those qualities-- and explores some experiences of (duh) young catholic women with a depth that I could never do here. I will definitely be following it myself, and imagine that I will be stimulated and challenged by the many perspectives represented in the blog.

As I scanned the last several blog entries, one by Elizabeth Duclos-Orsello jumped out at me, specifically her discussion of Mary as an ordinary woman. She writes, "To think of this woman who must have burped, fed, changed, scolded, punished, hugged, helped, and loved the boy who grew up to be Jesus Christ is to see a female role model who is both “real” and “attainable." It seems like whenever we have a little baby in the house, my own personal devotion to Mary increases-- specifically, I think, because I know that she can understand what I'm going through. Jesus probably doesn't "get" the whole two crying babies, a poopy diaper, and you have to go to the bathroom thing. But Mary probably does-- and, if Jesus was anything like other "high acheivers," I'm guessing he was a handful as a child.

Often, when I have a trying moment with the kids, I will start reciting decades of the Rosary: I love using it as a centering exercise, it is a form of prayer that I grew up with, and it's nice to feel like someone gets the whole motherhood thing. Some feminists have thrown Mary out as outdated and irrelevant, but in doing so, I firmly believe that they have thrown out one of the gems of not only Catholicism or Christianity, but one of the gems of all world religions. How can the Mother of God not have something valuable to offer women, people?

Mary was a woman who was a parent to the son of God... but she was also the parent to a real embodied boy, and man, can those toddlers be a handful at times. I wonder what sort of parent she was? And what type of child Jesus was? And what I could learn from those mundane and precious interactions between them?

Cloister Walk

I just finished Cloister Walk by Kathleen Norris, which means I am officially back in the swing of reading after a relatively long (for me) hiatus. I was super excited when I found this book at the Pimmit Hills used book sale, since it's been recommended to me by lots of friends. And, I am happy to report, it was a lovely book to read. I love how Norris incorporates the wisdom of the desert fathers, her poetic eye, and her apparent desire to give the monastics she encounters the most sympathetic witness possible. I was a girl who was convinced that she was going to become a nun for years (it still sounds so romantic, doesn't it?), and until a year or two ago told Ben that were he to die, I would raise our kids in a cloister (not so much anymore), but I remain a sucker for all things monastic.

There are some things that get on my nerves about the book (one of the pesky remnants of academia is that it feels impossible to read a book without developing a list of critiques). I don't like how preoccupied Norris is with being a "poet", which seems like a trite differentiation. And sometimes I feel like Norris is being a little too sympathetic to monastics, who, let's face it, can be misogynistic, petty, obnoxious, just like the rest of us. And sometimes the book feels too fragmented-- revealing the truth that the book wasn't really written as a whole, but rather as a patchwork of individual articles and commissions that weren't originally intended to be a book. But enough about what I think about it... here are a few passages that, leafing through the book, I apparently liked because I've highlighted them:

"In the medieval era gardens were designed to suffice for the loss of Eden. The garden I've grown into, in my middle age, seems more a kind of Purgatory, but I love it. It's a ratty little garden, not much at all. But I can call it mine." (those following my garden progress can understand why this resonates with me)

"The monastic life has this in common with the artistic one: both are attempts to pay close attention to objects, events, and natural phenomen that otherwise would get chewed up in the daily grind." (which, at it's best, is also how I feel about blogging)

"[Sisters] are often quick to point out similarities between a celibate commitment and fidelity in marriage. 'Both are a discipline,' one sister said. 'Both can be a form of asceticism.'" (don't worry, things are great with me and Ben! ;-) I just thought it was an interesting comparison)

So, the passages are obviously a hodgepodge, but in many ways, so is the book. Let me know if you want my copy of it!

A Suffering God

I never knew Nancy Eiesland while I was at Emory. However, when she died last month, I started learning about her theology and was truly compelled by what she had to say-- it's been with me for the past several weeks, and I suspect will influence my understanding of and relationship to God for many years to come. Nancy Eiesland's work revolved largely around what she called a "theology of the disabled." Namely, she explored the ways that God relates to those with disabilities (something close to her heart as she herself was disabled), much in the same way that others have explored how God relates to the poor, the oppressed, women, or African Americans. She pioneered a new branch of liberation theology-- one in which God has a special relationship with the disabled.

