How God Messed Up My Religion

When Wounded Women Speak Up

2012-02-01T11:40:00.000-08:00

A recent Facebook thread generated a rather robust discussion about women's roles and equality in the context of Christianity. One commenter, a pastor, contributed to the discussion the typical storyline that women who reject the headship doctrine are likely wounded because of men who lead poorly.
Have a listen:

I understand the pain and hurt that many women have had in their homes and churches over "headship" theology but that doesn't mean we can throw out the fact that Godly men are to lead. Yes, women can have the gifts of pastoring, teaching...etc.. but eldership is ultimately responsible for the direction of a home and church. This pisses many women off because MANY men are very, very unsatisfactory in their spiritual leadership. I am sorry for our failures to be trustworthy.... doesn't mean we can change God's plan because it feels better to have control.

This pastor effectively demonstrates one reason why so many women remain "in the closet" about their misgivings with male hierarchy. A woman who dissents to the No Women Allowed sign on the door risks being interpreted as a woman operating from a maimed point of view.

The same commenter also directs the discussion to the issue of power and gender writing,

Our culture is fighting around us for power, rights and prominence. Unfortunately, the evangelical community is also fighting over the gender issue. Sometimes, both sides seem to be angry and power hungry to win the argument.

I address this is my book, Unladylike: Resisting the Injustice of Inequality in the Church, the notion that women who challenge Christianized sexism are sometimes met with a pushback that it is really an attempt to grab power. I find this logic flimsy when the person in a position of privelage and power explains to the person who is oppressed, that their desire for liberty is really a misguided grab for illicit power.

Is it just me?

Telling women that the male gender by virtue and divine design are meant to possess power, and then insist that women who buck against this are themselves fighting for power is a telling sign of oppression.

The woman is relegated to a subservient role and then told by those who have assigned her this space that to reject her role is to attempt to vie for power that is not meant to be hers.

Paulo Friere says it this way:

The behavior of the oppressed is a prescribed behavior, following as it does the guidelines of the oppressor.

And that pretty much sums it up for me which is why I am calling on women and men of faith to act Unladylike.

I Have a Page - an Amazon Author Page {Wowzers}

2012-01-31T14:41:00.000-08:00

Click HERE to go straight to my bonafide, 100% purebred author page.
I feel so...authorish!

Digital Friends : Real or Imaginary?

2012-01-30T10:52:00.000-08:00

Author and blogger Jennifer Luitwieler wrote this recently in an article for She Loves magazine:

Some people think online connections are somehow as flat as the screen, as dimensionless as the pixels of a font. They think that without the luxury of being in the same room, something must be missing. I disagree. I feel a significant and strong connection to my virtual sisters. They encouraged me through the writing, through the races and through parenting decisions. This wired community is no less real, no less potent than the friendships in which hands can reach across the table for a hand hug.
Community can be anywhere and can take on more shapes and varieties than our limited imaginations can conjure up. Community is not just a group of people together, but with a united purpose, and at our best, it accomplishes the work of grace.

I love this, her reference to virtual sisters and that community can take on more shapes and varieties than our limited imaginations can conjure up. Her article made me pause to think about the digital friends I've made over the years and the question of whether or not they are real or imaginary friends?

I think first of all about Donna Van Horn, a woman I met somehow in the blogosphere back when blogging was a new media. She is the first online connection I met in real life. We were both nervous, it was like a blind date. We met in broad daylight in a crowded coffee shop lest the other be a raving lunatic. That meeting went well. Donna and I both ended up joining The Bridge where our friendship grew and bled into real life.

And then of course there's Erin Word, another local woman who was also a blogger. Emboldened by how well the meet-up went with Donna, I was agreeable when Erin suggested we meet for coffee. She has since become a trusted confidant and is a featured voice in my book, Unladylike.

Besides digital connections that became real life friendships, there are many, many women and men who I maintain a warm connection with via the digital spaces. Like Kim from My Inner Chick, a blogger who writes with such poetic fury about the murder of her sister that it makes my heart ache.

Besides other bloggers, I've enjoyed great connections with readers like Kristen G. who has become a penpal and Tracy S. who not only encouraged me in my writings, but once sent me book money to keep my reading stack growing. And there's those online whose real names I don't even know, but there online monikers are who they are to me, like Mad Woman, Swile 67, Minnow Speaks and Co Heir among others.

Then there are the international connections that the digital ocean has provided me with. People like blogger and writer Jo Hilder in Australia who I met through writing for the Burnside Writers Collective, which then reminds me of BWC social justice editors, Penny Carothers and Kim Gottschild, two women I've had plenty of correspondence with though I wouldn't recognize them if I met them on the street. A limitation of digital connections, yet an acceptable one.

Milestones have been celebrated with my digital friends such as the accomplishments in school and big moves to new cities or jobs. Tragedies have been shared such as when I lost one of my best friends and her toddler daughter in a car accident in 2007. My digital community reached out to me across the cyber miles and cried with me. I remember the passing of blogger Gary Means, a kind soul whom Erin and I always intended to with since he lived only a few hours up the highway. Sadly, we procrastinated too long for Gary died an untimely death before we met. We mourned with his family and reached out with our words and memories. Gary is still remembered in my blog circles.

It is because of the widespread net of connections that makes the internet so compelling. The words, thoughts and interactions of so many cyber friends makes my time on the net meaningful. Web browsing is not a meaningful experience, but connecting through blogging, social media and email to other human beings is very real and very valuable.

What about you? Do you have meaningful digital friendships?

Reviews are coming In

2012-01-29T21:25:00.000-08:00

I love to write book reviews. This is because I like to give my opinion. I've written plenty of Amazon book reviews as well many blog posts reviews (which reminds me, I have some book reviews to catch up on. Look for them soon!)

So it is interesting to find myself in the other seat these days, the place of having my writing reviewed. This reviewer has become the reviewed.

I promised myself not to give too much credence to reviews. One person's POV can be vastly different than another. And though I know this, I still check Amazon at least three times a day to see if anyone has posted a new review.

So far there are nine. All of them are 4-5 star reviews with the exception of one (more on that later). What's really interesting is that most of the reviews are from men. I love this. Love it. My pictured reader as I wrote Unladylike was a non-descript white woman. Basically a woman like me.

Here's some highlights of some of the Amazon reviews:

Unladlylike is going to challenge you because Pam boldly guides us on a tour through the deeply rooted sexism in the evangelical

***

Having been raised in the Bible-belt south, and in churches where it was just a fact of life that women were not to be in positions of authority, I was naive to the oppression of women in ministry. And this book is opening my eyes. The research is well presented, the prose clean and well written, and Pam's personality shines through in every chapter.

***

My daughters will both read this book, and I pray come away stronger and more sure of their value in God's eyes. May they be "women who are determined to live in the fullness of who God has made them to be rather than diminished by what patriarchal religion tells them they cannot be.

Besides the Amazon reviews, my friend Bill Dahl--who regularly reads and reviews books more than any other person I know--wrote a lengthy response of his thoughts after reading Unladylike. Here's an excerpt:

It took incredible backbone to write a book about the heart of this matter. As we have seen throughout the history of civilization, it takes the heart and beautiful mind of a wise, courageous and creative woman to propel us toward imagining a better way… Dying breed?Not – if Hogeweide and her ilk have anything to do with it.Finally, a song from my childhood kept throbbing through my head as I read this book. It’s entitled The Buses' Are A-Coming. Hogeweide’s authorship of this book finally…formally.. introduces a voice that is long overdue a legitimate place on the platform this work places her on. Pam Hogeweide… a freedom writer.

(click here for his full review)

I've obviously been quite pleased with these early reviews! Granted, several of these folks are people who have been long-time fans of my writing and so there is likely a tad of bias. But still, it has been encouraging.

Then yesterday, the one-star review came in. The reviewer says, "I cannot recommend this book." When I read what he had to say, I was surprised. I think you will too. You'll have to click HERE to go and see what he had to say.

Do you ever post book reviews?

My Book Cover Has Boobs

2012-01-26T00:04:00.000-08:00

When my publisher and I together decided on this image for Unladylike, I noted that the female statue's boobs were visible. I wasn't sure I wanted that to be framed on the cover of my book so I asked the publisher to crop it down. Nope, he said, it looks good the way it is.

Now I think he's right.

For a book urging women to be unladylike, this cover and her boobs kinda says it all : Strip yourself of the niceties that hold you back from being and saying who you really are.

In the sixties women's lib movement, burning bras became a symbol of rising up through the constraints of a patriarchal society. My Unladylike covergirl has no bra. She's topless (and armless!).

Now I just need to find out who she is. Anybody recognize her??

Dragon Girl with the Eleven Tattoo

2012-01-23T22:45:00.000-08:00

I am a woman who likes to find omens. I search for signs and clues that there is an Unseen Force greater than me at work in my life. When Unladylike was being scheduled for release, I relished the idea of the original release date of 11/11/11. How prophetic is this date! A once in a lifetime, in a millennium for the 11's to be dated in triplicate.

I have an interesting history with eleven that began with a dream. Several years ago I dreamt that I was getting a number eleven tattooed on my right hand, the hand I write with. But instead of getting an eleven, I changed my mind at the last minute and got a tattoo of a rose on my hand instead. Ever since then, the number eleven and I have bonded. It pops up in my life in the most random places. I look at the clock frequently right when it's 11:11. My father, when he died, was transported in a hearse by Palm Mortuary that had the licence plate, Palm 11. I finally had a tattoo artist ink me with a little eleven on my arm. This number has become like a friend that keeps showing up in the most unexpected places.

My friend Mimi is going to host a book release party for me at her relative's coffee house. It's called Cafe 11.

And today, the release date of my book, I met up with Elizabeth and the number we were given for our order was...you guessed it, Eleven.

I blogged about the number eleven back in June of 2007 when I went on a personal retreat at a monastery. I reflected on my walk around the stations of the cross on the grounds:

At risk of sounding as if I am into numerology, which I'm not, I'm into Jesus, but I have to say that the number 11 has been occurring in my life for over two years. It first showed up in a dream, an 11 tattooed on the back of my hand...and since then it pops up in all kinds of random ways, like when I glance at the clock and it reads 11:11 (many, many times this has happened) and seeing car plates and addresses and so on with Eleven. It's a great number, but I don't know why it's stalking me.
Then there I was, staring at the pierced hand of Station 11, remembering my dream of two years ago of my own 11 scarred onto my hand. Is 11 the number of grace? I don't know... So I just stood there, and felt the wind of God's presence breeze through me. The veil on my heart fluttered like a lace curtain in an open window. God walked with me.

While I had to let go of my 11/11/11 publishing date due to simply just not being able to pull it off, I am pleased with the number eleven still managing to find it's way to me today at that little restaurant with Elizabeth.

But there is something else special about today, January 23, 2012. Not just that it's the official launch date for my book, but it also happens to be Chinese New Year. The Chinese zodiac depicts each year as being marked by characteristics of an animal. This is the year of the dragon. I was born in 1964, also a year of the dragon. And my book is being born today, Year of the Dragon. This day has turned out to be dripping with omens!

I adore what my Canadian Chinese friend Esther posted on my Facebook today. She is my Dragon Sister:

...your book is released on the first day of the Chinese New Year of the Dragon - isn't it our year, lady? Were you born on the same year as I was - 1964? If you were, then you are also a dragon girl! WOW!! That signifies something - to have your 1st book released on the 1st day of the year of the dragon! It represents your unusual love and care for the Chinese people, too. Oh, I am so happy....

I love that Esther remembers how much Chinese people and other Asian groups are deep in my heart. I lived in Hong Kong for nearly seven years and have traveled a bit around Asia including Thailand, Cambodia and China. It is my favorite region of the world. If I could not have 11/11/11 for the publication release for Unladylike, the next best omenesque date is Today.

Today is done. It will be eleven o'clock soon. I need to sleep.

One last thing. If you haven't yet ordered Unladylike, consider doing so Tuesday, Jan 24th. Apparently Amazon favors Tuesday book buys. Available in print and on Kindle! (click here for PRINT, and here for KINDLE. For some reason, the two are not yet integrated together, though reviews are showing up on both no matter where you post!)

Unladylike: Resisting the Injustice of Inequality in the Church Video Promo

2012-01-21T08:49:00.000-08:00

Unladylike officially launches on Monday, January 23!!

Here's a book trailer my friend Craig Spinks of Recycle Your Faith produced for it. Craig was able to include the voices of some of the women who attend my Women's Listening Parties which adds so much more depth to the promo. He absolutely captures my voice and the message of Unladylike.

Feel free to share this book trailer on your blogs, Facebook page, by email or any other social media. Help me spread the word!

Unladylike Release Getting Closer

2012-01-08T22:39:00.000-08:00

On January 23, Unladylike should be LIVE on Amazon for print and digital orders. I am so excited! Endorsements are starting to roll in, early reviews are beginning to buzz and I am all over the social media of Twitter and Facebook to get the word out.

In fact, if you and I are not connected through social media yet, consider hitting me up on Facebook and/or Twitter. I'd love to make that digital connection to you and have more contact beyond the boundaries of this blog.

I should pick up on blogging more now that the writing and editing of Unladylike has quieted down. I still have my day job and my family and household to tend to, but I miss blogging. I will make time to resume a blogging schedule this year!

So what's new with you? Any new plans or projects in the new year? Any goals?

I'm Still Alive and Writing!

2011-12-20T10:48:00.000-08:00

I have been a crazy woman in the grip of deadline fever. My book is so close....a hair's breath away from being done. I expect to be unveiling the cover soon!

Meanwhile, I had an opportunity to write an article for a Christianity Today magazine online project they are doing for my city, Portland, Oregon. If you are a Christian, then you may be familiar with this magazine and realize what an amazing opportunity this is for me. So despite deadline fever (and working and being a mom and it's the holidays!) I somehow managed to write an article for them that was posted yesterday.

It's an article about a local organization that I've wanted to write about for years. You'll have to go read the article to see who I'm talking about and why I have a personal story attached to this organization. (click HERE to read...and leave some comment love!)

Since I have your attention here are some super quick announcements: I'll be streamlining this blog with my website soon. Keep an eye out for an announcement about that. And if you haven't already, sign up for email updates and my e-newsletter. I'll be offering some special zine issues for subscribers only. (zine : a handmade magazine about whatever you want it to be about)

Hope you are well. Drop me a line and let me know what's new in your part of the world!!!!

God, Occupied at Burnside Writers Collective

2011-11-01T11:22:00.000-07:00

An article I wrote with a few thoughts about spirituality and the Occupy Movement was posted on the Burnside Writers Collective site last week. There is a rather robust conversation that was born out of it. Go check it out.

What are your thoughts on the Occupy Movement?

Becoming a Bible Slinger

2011-10-27T09:10:00.000-07:00

Pam, you do not like to "sling verses around". Okay. Then I suppose you disagree with the way Christ lead and redirected his disciples using old Testament scripture. Or perhaps Paul, Peter, John, etc. The Bible is termed as a "sword" for a reason. Yes, it stings, but only when your on the wrong end of it. It can also be used for edification and protection against the lies of this world. THAT is why you need to use scripture in your argument. Otherwise, from what authority are you getting this? And if we don't know from whose authority you are getting your argument, then why should we listen?

This comment just came in on a post I wrote more than three years ago. It was a post about Complementarianism, a fancy word that refers to a biblical interpretation of men being created for the role of leader and women as helpers.

In my post and the flurry of comments that followed, I defended myself for not "slinging scriptures" by stating that I did not wish to use the Bible as a weapon. People who agreed with me about biblical equality were fine with this. But the folks who disagreed demanded biblical exegetical proof. I refused to give it to them. Let them go debate the Bible somewhere else, I surmised. (you can read the post and all the comments HERE)

It's interesting timing to get this comment in my email box on such an old blog post. For this is the week, the very day, that I am revising the Bible part in my book, Unladylike : Resisting the Injustice of Inequality in the Church.

(as a side note, this is why my blog has been so quiet! Writing, rewriting and revising!!!)

When I submitted a first draft of the book to the editor, he advised me to not skirt the Bible as I present my argument for biblical equality. "You have to include the Bible. Saying that you don't want to scripturize people and use the Bible as a weapon is not going to cut it. The Bible more than adequately supports biblical equality. Show it to your readers."

I agreed. I wanted to avoid theology in this book. I love theology, but I don't love Bible wars. I figured if I steered my readers to theologians I trust that would be good enough.But my editor, and the commentator above, are both right : I must reveal what it is in the Bible that convinces me that women can possess all manner of spiritual roles and leadership offices.

I know my Bible. And I'm learning even more as I dig deep into the theological trenches of biblical equality.

I can't wait for you to read it when it comes out in February. Stay tuned!

The Writing Sign

2011-10-02T10:59:00.000-07:00

I didn't sleep well. I tossed and turned most of the night. I had fitful dreams. In one dream frame I was holding a broken laptop. At times I prayed, Can I make this deadline?

I am a writer. I am writing my first book. I have a contract with a small independent publisher out of California called Civitas Press. We had an agreement that I would deliver a publishable manuscript by October 11th. That was six months ago.

All summer I have holed up to write Unladylike : Resisting the Injustice of Inequality in the Church. I knew I could write pages at a time, but 150-200 pages, could I do that?

The answer is yes, I can. I have a wonderful but shitty first draft (as writer Anne Lamott refers to it). It's got some strengths, but a whole lot of revising and organizing that needs to make it publishable. There is just no way I can make this deadline. There is an extension clause in my contract with Civitas. It's not the end of the world to bump up this book's publication release. But it has been a matter of ego and cool numbers. 11/11/11 is the original publication date. How rad is that??! I LOVE eleven. I have an eleven tattoo. Elevens saturate my life, and so it seemed fitting, even prophetic that my first book would come out on November 11, 2011.

So, I did not sleep well as the realization that I was not going to make it sunk in. I prayed for a sign. Maybe God would endow me with supernatural writerly powers so I could do the impossible. Jesus walked on water; maybe I could walk on words.

All day at work after that fitful night I prowled around for a sign. I listened to what people said, to songs on the radio, to newspaper headlines. God speaks in all kinds of ways and signs from heaven usually show up in the rhythm of everyday life. All day I prayed and hoped for a sign while I worked my shift at the hospital.

I came home from work and found my sign. Taped to the door of my writing cave. My daughter Rose, 17 years old and mindful of the low tide my writing state was in, had thoughtfully posted a sign of encouragement on my door :

I stood there. Dumbfounded. This was the sign I needed, that I'd been looking for and praying for. Here it was taped on the door of my writing cave. A list of writing rules she had learned at school. How much clearer could a sign be?!

Within a few hours I was on the phone with my publisher who graciously agreed, Let's extend.

I slept really good last night. And today I wrote even better as I resumed work on Unladylike.

Gotta love how God moves in Her mysterious ways!

The Courage to Write a Book

2011-09-27T23:21:00.000-07:00

School started this week at community colleges and universities around my city. I ought to be enrolled, a slight thrill of anticipation pumping through my knowledge-starved mind. But nope, this term I won't be gracing the halls of Marylhurst University. I can't. I work full-time at a hospital and I have two teenagers at home....and if you haven't heard, I'm writing a book. The on-deadline-writing-a-book kind of book. It typically consumes about 20 hours of my waking life a week, the equivalent of a part-time job. And though I can be amazingly productive and multi-task, I am no Super Woman. Last time I checked, my day still only had 24 hours in it. (If you are willing to give up some of your daylight hours to me, please send 'em! Then I could get more done!).