I've been thinking a lot about Nancy Eiesland's work these past couple of days-- the Easter Triduum, when we ponder the death and resurrection of Jesus. I've been thinking about what it means to worship a God that came to earth to be wounded-- a God whose autonomy was taken away, and became powerless. These last couple of weeks I have ceratinly experienced a loss of some power and autonomy through my pregnancy. I know that there are others in my family that are in the midst of this same experience due to failing health, aging, or anxiety. I imagine that such a loss of autonomy and power must be central to the experience of living with a disability. One is probably humbled on a daily basis by the need to accept help or ask for it because of very real physical limitations.

So what does it mean to worship a God that lives with such limitations, that is not just a resurrected God, as we remember tomorrow morning, but a suffering God? One insight in Nancy Eiesland's work is that when Jesus appears to the disciples after his death and resurrection, the way that they identify him is through touching his wounds. The mark of his earthly limitation is not only present (nor is it only a scar or a scab or something), but it has become the central aspect of his identity. Jesus, and God therefore, embody suffering-- something that even the resurrection does not erase.

I love Easter and, as I have mentioned here before, often struggle with lent-- I either avoid it or try to "work through it," just as I suppose I try to work through suffering in my own life. But I think that the idea of a suffering God-- a God that finds holiness and peace and presence even amidst woundedness-- has started to transform the way that I think about the reality of life. Nancy Eiesland often said that she believed that in heaven she would be disabled, just as she was here on earth. In fact, she believed that God Herself was disabled. So on this Holy Saturday, in the hours before we proclaim "He is Risen," I am trying to be present with the suffering in my own life, my own family, and truly embrace it is part of the sacred reality.

Who Was Jesus?

Thanks to Frank, a friend of Ben's, for passing this along:

There were 3 good arguments that Jesus was Black:
1. He called everyone brother
2. He liked Gospel
3. He didn't get a fair trial

But then there were 3 equally good arguments that Jesus was Jewish:
1. He went into His Father's business
2. He lived at home until he was 33
3. He was sure his Mother was a virgin and his Mother was sure He was
God

But then there were 3 equally good arguments that Jesus was Italian:
1. He talked with His hands
2. He had wine with His meals
3. He used olive oil

But then there were 3 equally good arguments that Jesus was a
Californian:
1. He never cut His hair
2. He walked around barefoot all the time
3. He started a new religion

But then there were 3 equally good arguments that Jesus was an American
Indian:
1. He was at peace with nature
2. He ate a lot of fish
3. He talked about the Great Spirit

But then there were 3 equally good arguments that Jesus was Irish:
1. He never got married.
2. He was always telling stories.
3. He loved green pastures.

But the most compelling evidence of all - 3 proofs that Jesus was a
woman:
1. He fed a crowd at a moment's notice when there was virtually no food
2. He kept trying to get a message across to a bunch of men who just
didn't get it
3. And even when He was dead, He had to get up because there was still
work to do

God In Relationship: The Shack Part I

I'm reading a couple of fascinating books right now, one of which is The Shack. I originally bought this book as a Christmas gift for one of my nieces before realizing that while the reading level is about right, the content might be a bit strong. So, I picked it up and have been reading it myself. It has been a long time since I have enjoyed a mainstream Christian novel. Okay, I'll admit it-- I don't think I've ever enjoyed one of these. They always seem trite, cliche, and I have major problems with their theology. And, I often feel like the spiritual quest books starring male characters are so masculine in nature (individualistic, not acknowledging the existence of women, characterizing God and Jesus as frat Buddies or something) that I feel totally pushed out of the picture. But, I am happy to report that I love this mainstream Christian book about a man on a spiritual quest. It is beautiful, has changed the way I think about God in wonderful and unexpected ways, and is extremely poignant. I'm still in the process of reading the book, so today I'll just limit this entry to one small aspect of the book for now.

The basic premise of the book is that a man's daughter has been kidnapped and brutally murdered in a shack deep in the Oregon wilderness. He gets a note from "Papa" a few years later (a family nickname for God) to meet back at the shack, the epicenter of his pain and suffering, for a weekend. And, sure enough, God is waiting at the shack. Namely, Elousia or Papa, a black woman who is a mean cook (the father), Jesus, a thirty-ish Jewish man, and Sarayu, a petite Asian woman with a effervescent glow (the holy spirit). The whole weekend, Mack interacts with each of the three members of the trinity while also watching them relating to one another. So here is the major revelation I've had about the nature of God: God is not an individual, but a network of relationships. God is in relationship with Godself-- which explains why we need relationships and community in order to fully experience God.