It's hard work. I knew it would be. For the first time in the more than seven years I've been blogging and writing, I feel like a writer. Writers write. God knows that I've penned more words in the last year than the last two or three combined. Seriously.

This explains why my blog has become very quiet. I can't blog. I ought not to be blogging right now. I have writing and the swamplands of edits to sludge through, sentences to wrestle down like a Swampwoman alligator hunter. I have writing stuff to do! Last week my publisher (who is a guy in California who started up an independent publishing house) spent 90 minutes with a thorough explanation of what revisions he is recommending. "Are we at square one?" I asked him when we reached the end of the word doc that outlined his editorial notes. "Can I possibly make this deadline with this much work still left to do?"

"You're not at square one," he assured me. "You have a lot of content, but yes, you have a lot of work to do, but I think you can do it."

And that, my blog reading friends, is why my stomach hurts almost from sun-up to sun-down and I'm not sleeping well. I have a book inside me that is about to birth. The contractions are coming together, furious and hard, I have to remember to breathe. "It's almost time to push," I tell my laboring writer self.

My fave writer guru is Ralph Keyes who wrote, The Courage to Write. I have read this book three times in the last seven years, and began it for a fourth time over the summer. Ralph perfectly captures my angst and fear of failing in this excerpt:

Only after my tenth sleepless night did it dawn on me that there might be more to this business than recording good words on paper. By the time I started my first book, there was no escaping the fact that anxiety had elbowed its way into my office to sit beside me, scrutinizing every word I wrote. Much of this anxiety showed up in disguise. It expressed itself as stomach trouble, irritability, and restlessness. During toss-and-turn nights I’d jot notes on a pad beside my bed (like marijuana-inspired brilliance, such notes were seldom of any use in the light of day). Seven-day weeks became routine as I tried to build walls of research and rhetoric strong enough to protect me from marauding critics. When a friend offered me a relaxing massage to ease my obvious tension, I turned the offer down from fear that getting too relaxed might keep me from finishing my book. I had trouble even thinking about anything other than getting the book done. Doing so might destroy my concentration, I feared. Taking a weekend off, or even spending an evening with friends might break the writing spell forever. Then I might never return to my desk. I’d no longer be an aspiring writer. Instead I would be revealed as an impostor: someone who said he could write a book but couldn’t.

And there is lies for me. The reason I am moody and difficult to socialize with these days is because I am terrified of falling flat on my writerly face in front of family, friends, co-workers and my writing colleagues. I am scared of failing.

But Brother Ralph, as I have come to call him in my mind as I reach for his book for courage and hope, tells me that my fear is normal to the writing life and that I can harness it for good. I sure am trying.

One thing I know to do is to say it out loud. I occasionally will tell a trusted friend how nervous I am. Ralph calls it page fright. That helps. I have also found that if I take a few days off to rest my mind and writing juices, that once I return to the white fields of a blank screen, that I write with renewed vigor. Rest and recreation makes a difference, though Lord knows it has been hard to "be present" when I worry that I won't make my deadline.

And what if I don't? Yes, we can extend. It won't be the end of the world. In the next week, my publisher (the guy in California) and I will reevaluate and make a decision to keep the deadline or push it out into 2012. I have to tell you : I really, really, really, REALLY, want to make it to the deadline so this book can be released into the wild November 11, 2011.

So that's the deal. Writing a book is hard work and takes courage. But not writing it is even harder.

What about you? What performance fears are slogging their way through your life these days? How do you summon courage?

Discuss, Disqus....An Updated Commenting System

2011-09-25T10:00:00.000-07:00

One of the reasons I've kept up blogging for over six years now is because of the interaction with readers. There have been many memorable discussions and debates on this blog about things like women and gender equality in the church.

Over the last year I've noticed a very robust commenting system on other blogs I like to read, such as Michael Hyatt's site (who, btw, if you are a writer or entrepreneur, he provides highly relevant and practical posts on topics like platform, social media, book marketing, etc...)

He has a very large following, in the many tens of thousands I believe, so the comments for his posts are typically in the three digit range. I usually stay away from these oversized discussions since it's so crowded. That would be like trying to follow a hundred people talking all at once. But I noted that Michael uses the Disqus commenting application. It gives readers and commentators a much easier, streamlined means of responding to the topic at hand. There is even a "Like" feature similar to Facebook's Like button. This way if a comment resonates with you but you don't want to respond to it, you can hit the Like button which does three things : it alerts the commentator that somebody else is tracking with their thought, it alerts that writer of the post that others are paying attention even if they aren't "talking," and most of all it gives the reader a simple way of participating in the discussion without actually speaking up. I have scrolled through many comments on a topic I am interested in, but lack time to jump into the dialog. I participate, though, by hitting the Like button for those comments that express my perspective.

Disqus brings interactive online discussions to another level, providing options of interaction as well as the ability to tweet and Facebook the post instantly...as well as comments that rock your boat. Social media is now and it's the future. Disqus helps utilize social networking so humble bloggers like me (as well as rockstar bloggers like Michael Hyatt) can provide a more open, accessible forum for those who care to know what we are writing about.

And that's why I have enabled the Disqus application to How God Messed Up My Religion.

So what are you waiting for? Disqus!!

Resisting the Murky Curtain of Inequality

2011-09-22T00:00:00.000-07:00

Vague understanding becomes the murky curtain by whichtrue equality is trapped behind.

Pam Hogeweide

The Duty of Resistance

2011-09-21T00:00:00.000-07:00

Washing one's hands of the conflict between the powerful and the powerlessmeans to side with the powerful, not to be neutral. Paulo Freire

Resistance is not Futile

2011-09-20T16:40:00.000-07:00

The first resistance to social change isto say it's not necessary. Gloria Steinem

My 9/11

2011-09-11T10:06:00.000-07:00

I was getting my seven year old daughter ready for school when the phone rang.
"America's being attacked!" cried my best friend Kim.

"What? What are you talking about? Who's getting attacked? " My barely caffienated brain couldn't register what she was saying.

"Just turn the tv on!"

Moments later I watched with stunned disbelief as the second plane hit the second tower. Fire and smoke billowed from the Twin Towers like erupting volcanoes.

I debated what to tell Rose, a mere second grader. She was eating her breakfast, oblivious that life in her country had just been altered. But I realized that I had best tell her something lest she hear scary rumors at on the school playground. Breathing deep and centering myself to be calm, cool and collected, I told Rose about the attacks. By then the Pentagon in Washington D.C. had been hit and the plane in Pennsylvania had gone down. She listened with all the earnestness a little girl of tender wisdom could possess.

"Are we safe, Mom?" she wanted to know. "Is Portland safe?" Yes, I reassured her, Portland is safe. Nothing will happen here.

"What about the president?" she asked next, which surprised me. "Is he safe?" I told her that he was being taken to a safe place until he could return to the White House.

"Maybe he should come to Portland. He'd be safe here," she said. Her blue eyes, deep with wonder and childlike simplicity, made me smile for a moment.

For the rest of the day, while Rose was at school and I occupied Jeremy who was only four at the time with as many videos as he could watch, I viewed with the rest of America the devastation in New York, Washington D.C. and a Pennsylvania field where the third plane had crashed. Sporadic phone calls to friends and family, anxious feelings for my husband to come home from work. He had left early while the rest of us were still asleep. I couldn't call him at the factory where he works so I just had to wait until his shift ended and he came home. Yes, he had heard about it but not much. He didn't really know what was going on. "Every news channel is covering it," I told him.

In the days and weeks that followed, normal life was punctuated with gestures of solidarity with the lost and wounded Americans of that fateful day. One evening we sat in the yard with candles as did thousands of other Americans, a kind of collective moment of silence in the front yards of the nation to share out sorrow together. But I didn't really feel anything. I was mechanical. Going through the motions. I was shocked, yes, shocked along with the rest of the world, but my emotions seemed stuck. I cried a bit that first day, more out of fear than grief. But now as the country began moving forward with naming the dead, funerals and grieving, I felt hollow. My emotional innerscape seemed frozen over with an unusual degree of stoic steadiness. I thought long and hard about the events of 9/11. But I barely shed a tear other than the few that fell the morning I watched the Twin Towers collapse.

Many days later my city's paper published the names of the passengers of all the planes. I read the rosters, one by one, name by name. I pictured each one in my mind as name and age blurred together line upon line. Then I got to the passenger list for United Airlines flight #175 from Boston, bound for Los Angelas which crashed into the south tower of the World Trade Center. Each name blurring into the next, my chest growing tighter from the implications of how many people were murdered that day. And then I came to this listing:

Peter Hanson, 32, Sue Hanson, 35, Christine Hanson, 2...

Click here to go to the Hanson Family remembrance page

My eyes froze on this. A family. It must be a family. Christine, just two years old...a mom and dad...someone in America on 9/11 lost a son and daughter and grandchild, a sister, a cousin...in one fell swoop an entire family was annihilated. I could not bear it. The frozen river inside of burst with fissures as grief pressured it's way to the surface. Tears of quiet weeping fell like raindrops upon the newspaper, wetting the printed names of the dead. A family gone. I could not imagine.

My Rose was just seven years old when 9/11 happened. My son was four. Today they are 17 and 14. Christine Hanson would be 12, perhaps starting her second year of middle school. Maybe she would have had siblings by now. We'll never know.

Some will tire today of the tenth anniversary commemoration of this national tragedy. Some will wish for regular programming and for it to be over already. But there are many more, many others who need to air out another round of sorrow and loss for loved ones who left too soon and unexpectedly.

I will never forget 9/11/2001. It is my generation's JFK.

So where were you that fateful day? How did you first hear of the Twin Towers, the Pentagon and the Pennsylvania field crash?

Some 9/11 resources and remembrances for today:

A site that lists all the names of those lost on 9/11

Youtube has created a channel of 9/11 reflections. Here's one by graphic novelist Alissa Torres

And here is a photo gallery provided by CNN that captures some of the images and memories of September 11, 2001.

photo by Thomas E. Franklin

Facebook Me!

2011-08-28T13:34:00.000-07:00

Are you on Facebook?

Love it or hate it, Facebook has become the biggest watering hole on the net for social networking and virtual conversation. FRIEND me to get status updates that range from shameless self-promoting to mundane everyday life slices of ordinary me. I want to see your range, too, of what persona you bring to Facebook.

So hit me up on Facebook HERE

(and while we're at it, do ya Tweet? Find me on TWITTER!)

The Spirit of Jim Crow or the Spirit of Jesus? {book excerpt}

2011-08-26T09:15:00.000-07:00

(Here's an excerpt from a recent writing session from my book-in-progress, Unladylike: Resisting the Injustice of Inequality in the Church due out from Civitas Press later this year. I hope I'm hookin' ya!)

In a civil rights case in the late 1800’s, a Black man was arrested when he attempted to sit in a whites only railroad car. A local judge ruled against the defendant. The United States Supreme court upheld that ruling. Its justification? Separate but equal accommodations did not stamp the colored race with a badge of inferiority. (i) Separate but equal? Not inferior? This sounds familiar.

It was this kind of rhetoric that kept the Jim Crow laws of the South empowered for years. We are troubled today to think of how law abiding, upright citizens, including Christians, were able to in good conscience live and move in communities that had signs posted like Whites Only, or No Colored People. How effectual would it have been if during the Civil Rights movement when these laws were challenged activists conceded in compromise? Which right would be compromised? Which right would be laid down by Blacks in an effort to preserve the peace? It is ludicrous to put the responsibility of making nice with oppressive conditions on the oppressed themselves. It would have been a half measure that would have availed nothing had Civil Rights activists negotiated which Jim Crow laws to maintain.

Churches that “allow women” to lead in certain pastoral roles but ban them from others due to gender are acting in the spirit of Jim Crow, not the Spirit of Jesus. I believe churches that keep women caged with stained-glass barriers are not fulfilling the scriptural mandate of justice nor biblical equality. It is a half measure when half the church is allowed to be heard to some degree, but relegated to the back pews in others because they don’t have the correct chromosomes.

[i] http://www.jimcrowhistory.org/history/creating2.htm,

In Her Own Words - Gloria Steinem

2011-08-24T12:16:00.000-07:00

The first resistance to social change is to say it's not necessary. - Gloria Steinem

Late last night after I got home from a typical shift at the hospital, I switched on the tv and lo and behold, a HBO documentary was airing about an iconic American woman who's influence in the struggle for gender equality cannot be understated.

Gloria Steinem is a name that I've heard tossed around for decades. Within the evangelical circles I've run with in the past, her voice and influence were viewed as the devil's work. I've honestly avoided her because I was conditioned to not trust her. To not trust the feminist agenda.

But anyone who knows me now realizes that I'm a recovering evangelical and that I've shifted tremendously to different points of view and beliefs. Such as with feminism. I no longer keep it at a distance to keep myself from falling under it's witchy spell. Now I read feminist literature and critically evaluate for myself what it is to be a woman in the world I find myself in.

Since this is the focus of much of my writing life and reading time these days for my book project (Unladylike : Resisting the Injustice of Inequality in the Church. Click here for more info) I was riveted immediately to watching the remainder of the documentary. It is my first real introduction to Gloria and her message. And let me say, after less than 30 minutes of watching footage from her younger years as an activist with slices of speeches and interviews weaved in with the images, all I can think is, Damn, why'd I wait so long to get acquainted with this woman! She's a force to be reckoned with. Intelligent, well-spoken, fierce and unflinching. My generation as well as the next is beholden to Gloria for the painful path she has paved for women everywhere.

If you get a chance to check out the HBO documentary do so. Let me know what you think of it. I hope you'll find her inspiring as I have.

I'm a Bitch...

2011-08-21T12:53:00.000-07:00

Back in the late 90's a singer/songerwriter named Meredith Brooks wrote and performed a song that has become an anthem for many a woman navigating her identity and place in the world we find ourselves in.

If you aren't familiar with the song, here's a video of her performing and also a lyric sheet. Hope you enjoy it!

Bitch
Written by M. Brooks, S. Peiken

I hate the world today
You're so good to me
I know but I can't change
Tried to tell you
But you look at me like maybe
I'm an angel underneath
Innocent and sweet
Yesterday I cried
Must have been relieved to see
The softer side
I can understand how you'd be so confused
I don't envy you
I'm a little bit of everything
All rolled into one Chorus:
I'm a bitch, I'm a lover
I'm a child, I'm a mother
I'm a sinner, I'm a saint
I do not feel ashamed
I'm your hell, I'm your dream
I'm nothing in between
You know you wouldn't want it any other way
So take me as I am
This may mean
You'll have to be a stronger man
Rest assured that
When I start to make you nervous
And I'm going to extremes
Tomorrow I will change
And today won't mean a thing
Chorus
Just when you think, you got me figured out
The season's already changing
I think it's cool, you do what you do
And don't try to save me
Chorus I'm a bitch, I'm a tease
I'm a goddess on my knees
When you hurt, when you suffer
I'm your angel undercover
I've been numb, I'm revived
Can't say I'm not alive
You know I wouldn't want it any other way

The Cold Winds of Patriarchy {book excerpt}

2011-08-19T08:54:00.000-07:00

****another excerpt from my book project. The deeper I delve into the injustice of inequality of women in the world of church, the deeper I discover it's taproot. No wonder it's so pervasive.

I’ve heard the word patriarchy thrown around over the years without giving it much thought. I have been too busy raising my children and managing my household to chase after ideological concepts like patriarchy, a word which has had little meaning for me. If you would have asked me, I would have said it had something to do with male-dominated systems like a clan being patriarchal if the decision makers of the clan are always men. To some degree this is an accurate definition.

In the introduction of his book, The Gender Knot, sociologist Allan Johnson defines patriarchy like this:

A society is patriarchal to the degree that it promotes male privilege by being male dominated, male identified, and male centered. It is also organized around an obsession with control and involves as one of its key aspects the oppression of women.

Allan also writes that patriarchy is a “system of inequality organized around gender categories.” This is beginning to sound more familiar, isn’t it? Everyday patriarchy occurs whenever a man’s voice or influence is given preeminence over a woman’s simply because he is a man. When male gender entitles a human being to have power over another human being, that is oppression. Patriarchy is an oppressive system and it is prevalent in the church that is meant to be a society of equals. One of the radical things about Jesus, who is the Founder of Christianity, is that he frequently acted and spoke in an anti-patriarchal way. His conversations with women such as the woman at the well and also the two sisters, Mary and Martha, illustrate how Jesus treated women as humans. He did not perpetuate the patriarchal ideals firmly established in the Roman and Jewish communities he roamed in and around. Jesus was counter cultural and I can only wonder how he would respond were he to come and roam around the halls and corridors of today’s Christendom?

Last year I met a woman who has felt the bitter cold of the winds of patriarchy. She grew up in a strict religious home where the roles of men and women were rigid. For her entire growing up she watched as her mother strived to be a good, upright Christian woman who submitted to her husband and pastors. The leadership of their ultraconservative church kept a firm grip on decision making and being the voice for their faith community. Women always occupied subservient roles such as childcare and coffee making. Not because they were better at it, but because they were women. This woman described how she began to realize from an early age that women were not as important as men. “I heard my dad say many times, ‘I have the final say.’ My mom could give him input and her opinion, but in the end, he made the decisions because he was the man.” It was like that at church, too, she remembers. “Men were in charge, they were the pastors and elders and deacons and they were the ones who led everything like Bible studies and prayer meetings. Women were always the assistants. I didn’t understand why women didn’t get to lead things, too.” What she is describing is a typical church scenario and a typical system of patriarchy. Of course patriarchy runs rampant in many parts of society, but what makes it especially outrageous to me is when it’s not only rampant in the church, but it’s defended as being God’s design. I cannot overstate how much I reject this and I wholeheartedly reject this without any hesitation or reservation. I will not negotiate a diplomatic response to the defense of a patriarchal system that stifles half of humanity in the kingdom that is meant to be the freest, most equality-drenched community of all: The Church.

Food Lady : My Summer of Trauma

2011-08-12T14:04:00.000-07:00

**I needed a writing break from my book project. I did a freewrite today and this is what emerged. Welcome to my working world!

It's nearly one-thirty p.m. I park my mini-van in the hospital parking garage and walk fast to get to the time clock. This is shift work. Somebody is waiting for me to get there so I can relieve them and they can clock out.

I tie my black apron on and sling my lanyard around my neck. My hospital I.D. dangles from it and flops around against my chest when I trot down the long, gleaming hallways.I poke my head into the kitchen to see if there is anything I need to bring upstairs. This is one of the invisible places of the hospital, an underground multi-million dollar state-of-the-art kitchen designed to serve 300+ patients a day.

I'm a Patient Dining Assistant. I work in a Trauma Level One metropolitan hospital. Most weeks I float around several different units. I'm a supplemental worker which means I am put where I'm needed. But this summer I've been assigned the Trauma Unit. One of my coworkers is on an extended vacation to her home country and I get to cover for her while she's gone. It's been great to have a routine and also to get to know the staff and patients better. That's hard to do when I'm jumping around all the time from unit to unit.