As Papa says in one section of the book, "All love and relationship is possible for you only because it already exists within Me, within God myself. Love is not the limitation; love is the flying. I am love." (101) I've always felt that community and family are the central ways that I experience God. While many individuals, men in particular, seem to experience God by themselves, when separated from family and community, this has never been the case for me. Quiet moments alone are poignant and beautiful, but only in order to make sense of the way that I feel God has been revealed to me through relationships. There is no single experience that has shaped my relationship with God more powerfully than becoming a mother, and now I am starting to understand why-- because God is, in her essence, in a family/ community.

The Forgotten Figure in the Nativity

You will love this story in today's Slate about Joseph as the forgotten figure in the nativity. I'm a huge Mary fan, but I've got to admit-- we should give this guy some credit!

What Christmas Truly Is

This morning, after spending a little extra time in bed with my two favorite family members, Ben and I hit the ground running. I started working on the dessert portion of the several Polish dishes I'm preparing today for our family's Wigilia celebration this evening. And, in the process, I've learned that apparently Polish recipes a. do not use measurements that are recognizable (what is a dag??) b. often do not use measurements at all (as in: "add raisins", as if I'm supposed to know how many) and c. Are just plain erroneous: the recipe for dough that I just made clearly instructs you to add "the sugar" in two separate points of the recipe. So, amid my frustration at decoding a cryptic recipe (I am convinced that the difficult instructions are the author's attempt at guarding his recipe), I recieved a call from a family member pertaining to today's festivities that left me stressed, to say the least. Ben, on the other hand, is out at Target with the baby buying the last few things that we need for today (I asked him to buy me some panty hose, and he just called to inform me that there are hundreds of varieties of panty hose, and wanted to know whether I wanted custom fit brief panty hose, silky sheer, control top, ultimate control top, cellulite control, or mega ultimate control top). So it's been one of those mornings.

As I felt the stress and negativity well up within me, I paused for half a second to realize that this is not an environment suibtable for welcoming a new baby, let alone the Christ child in our midst. I realized that I needed a second to put everything in perspective, so turned to the Henri Nouwen readings that have been keeping us focused this Advent. Today's reading hit me like a ton of bricks, so I thought I'd share it here:

Somehow I realize that songs, music, good feelings, beautiful liturgies, nice presents, big dinners, and many sweet words do not make Christmas. Christmas is saying "yes" to something beyond all emotions and feelings. Christmas is saying "yes" to a hope based on God's initiative, which has nothing to do with what I think or feel. Christmas is believing that the salvation of the world is God's work and not mine. Things will never look just right or feel just right. If they did, someone would be lying.... But it is into this broken world that a child is born who is called Son of the Most High, Prince of Peace, Savior.

Amen to that!

Anti-Anti Buy Nothing Day

Today I've been reading all about Buy Nothing Day-- a sort of protest of Black Friday that many in the counter-culture have been participating in for years (heck, I remember hanging up posters for buy nothing day in high school). So, as is always the case in liberal circles, something can only be revolutionary for so long before we liberals have to start a revolution against the revolution. I've come across several opinion pieces/blogs challenging buy nothing day as a white liberal elitism (and make something day, the recent spin off where people are called to get crafty as essentially a waste of time and craft supplies). Some of the arguments resonate with me: people have said that the true poor rely on opportunities like black friday to get things that they really need, like computers for their children. Others have said that we should save all the energy spent on crafts towards getting things that people actually need. So, I get the arguments. But come on, people. Can't we just come together behind a noble cause for more than a week before we start splintering into factions and somehow claiming that we're more enlightened than the enlightened?**

Here's why I like buy nothing day: it challenges consummerism on the single day the most symbolically associated with overconsumption. Perhaps there are a few low income folks waiting in line for their first computer, but I bet that the vast majority of people are waiting for their new i-phone, luxury sneakers, or flat screen television. If black friday is a cornerstone in your survival strategy, then by all means get in line! But let's not pretend that somehow that's what it is for most people. Events like black friday are put on by retailers precicely because the frenzy of it all causes people to act irrationally and buy crazy amounts of stuff. Think Filene's Basement wedding dresses. People start grabbing for anything and everything and it gets ugly. This is not survival, it's gluttony.