The Trauma Unit is my favorite. There's an energy about the team of nurses, CNA's and unit secretaries and housekeepers who keep the unit humming that draws me in. I find it one of the most rewarding atmospheres to work in out of all the units I've been on, and I've worked all of them. But what's even more apparent to me are the patients. They have survived a trauma of some kind, likely an accident or a fall or an assault, and here they are on the mend with the expert help of a team of people. These patients are among some of the most grateful that I've encountered.

There are 37 rooms on the Trauma Unit with a total capacity for 41 patients. I usually have an average of about 30 or more patients who have meal service and I'm also responsible for helping any patients who are eating in the intensive care unit, a smaller unit of about 14 beds. At our hospital patients can call meals in themselves and then I'll deliver it to them. We refer to this as Room Service. It's been a trend in hospitals around the nation, an effort to provide better service and more meal options by developing a room service method for meals. But many patients cannot call for themselves. Maybe their arms are broken or they've had a neck injury or back injury and cannot move. Or they are so sick or sedated that they cannot manage ordering meals on their own. My job as a Patient Dining Assistant is to help them by going over the menu choices and guide them in what to have to eat. This requires a certain amount of finesse and often patience, especially if you're dealing with someone who was born before 1930.

Elderly Lady Patient: I don't know what I want for dinner. My stomach doesn't feel good. Maybe I'll just get a cheese sandwich.

Me: Ok. We have grilled cheese. Would you like that and some tomato soup?

Patient : No. What else do you have?

Me : We have a turkey dinner with mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce. How 'bout that?

Patient : I don't like turkey.

Me: Ok. What about macaroni and cheese?

Patient: Too heavy.

Me: Alright. What about a grilled pork chop with potatoes or rice?

Patient : I don't like pork.

Me : (forcing my tone to remain cheerful and engaging) Well, how about a bowl of chicken noodle soup and a sandwich? We make our soup from scratch.

Patient : No. None of that sounds good.

Me: Well, how about, um...

Patient : I'll have the grilled cheese and tomato soup.

In these moments I feel like a diner waitress trying to please a finicky eater. But I have to remember that No, I am not a waitress. I am a hospital worker who has to think about 30+ patients and what each patient's situation is that affects their food intake. Like the guy who just got back from surgery and can only have jello and juice until his body settles down. Or the lady who's going to have surgery in the morning so she's hoping for a second dinner before she has to stop all food at midnight. Or the patient who likes an extra milk on his tray while the guy in the other bed doesn't drink milk at all or the old man who doesn't have his dentures with him so he can only have soft foods. And then there are the diabetic patients and I get to be the one to tell them, No, sir, you can't order two cheeseburgers when your doctor has restricted your carb intake.

I'm a deeply empathetic person which means I absorb emotional energies rather easily. This can make for an emotionally exhausting work shift at times. Like the other day. A mother was keeping vigil next to her twenty-something year old son's bed. Day and night she was beside him and not surprisingly she was exhausted and frayed. I stopped by their room to get a meal order when she came outside the door. Instead of telling me what to get her son for dinner, she started crying and rambling about details of his recovery that were concerning her. I'm not a nurse. I'm not a chaplain or a social worker. But I am a compassionate human being and so I stood there and let her bleed it out, the worry and angst over the well-being of her son. "I'm sorry you're having to go through this. I hope he gets better soon. Tell me what I can get him for dinner tonight to help him keep up his strength." She took a deep breath, told me his order and then hugged me. "Thank you, honey. You're so good to us." I had to breathe it out after I left her. All that sorrow of hers swirled above me and inside me. It would have swallowed me whole had I let it. But I didn't. I cleared it out much like I clear out the clutter when I clean up my home. I'm not diminishing her pain by calling it clutter, but in the job that I do, I cannot keep the suffering I bump up against in nearly every shift. I have to stay emotionally decluttered in order to preserve my own health and sanity. I do this with lots of deep breaths and quick prayers. Like the times I walk through a waiting room and see a person hunched over and heaving with sobs. Or when I hear the muted cries of pain from behind a closed door as a patient endures a procedure. I was worried about these kinds of things when I first got hired. I said to my friend Trisha who helped me get the job, "How do you do it? How do you work in a hospital and deal with patients as a job?" "Oh Pam, you'll get used to it and you'll be surprised by what you get used to." She was right.

Some days I feel as if I have a front row view of the human condition. On one unit mothers cradle their new babies and I congratulate them as I deliver their meals, while on another floor a woman's twin brother is dying and she's sleeping in her truck when not at his bedside.

Many patients make a lasting impression on me. Such as the young man who suffers from a debilitating disease that has rendered him in need of caregiving. He told me of his previous life of crime and violence, but when he got sick, he was forced by illness to not only change his ways, but to reevaluate his life. "I accepted Christ into my heart and have peace like peace I didn't have before. I'm gonna be alright. My body's busted, but my heart's being healed." I was so inspired by his humble, gentle spirit.

Another unique aspect of this job is when mistakes are made. Patients do not feel well. They are vulnerable and somewhat helpless in their hospital bed. It takes a team of people to help them get better and my part is the food part. Of course me and my coworkers work very hard to get it right every single time.We serve a thousand meals a day in our hospital. Fallible people that we are, sometimes we mess up. Sometimes I mess up. Like a few days ago. I only put half a patient's dinner order into the computer. I was interrupted during the transaction and failed to remember to finish it up. I had to tell the patient Oops, and then order an ASAP to make it right. Or the times I forget entirely to order a patient's dinner because I'm swamped. It'll be 7pm with a a nurse asking me, "Did you get the dinner ordered for 1534?" (In hospital culture, patients are discussed according to room number. This is due to privacy.)

These kinds of mistakes are not hard to remedy. But then there are the issues that crop up in unsuspecting moments.

Like the time I was maneuvering a hospital table over the patient's lap. Not an easy feat as there is equipment to get around and mechanisms under the bed that make sliding the hospital table challenging. I managed to get the table hovered over this particular patient's bed but needed to lower it several inches. The table was positioned too high up, nearly to her chin. I pushed on the lever and pressed down to adjust the table lower. But it was stuck. I pushed a little bit harder. The table jolted downward and bumped into her leg. She cried out in pain and profanity while tears filled her eyes. This patient was in bed with two broken legs and I just collided into one of them with the hospital table. "I'm so sorry, are you ok? I"m so sorry!" I couldn't apologize enough.

"Why'd you do that for?" she asked as if I had done it on purpose. "I'm so sorry. The table was stuck. I should have been more careful. I'm so sorry."

"It's ok", she said her voice quivering with pain, "I'll live." I avoided her room for the rest of the night, nervous that she'd hold it against me. Pam the Punishing Dining Assistant. But the next day when I saw her again she was friendly and chatty with me. We had several long conversations in the days that followed and after one of her surgeries, she even groggily said to me, "Come back and tell me some stories." I think of her every time when I encounter a stubborn table that won't cooperate, and yes, I take great care to not hurt another patient.

It'll be one year at the end of the month for me since I first began my hospital job. I've gotten to know many hospital workers in all kinds of departments as well as patients from all walks of life. A few times I've encountered people I've known from some other compartment of my life. Like the time I opened a patient's door announcing, "Room service," to discover that the car accident victim was a local musician who used to go to my church. "Pam! What are you doing here? You work here?"

There is a team at work, the doctors and nurses, the CNA's, the housekeepers, secretaries, the blood draw people, the records people, therapists of all kinds, and of course, the people like me, the food people, or as I like to tell patients when they mistake me for a nurse, "No, I'm with food service. I'm the Food Lady." And that, I've come to see, is my supporting role at the hospital in helping broken bodies mend back together and get on with this thing called Life. It's an honorable way to earn a paycheck and I'm grateful for the employment. I didn't aspire to be a Food Lady at a hospital, and I'll likely do this job for just a few years while I earn my degree at Marylhurst. (I am a writer and want to be a writing teacher and teach at an adult education level. I already have staff at the hospital asking me to help them with their college term papers!) Food Lady today. Writer Teacher tomorrow. I am who I am and I am who I'm becoming. The hospital as well as Marylhurst are helping shape my future. One tray, and one page, at a time.

Churches Losing Women

2011-08-10T12:47:00.000-07:00

In a fascinating article from Her.meneutics, a blog for women from the magazine Christianity Today, comes this startling report: attendance of women in American churches is down by an estimated 17 percent which is nearly double the number for men.

The research is based from a study from the well-known Barna Group, a statistical research outfit that has been issuing reports to the church for years on the shifts and changes that are rapidly taking place in this point of time and history.

The writer of the blog, Sharon Miller, offers these questions in light of this report:

These changes have real consequences for how Christians reach out to their communities, which means we need to be asking ourselves some evaluative questions. For instance, in order to communicate with increasingly educated and professional women, Christian women must be able to articulate what they believe and why. How is the church equipping women for this? Are Christian women able to answer the basic theological questions of their neighbors, coworkers, and friends? And as more American women populate the workplace, how is the church supporting the Christian women in their midst?

I love these questions. I am hosting another Womens Listening Party this weekend at my home where I gather women together to discuss how the church has informed and shaped our identities. Gender inequality is a harsh reality for many women who are waking up to the patriarchal messaging of their faith tribes. I can only wonder how many women have exited the church when they feel they have no choice but to go to keep their identity intact. In recent weeks, I've encountered three different women who did just that, none of them abandoning their faith, but all three of them leaving because their gifting and/or womanhood felt stifled by the inequity of gender.

It is a pressing issue that I predict will increase in fiercer rhetoric as the old guard of patriarchal American Christianity heaves a long, dying breath in trying to maintain it's grip on its daughters. There is a generational shift happening, Barna captures this with his research. I like to believe that this shift is positive, a resistance to the injustice of inequality in the church. It is way overdue for women to act unladylike and lift up our skirts as we run in the power of our feminine nature which is part of the imago dei of God.

Amen and Awomen.

To read Sharon's full post click HERE

:)

The Dare to Buck Patriarchy {Book Excerpt}

2011-08-07T11:58:00.000-07:00

***I'm still feverishly writing towards a deadline for my first book, Unladylike: Resisting the Injustice of Inequality in the Church, due out in November. Here's a sampler!

Acceptance…belonging, these two human desires are, I believe, the deeper root for women in the world of church for why we put up and shut up with the unjust messaging of inequality. It’s why patriarchy has continued to thrive in many pockets of Christendom virtually unchallenged.

A woman’s need to belong and be accepted, driven by shame over who she is, keeps her shackled to the lie that she has no power. If polite oppression is a pretty bitch than shame in all her black dog ways is the guard at the door keeping a woman’s identity locked up by holy lies.

Women are meant to be free to serve and lead alongside men. Collaboration and mutuality in leadership and servanthood is the culture of the kingdom of God. I believe with all my heart and mind that the day men and women learn to reflect, shoulder to shoulder, the full imago dei, or image of God, is the day the powers of hell will shudder. From the beginning of our creation story man and woman has been at odds with one another. But the God we are fashioned after is a God of reconciliation.

Women’s innate drive to belong and be accepted is exploited by the voice of shame who threatens our expulsion from the communities we love if we dare buck up against the system.

Christians for Biblical Equality

2011-08-03T00:56:00.000-07:00

Over the weekend I was fortunate enough to make it to the Saturday sessions for the Christians for Biblical Equality conference in nearby Seattle, Washington. CBE is an international organization devoted to promoting equality and mutuality between men and women. They have a robust website filled with resources such as scholarly biblical articles that show how the Bible is not sexist after all and that God (nor Paul) are misogynistic.

I was so surprised by how many internationals were among the 200 or so attendees. I heard people speaking in Chinese and Spanish and there were several brothers present who were from Africa, though I don't know which nations. One session was opened up in prayer by a woman from Cambodia. Listening to her pray with such passion in Khmer made me miss Phnom Penh and rekindled my hope to return there some day. I also met a Chinese-American woman who lives in Texas, but is from Hong Kong and we had a fun conversation about HK comparing the places we both have lived and visited. (If the reader doesn't know, I lived in HK for several years as a young woman and even met and married my husband there! We returned to the States in the early nineties.)

The keynote on Saturday morning was delivered by an Indian man named Richard Howell. He lectured about the injustice of the caste system of Hinduism, a web of beliefs that places human beings in hierarchal categories from which they cannot escape for the entirety of their life. If you are born an untouchable, you die an untouchable. Dr Howell got his preach on and raised his voice in passion and fervent conviction when he pronounced, “I was born a Hindu but I will not die a Hindu! I will break out of the system!” He bridged this with the religious system of patriarchy in that both constructs of relationships put someone above another. "Our vision of the Triune God must repudiate every conceivable form of subordination among persons," said Dr Howell. (Now that I think about it, I don't remember that he was introduced as "doctor" though he possesses a PhD...no title? I suppose the title of doctor might be construed as patriarchal in some respect, but I digress...)

While listening to him speak I wrote this in my notes:

And I wonder that though a woman be born, or even born again, into a religious patriarchal system that devalues her with the misguided notion that it is God’s divine order for her to assume a submissive role, she need not die this way, especially that slow, painful death that is both private and agonizing on the soul of woman. She need not wither under a hierarchal form of Christian spirituality that devalues a woman’s soul and voice.She may have been born and born again into subservience. She need not die there.

I knew i was in the company of amazing people when this was the first message I heard! Later there were break out sessions with workshops to choose from such as Imaging God: Embodying the Justice of God in Gender Relationships and also Male/Female Shared Leadership:Casting a Vision to the Next Generation.

The best part of the conference for me, as it is at every conference I ever go to, was the people. I was so excited to see people I know and have connecting time and to especially make new friends and exchange names, numbers and emails. And everywhere I went there was the chatter of conversation swirling about equity and mutuality, men and women both in attendance at the conference and sharing ideas and exchanging experiences and stories. I met one woman, for instance, who told me how she once was told by her church leadership that she had a demon because she was questioning authority and women's roles in the church. (That's called spiritual abuse, fyi, in case anyone was wondering). I met another woman whom I spoke with at length and she told me the horrendous story of leaving the church where she raised her family because her feminine wound was swallowing her soul more and more. After she left, many of the people who had been her friends for years gave her an old-fashioned shunning by cutting her off. All because she dared to step out of the rank and file system of religious patriarchy in search of a collaborative spirit between men and women in the kingdom of God. Swapping stories is always where the best stuff is to be found at any conference, no matter the topic!

I heard the best quote not from a speaker, but from another attendee, though I can't remember who. They said, What you tolerate, you will perpetuate. Amen to that.

I also picked up two books from the conference bookshop. Both of them have to do with the life and lectures of Dorothy Sayers, a lay theologian from the early part of the 20th century and a contemporary and friend of Christian writer and thinker, C.S. Lewis. She wrote a little book called, Are Women Human? that I could not resist based on this question alone! I'll have to review it after I finish it.

The conference was great timing for me. I am thick in the woods of my writing project which confronts the injustice of inequity towards women. Hearing such smart, educated people provide thoughtful, biblical teaching for the mutuality between men and women stoked the fire of certainty in my heart and mind to keep pushing through the dense trees of writing. My book does have a unique perspective to offer readers that is not as academic in tone, though I am certainly providing readers glimpses into a variety of scholarship that they can pursue if they want to. And shhh...don't tell, but I am hoping that once my book sees the light of publication that maybe, just maybe it'll pass whatever guidelines CBE has to be included in their catalog of resources. A girl can dream, right?

Christians for Biblical Equality. If you aren't familiar with them, check 'em out. They are a great organization devoted to "advancing a biblical foundation for gift-based rather than gender-based ministry and service." Amen again and amen.

***note: I just received an email from CBE offering the link to where recordings from the conference are available for purchase. Click HERE if this interests you!

Welcome to my Writing Cave

2011-08-01T02:04:00.000-07:00

This is my desk stacked with books on the topic of gender and equality in the tribe known as Christian. See that little vial? It's an essential oil that's supposed to stimulate clarity in thinking when it's scent is inhaled.
Yep. Between Red Bull, coffee and inhalents, I have increased my writing power.

Peeking out from behind the books that tower above my laptop is a Dream Big

card from one of my fave artists,Kelli Rae Roberts.

I can't remember where I found this writing angel, but she has hovered

above my desk for several years now. I love what she says,

Writing: I love the swirl of swing of words as they tangle with human emotions.

I am not much of an outliner when I write, but now I find myself charting, mapping and (gasp!) sorta-kinda outlining to help keep me on track. And hey, don't judge my wallpaper. I was going through a cutesy country-style phase at the time. Imagine!

I don't know if any of this will interest anyone besides my mom (Hi MOM!!) but I thought

I'd put it out there in the interest of creative transparency. And I guess it's my

way of inviting others into stepping inside my writing cave. I rarely have guests

over besides all the ghosts begging for page time. It's kind of an anti-social kind of space.

Thanks for stopping by!

Writing is utter solitude, the descent into the cold abyss of oneself. ~Franz Kafka

The Wild Gun of Equality (BOOK EXCERPT)

2011-07-25T12:26:00.000-07:00

**I continue to devote nearly all of my writing energy to my book project, Unladylike: A Call for Resistance to the Injustice of Inequality. The book is due out in November through Civitas Press, a small independent publishing start-up. I'll be posting excerpts from time to time as the work progresses. Here's a bit from a chapter that deals with the Bible battle over Christianized misogyny. This part highlights the paradox that Christianity has become. The breaking of rank that Jesus exemplified in how he treated women is frowned upon in many corners of the modern church in today's 21st century. It's not only paradoxical, it's outrageous. This is why I am writing this book. I hope it will inspire women and men everywhere to a kingdom vision of equality between men and women that shatters traditionalistic strongholds of thought and action (or rather inaction).

The Wild Gun of Equality

Whenever I blog about the issue of women and inequality in the church I get a lot of comments and sometimes email from someone who feels compelled to correct me. Like this one, an email from an acquaintance who respectfully wanted to remind me what the Bible teaches in case I had forgotten. He cited a few Bible verses including 1 Timothy 2 that says women must not teach or exercise authority over men, “for it was Adam who was first created, and then Eve, and it was not Adam who was deceived, but the woman…” He went on to offer a popular interpretation of this passage:

The role of the woman is a submissive role in the intimacy relationship within a marriage arrangement. The man acts as a PROVIDER of love and provisions, the PROTECTOR of the family, while the woman is a RECEIVER of that but also a CARER for the children and the household. The role of teaching in the Church, preaching about moral standards, if given to a woman, she might be affected by the feeling of intellectual supremacy the post given her, and with the responsibility of a congregation, she may feel that she IS a PROVIDER and a PROTECTOR instead. This will affect her own mind and hence her own relationship with her husband. I would say that this would introduce confusion

The view the emailer describes here is what is known in the world of Bible scholarship as the complementarian view. This is the idea that women and men are equal, but have different roles determined by divine order. A classic book that fully explains complementarianism is Recovering Biblical Manhood and Womanhood by John Piper and Wayne Grudem. In chapter one, the authors clearly define complementarianism:, “When the Bible teaches that men and women fulfill different roles in relation to each other, charging man with a unique leadership role, it bases this differentiation not on temporary cultural norms, but on permanent facts of creation.”

They insist that if a woman has authority over a man that it will “generally offend a man’s good, God-given sense of responsibility and leadership and thus, controvert God’s created order.”