This black friday I plan on avoiding the retail scene, mainly because I don't care for it and don't need the kinds of things that one is likely to get a "steal" on on black friday... they are the sorts of things that are the bells and whistles of life and not the bare bones. I think it's great if others decide to do the same. It's not going to change the world (it might not change anything at all), but it's still powerful to participate in a noble cause together with others that are filled with hope for the future.

** Of course, I guess that makes me the person who thinks that I'm more enlightened than the people who are more enlightened than the enlightened. Whew, this is why I went to Harvard!

Dance of Dissidence

The other week Ben and I ran into an old friend from high school, Michelle, who just recently got married and moved into a cute little house on the other side of Falls Church. I got together with her for lunch a few times, and she invited me to come to a book group she was hosting at her house where they were discussing the book The Dance of the Dissident Daughter by Sue Monk Kidd. I didn't know anything about the book (but had read and loved the Secret Life of Bees), but gladly agreed to go to the book group. The book, for those of you who haven't read it, chronicles her journey from baptist church woman to liberated woman who celebrates the feminine aspects of God. It's a beautiful story, and one that re awoke that desire deep within my own being to recognize, name, and worship the feminine aspects of the divine.

Julie Clawson, who's awesome blog I just discovered yesterday, describes the necessity of naming the feminine characteristics of God like this:

"The call to speak of God rightly has awakened in many women the need to reclaim the feminine metaphors for God. God is of course neither male nor female, but in the image of God both male and female were created. God’s image is reflected in all of us. To use feminine metaphors for God is not a call to swing the pendulum to the other side and think of God as exclusively female, as much of the Divine Feminine and Goddess talk has recently called us to do. It is merely a call to balance our perceptions and rightly name God."

Amen to that! This re imagining of God is accomplished through events like the art event at Emily's house where we created plates to describe our experience as women in the church, or events like Zosia's baptismal mass at our apartment, where the sacred feminine blessed us with her divine presence, or Sean and Rachel's wedding, where the fusion of God's feminine and masculine characteristics was so beautifully evident. As a woman, recognizing the feminine characteristics of God is the first step towards recognizing that I am created in the image of God and deeply beloved. It is essential to the female spiritual experience, and yet something that most major religions entirely neglect to address.

Reading this book and discussing it with a group of strong and intelligent women reminded me of this mission that we as women have in the contemporary church. Immediately, I realized that finding support is essential in this journey-- and that's certainly not something that I'm going to receive from the Catholic Church. As I started researching local churches and groups that would affirm this mission, I realized two things: there aren't a whole lot of them, and those that exist usually function under the auspices of organizations that are highly marginalized by modern society. Namely, there are several pagan groups that celebrate the feminine divine. Of course, as soon as Ben found out that I was researching paganism, he pulled out the full battery of witch jokes, suggesting that I search google for "kettle broom newts witches northern virginia." Jokes aside, joining a pagan group would certainly create some intra-family conflict, and I don't even know if I'm quite ready to make that leap (but if I attend a coven meeting, I'll fill you in on all the details).

I feel kind of alone, especially when I'm at a church that, for all of its amazing ministries and assets, is pretty male-centered. And yet I know that I stand together with women accross this country, in Boston, Chicago, Seattle, and almost certainly dozens of women in my own congregation, who are journeying towards the sacred feminine. And, as an amazing outgrowth of the book group, I'm going to be meeting with two women later this month for our first celebration of the sacred feminine. It feels like a babystep, but one that I'm very happy to be making.

I'm still here! Here's what I've been thinking...

Wow, I somehow can't believe I've neglected this blog for so long. I was just talking to Ben yesterday about the importance of having discipline regarding traditions, and I realized that I suck at this. And, communicating with friends/loved ones is a sort of tradition in itself, so let me try to make up for lost time with a few updates:

1) As most of you know, we have another baby on the way. I've had premonitions that it's a boy, so we'll see how intuitive I am about these things.

2) We are settling into fall here in Virginia-- even though it's the end of october, the leaves are just starting to change. For me, this has meant prodigious reading, making huge amounts of soup, and trying to spend as much time as possible outside.