I used to be fine with this kind of theology. I accepted the idea that women are equal with men in the world of church, but we aren’t allowed to teach or preach over men because the Bible says so. It’s God’s will. I recently was shuffling through some old Bible study papers that examined what the Bible has to say about women. One question asked if there was a proper place for women with spiritual gifts of leadership and teaching to express their gifts within the context of the local church. I wrote, “Absolutely, and beyond Sunday school and women’s ministries. I personally think we do well to allow women to teach from the pulpit. I’m not hung up on it, and I won’t be divisive about it, but woman is also made in God’s image and we can have unique perspectives from God’s word to offer. As long as a woman is under authority, not a wild gun, then let her teach. Let her minister in her gifting and fulfill her calling.” I was always the diplomat, ever careful to not rock the boat or buck up against the system. I read these words today and I am somewhat incredulous, Did I really think like that? But there it is, documented in my own handwriting that women need to mind their roles and not be wild guns slinging authority over men. Oh, God forbid.

A few years ago, after I’d had my world rocked with Pastor Rose Swetman's proclamation, “it’s not an issue of theology, but an issue of justice,” I participated in a synchroblog that focused on the equality of Christian women. A few bloggers offered up their own definition of complementarianism like this one from Mad Reverend:

Complementarianism is a complicated series of intellectual gymnastics justifying the assignment of authority to men on the grounds that authority is but one among many roles played by human beings.

I think Mad Reverend gets it right. Telling women they are equal, but cannot have authority over men because of God’s divine order is like telling a Black man in the 19^th century that he can’t be free because it’s God’s divine order. God’s created order does not inherently posses nor express the dehumanizing message that one human being has fewer rights than another. Jesus was the great Liberator who broke all social and religious constructs when he mingled with the marginalized and elevated their stature by affirming their humanity. It the well-known Bible story of Mary and Martha, so many have supposed that Jesus affirmed Mary’s devotion because she was in a posture of subservient devotion to him. Martha entreated for Jesus to send Mary back into the kitchen to her rightful role, but Jesus defended Mary, telling Martha that Mary had chosen a good thing. Mary broke rank with her culture by staying with the men, by putting herself in a place of learning at the feet of Jesus when women at that time were clearly meant to be remain detached from the world of men and learning. She had no authority in her religious context nor cultural context to be a student of Jesus’. Martha was defending the traditional role that Mary was meant to occupy; Jesus defended the breaking of protocol, the shattering of the veil of inequity between men and women. Jesus, I have often said, acted like a feminist in that he treated women as peers. Jesus was a wild gun.

Shattered Identity: Book Excerpt

2011-07-21T08:39:00.000-07:00

My new writer friend, Jennifer Luitwieler, has been running a series at her blog on Identity. I had the privilege of contributing to the series which was posted up today. It's an excerpt from my book project, Unladylike, which I have been feverishly working on all summer.

Here's a taste....then mosey on over to Jennifer's blog to see the rest of it:

There are a thousand messages that challenge a girl everyday if she is girly enough, but for the Christian female, there is the added weight if she is a proper Christian woman. And to be a Proper Christian Woman means for many women to be subservient to the status-quo of traditionalism that men lead and women submit. This presents a dilemma for those women who have felt called to the pulpit only to come up against a stained-glass ceiling of Christianized sexism. “Women can’t be pastors,” they’ve been told, “for that’s not biblical.” The Christian woman who is eager to please God has a hard time reconciling the tension. I’m not called to be a pastor, but I have felt the sting of that ceiling, of the limitations put on me and my kind because we were born female. But along my path of womanhood have come different mileposts of liberation, pivotal moments that untethered my identity a bit more from the web of lies that I was born into. (Read the entire excerpt...)

America is damned when it's leadership wears a dress (BOOK EXCERPT)

2011-07-13T12:12:00.000-07:00

***excerpt from my writing frenzy for my first book which confronts the audacity of inequality towards women in the society known as The Church.

Each week I diligently studied, pulling out my books about women and leadership, pouring over commentaries and looking up verses and passages. I knew I was going upstream from just about every other woman at the study. I wouldn't shy back, I determined, but I also knew I had to "go in low," or, in other words, with humility. I would not debate, I vowed. More than anything else, I did not want to operate in a spirit of divisiveness. In the world of church, women who are bitchy or divisive (or strong-minded and independent) are labeled “Jezebel,” an Old Testament reference to a queen who had it out with the male Hebrew prophets of her time. I did not want to be a Jezebel.

I kept that standard the entire time. I often spoke up, but only when called on. I did not interrupt other women even when they said things that were outrageous for me to hear. Like one woman who insisted that America is going down in flames because women are taking leadership away from men and men are letting it happen. She got on her soapbox and fumed about the state of the nation being boiled down to women and the principle of submission to the authority of their men. “We wouldn’t have all these issues like divorce and society’s values nose diving if women and men stayed in the roles that God gave them. Women trying to lead over men confuses our children!” she ranted. Many of the women nodded their assent with her, while I sat quietly, tension churning in my belly as I witnessed women I respect give hearty agreement to the notion that America is damned when it's leadership wears a dress.

2011-06-23T00:08:00.000-07:00

I recently wrote an article for the online zine, Burnside Writers Collective about the good work of my friends Denie and Ken, two street saints who serve "those who live outside" in their prospective cities.

Here's an excerpt to tease your appetite...then follow the link to read the rest...and consider leaving a comment over there. It will encourage D and K!

In the mid-section of her ordinary life, my friend Denie, whom I’ve known since before we were old enough to vote, felt what she described as a call of God to minister to the homeless. She wasn’t sure what that meant for her life, but she was full of faith and unction that she had received a bonafide assignment from the Holy Spirit. She began volunteering at the city shelter. but within six months she realized that it wasn’t working out. “I don’t mean to sound like what they’re doing isn’t good, because it is, but it doesn’t feel personal to me. These poor people come in day in and day out and they just push them along like cattle. I can’t do that.” And so, she was back to square one. If the Almighty had given her marching orders to demonstrate His love and compassion towards the homeless— and she wholeheartedly believed he had—then she felt certain that there must be a better way. - No Preaching Allowed, Burnside Writers Collective

The March for Pride and Redemption

2011-06-18T11:13:00.000-07:00

T-shirt available HERE

"The courts overturned the legality of same-sex marriage," said the young woman in conversation with me about gay rights. "I watched how it hurt my mom and her partner..." her voice paused as tears filled her eyes, "It hurt me, too. They love each other and they just want the same rights as other couples."

As the words tumbled out of her, I flash-backed to 2004. The battle for DOMA raged across Oregon and much of the nation (DOMA = Defense of Marriage Act). The faith circles I ran with at that time raged back. I was on mailers for all kinds of organizations that were determined to keep same-sex marriages from becoming legitimized on our watch. I was in the rushing stream of rhetoric that agonized over the challenge to traditional marriage should same-sex couples be granted marital status. I blogged a reflection about this a couple of years ago:

After the election, the dust settled down and I sighed with relief. We had won. Measure 36 passed ensuring that the legal boundary of marriage would remain unchallenged, at least for the time being. I enjoyed the satisfaction of knowing that people like me had succeeded in guarding the sacred institution of marriage from being corrupted. I felt the glow of victory and echoed to myself the mantra I had heard a local pastor declare when leading a prayer vigil against same-sex marriage: Not on my watch.

No, not on my watch either. My children would grow up knowing that I had not allowed same-sex marriages to threaten our beliefs. - How My Mind is Changing Towards Same-sex Marriage

A burn of shame oozed out of hiding as I stared in my young friend's teary eyes. The product of my misguided beliefs and actions sat wounded and crying right in front of me. "On behalf of people like me who voted to keep your mom from being married, please forgive me..." She reached out and clutched my hand, the daughter of a lesbian couple assuring me there was no debt to be forgiven with me, that she knows the woman I am today, not the religious dogmatist I was back then.

This Sunday is the annual Pride parade here in my city of Portland. I have an opportunity to march with a group from my workplace. It's time, I thought, time to be outrageously public about my changed mind and heart towards my brothers and sisters who have the audacity to be gay and in love. This is truly a momentous decision for me. It was only a mere seven years ago that I organized a prayer meeting to pray against equal rights for same-sex unions. In less than a decade I have shifted in my worldview that has led me to sign-up for this weekend's parade. My daughter will be with me, always a champion for the rights of others, she has never known or felt the heat of fury towards those who wish to marry their same-sex lover.

Not long after my mind changed a young lesbian couple I knew invited me to attend their same-sex union ceremony. I mentioned this in an email to an old friend, someone I had known from way back in my missionary days in Hong Kong. Her reply stuns me to this day. She said for me to attend their ceremony would be like her going to a satanic blood ritual. And then she wondered if I had wandered so far away from the true path of righteousness that perhaps my soul was in eternal peril. Stunned. I had known her for nearly twenty years. I loved her. She was my friend. But I pushed back, ever as gently as I could in order to preserve the friendship. But she continued to send me emails to school and scold me in the ways of truth and God...but not love....until finally I put out a healthy boundary and told her to stop trying to fix me and we'll just have to agree to disagree. That wasn't working for her and thus, the two-decade long friendship withered away under the weight of differing points of view. That was my first hit for changing my mind.

The second hit came about three years later. I had been invited by a writer I know to collaborate on a book project for a major Christian publisher. I was thrilled. This could be a great break to my slow-moving writing career. We were six months into the project when someone on the executive committee at the publishing house decided to learn more about me and googled my name. They found this blog and they found my posts about supporting same-sex unions. They killed the project and I found myself standing on the curb outside Christian mainstream wondering, Did I err on going public about my views on same-sex unions? No, I quickly decided, I did not. I want to be known as a Christ following woman who supports the rights of same-sex couples. When my anguish over losing the book opportunity subsided, I was filled with relief and gratitude that my writing path had become more clear. I cannot ever back down from speaking truth to power, even if it is 2,000 years of power.