3) I've been especially loving time spent with Ben these last few weeks, and there are lots of things we've been talking about-- the election, the economy, the Catholic Church. Ben is attending RCIA classes, and I feel like those provide lots of food for thought for both of us, both pulling us into the Catholic tradition and at times forcefully repelling us away from it.

I'll spend the afternoon trying to sift through all of these topics and pull together a coherent reflection, but in the meantime, here are a few artifacts of my fall.

Our Neighbor Annie's Chicken Curry

1 can coconut milk
1 can garbanzo beans
4-6 boneless skinless chicken thighs
2T curry paste
2T tomato paste
1 t ground coriander
1t ground cumin
1 t grated ginger
1 yellow onion chopped
2-3 smashed cloves garlic
1/2 eggplant chopped
1 sweet potato chopped
1 bell pepper
salt to taste

Add all ingredients in crockpot and cook until done! Serve with sticky brown rice.

I've been reading:

This book is, quite simply, one of the best I have ever read. Thanks Maura, for leading me to it, and I do still have your copy in a box somewhere, so don't think I've forgotten! I absolutely loved the family that this book follows through multiple generations. It is filled with magical, powerful women, corruption and the quest for power, and stories of political revolution. But, more than anything, I felt at the end of the novel that I had a deeper insight into myself, my relationship to others in the world, and my own power as an individual.

Adam: God's Beloved

I have noticed that when I stroll into a library/bookstore, I gravitate towards exactly the same two kinds of books: books about urban couples moving to a farm (yes, I have discovered there is a whole genre of books just like this... so much for being original), and Henri Nouwen books. My last trip to the library, I was planning on getting something edgy and different, but no. I came home with a book whose byline is "how one urban couple grew a business, a family, and a new way of life from the ground up," and two Henri Nouwen books: one that ben snatched from me the moment I walked through the door, and another entitled "Adam: God's Beloved."

Somehow, every Nouwen book I start resonates so strongly with me that I can't put it down once I've started-- and this one is no exception. This book, which was actually Nouwen's last book before his death, tells the story of the man that Nouwen calls "my friend, my teacher, and my guide." Adam, a severely handicapped member of Nouwen's L'Arche community in Toronto, can't talk, walk, or even feed himself, but exudes a peace and stillness that draw those around him deeper into themselves and deeper into the presence of God. Nouwen structures the book, a memoir of Adam's life from birth to untimely death, as a parallel to the life of Jesus. Just as the gospel narratives tell us about the childhood, public ministry, suffering, and death of Jesus, so too Nouwen chronicles each of these chapters of Adam's life, starting with Adam's obscure life within the loving shelter of his parent's home, to his public ministry at L'Arche community.

What Nouwen makes clear is that while most of us have to spend our entire lives working to understand the fact that there is nothing we can do to become God's beloved-- it's just who we are-- Adam's entire existence was a testmanet to this. According to the world, Adam didn't have anything to offer, and yet God found powerful ways to use him as a messenger of The Word.

Many of you know that I have struggled with my own desire to somehow earn the approval of others, and, ultimately, God. There was certainly so much pressure to work towards this end in academia! It seemed like somehow your entire being was defined by your thoughts, papers, arguments. In the context of our little family, where I feel so precious and affirmed both as a wife and mother, this burden is lifted. But nevertheless, in friendships, relationships, and jobs, I always feel a subtle pressure to "wow" those around me. Over the past few days, as I have encountered new and old friends, it has been so transformative to have Adam's image in the back of my mind, calling me into a fuller communion with the present, which constantly whispers, "You are my beloved."

On Resurrection

I love this piece in Slate this morning. The article explores the significance of the fact that Jesus' actual body rose from the dead-- not just his spirit, but his real fleshy body. Some highlights:

"The ancient Jewish and early Christian idea of personal resurrection represented a new emphasis on individuals and the importance of embodied existence beyond the mere survival or enhancement of the soul, although there was debate about the precise nature of the post-resurrection body."

"Historically, then, how Christians have understood Jesus' "resurrection" says a lot about how they have understood themselves, whether they have a holistic view of the human person, whether they see bodily existence as trivial or crucial, and how they imagine full salvation to be manifested."

So, this morning I'm taking a few moments to think about resurrection and bodies.