And so, this Father's Day I will be seen, loud and proud along side my daughter and co-workers as we celebrate with the city the wonder of being free to be who you are. I anticipate seeing all kinds of outrageous displays of Gay Pride this weekend, some of which will likely ruffle my prudish feathers, but I'm ok with that. My own Christian tribe raises my eyebrows many times with the stuff we often display, like those crazy hoots who burned Korans in Florida (for instance). Every tribe has their wild cards.

If you're planning on being at Pride this weekend, look for me with the Legacy group, about number 20 in the lineup. I'll be the tattooed woman with a trail of shattered leftover dogma behind me.

for more posts about my changed mind towards same-sex unions click HERE

here's a link for my review of the excellent Christian book, Love is an Orientation : Elevating the Conversation with the Gay Community by Andrew Marin

Gay Christian is an excellent site to explore for those who are trying to sort out their beliefs

The Last Testament of Maddie Rae Johnson {Part One}

2011-06-12T23:40:00.000-07:00

****This continues a writing experiment of blogging an apocalyptic serial story. click HERE to read the introduction of The Last Testament of Maddie Rae Johnson...

Part One:
I woke up this morning to the songs of birds.Beyond the laced windows peeked blue sky and bright sun. A new day begun. Coffee brewed, shoes slipped on feet, I went outside, to the back, where my flowers that I've loved and tended welcomed me with blooms of red and fire orange. With warm coffee in hand, I stepped slowly along the rock path that wound through my garden like a little girl's unraveled ribbon. Snapdragons bulged with purple blossoms hinting at the promise of blossoms stood at attention as I inspected. The daisies, phlox and blue delphinium all vibrant with indication that their world was well. I turned past the willow tree, the one we planted the first year we moved here. What year was that? The tree was now nearly as tall as the highest pitch of the house. Graceful boughs danced in the morning breeze like windblown hair. All was well.

My secret rose garden rested beyond the willow tree, hidden behind a stone wall that was already on the property. He wanted to tear it down, said it didn't make sense where it was, that it made for awkward gardening. I said no. We have to preserve it. The wall having been here since the year the house was built nearly a hundred years ago. Looked to have once been a part of another structure. The beginning of a small cottage perhaps? Or a stable? Who knew? But the weathered stone with it's swirling hues of browns and greys and green velvet moss cushioned in between the crevices made for a work of art to remain collaged in the landscape. Not removed. And so, one rainy Saturday in the first autumn we moved here, I planted three rose bushes. I can still remember the drizzle misting my face as I dug the holes, musty smells of rain and dirt filling me like whiskey and smoke. I had never gardened before, never had a garden in all my life, but there I began, a secret rose garden planted and a gardener born as the Creator baptized me with the water of heaven.

The roses, my secret roses, a wooden chair, a small table, my place of quiet and wonder when I needed solitude from modern living. How many times did I push past open the screen door bellowing to my chaotic household, I am going to the roses. Leave me be!

The chair, the table, the roses which now numbered well past three, blazed with optimism for this day and the days ahead. I stared, hypnotized by the colors like a kaleidoscope, remembering the carefree choices of reds, yellows and oranges. Oh how I loved the oranges. They had become my favorite. I became lost in my mind as I imagined the end of these reds, yellows and oranges. As I imagined the end of my family and friends...the end of him and of me.

How does one manage certain knowledge of the end of days for all? Six weeks. That's the forecast. Is it true? Perhaps it's a mistake. Perhaps all the scientists have it wrong. They've had it wrong before. We used to think the world was flat. Maybe we're wrong again. Maybe the storm won't come this way. How can humankind predict it's own funeral with such insistence?

The flowers, cheerful and oblivious, began to seem false. A facade of life as everything that had meaning for me was now confronted with fatalistic taunting challenges of Fight to the death.

"The kids are awake. They're asking for you," he said as the orange roses pleaded with me to keep hope.

I'm coming, I said, turning from my secret walled garden to face the countdown of this day with my family and not flowers. Earth may be our mother, I bitterly thought as I reentered the house, but the sky is our father and he is coming home to kill us.

HOMEpdx: Church for those on the Outside

2011-05-31T14:56:00.000-07:00

Ken Loyd of HOMEpdx really sent out a rare appeal for contributions. A church for those who live outside in Portland, Oregon, Ken and his fine team of street angels give away food, socks, and lots of conversation every week to the most invisible citizens of our city. If you haven't heard of this guerilla form of nonverbal evangelism, get your ear to the ground and have a listen. HOMEpdx is an indigenous expression of a church for those who live in the land in an urban setting. Wanna learn the art and soul of missional life? Hang out with HOMEpdx for a bit, either here in the city or online through the magic of blog stories and websites.

And if you can, share some of your power ($$) with them, for when you are a church filled with homeless outcasts, the budget is painfully thin.

***reposted below is a blog post from last year, the last time I had volunteered for HOMEpdx until just this past week. I'm up to my eyeballs in end-of-term homework but as soon as I can I want to blog about what it was like for me to rejoin HOMEpdx after more than a year***

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

There is no us and them, only Us.

"I'd play better if I was sober," said the Native American man sitting on the floor. He was listening to another man play guitar and sing some blues riffs. They played against a backdrop of a room full of bingo players who were relaxing after a Sunday meal of rice, gumbo, salad and peach crisp with ice cream for dessert.

"I've been clean for twenty days from heroin," said a much-too-skinny blonde guy who couldn't have been more than 18 years old. "Way to go!" somebody responded as they butted knuckles with him.

Welcome to another day in the life of a faith community in Portland, Oregon known as HOMEpdx, a church for people who live outside.

Portland is considered somewhat of a magnet city for the homeless. The attraction certainly isn't our weather since we are soggy more months than not. Many say that homelessness is rampant here because there are so many social services and charities here that cater to those who live outside for whatever reason. I don't know how accurate that is, but for the good people who make up HOMEpdx it doesn't matter. They just show up, week after week, and welcome whoever comes within their field of vision.

Mitch, a former Viet Nam vet who was wounded in action, is somewhat famous on the street of Portland for his origami art. A regular fixture at HOMEpdx, he not only is on the receiving end of hospitality and good Christian outreach, but he is a giver, sharing his works of art with those around him and the joy he had in creating them.

A woman took me aside to show me fresh bruising on her leg from a recent beating from an ex-boyfriend. I hugged her and told her I was glad he didn't have a weapon when he attacked her.

Smells of stale body odor and musty alcohol permeated the building. There is a scent of homelessness that is unmistakable. My friend Vivian, who used to be a part of the HOMEpdx team, says she remembers it well and misses it.

"We have only one rule here and that is No Violence. No violence of any kind," says Ken, the founding pastor of HOMEpdx who looks more like a pirate than a reverend. "No verbal violence, no physical violence. That's our one rule. We're glad you're here. Welcome HOME." A dull roar moves across the room as the many men and few women give their approval. HOMEpdx strives to keep the emphasis on community. The atmosphere of their Sunday gatherings resemble noisy family dinners.

"We're gonna vote later about when to start meeting back outside," says Jessica, a slender brunette who was ordained last fall as a HOMEpdx pastor. Her leadership was a welcome partnership to Ken, who in his 60's, leans hard on her youthful zeal and creative energy. They are a dynamic duo with a synergy that is the glue holding HOMEpdx together.

"Hey, how's it going," says a young guy who is a part of the HOMEpdx crew to a disheveled and very drunk old man. "How are you doing?"

"Oh, I've been better," slurs the old man as he shifts his feet from side to side in what appears to be an effort to keep his balance. "We've got coffee inside if you want some," continues the HOMEpdx'er. "You're welcome to go in and get some."

Local agencies claim that on any given night in Portland there are more than 2,000 homeless in the city. According to a repor jlast summer from the Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD), the state of Oregon has the highest proportion of homeless people in the nation. Most of them are presumably in Portland. Many of them, HOMEpdx could tell you, have experienced the unique burden of discrimination and displaced justice as if being homeless was a crime.

Like Larry. I had a long conversation with Larry about a recent interaction he had with some local authorities. Larry had made a cardboard sign listing his job skills and his desire for some work. Larry wasn't trying to manipulate people for money, but was honestly hoping to land a gig or two of work. Instead, two police officers observed him place one foot off the curb onto the street to accept money from a motorist and they cited Larry for impeding traffic. When Larry respectfully disagreed, he was further cited for disorderly conduct. This incident actually occurred in one of the suburbs west of Portland, but when I asked Larry if that sort of treatment was usual or not he said yes, it was typical of how most authorities {though not all, quipped a thirty-something guy listening in on the conversation} treat those who live outdoors.

In the constructs of human society there will always be tensions and dilemmas between the haves and have nots, and I'm not just talking about money. Power, societal influence, justice, fair representation, these are just a few of the commodities that many of us enjoy to some degree that many who live outside do not possess.

HOMEpdx knows they can't change the world. They can't undo the seemingly irreparable social ill of homelessness no matter how much they love the brothers and sisters who sleep outside. But they can bring and do offer a concrete presence of Love for the most invisible citizens of our city. And that is the magic, the good stuff, that makes HOMEpdx one of the most beautiful churches in the city of roses.

***a church for homeless people is a church with a barebones budget and little economic power. If you are inclined, check out the link to HOMEpdx and drop them a few bucks through their Paypal link. Contributions are used to buy socks, sleeping bags, hoodies, toiletries, phone cards, medication, etc... thanks!

Complementarianism : Disagreeing with God they say...

2011-05-29T08:04:00.000-07:00

Discovered this image at Critical Discipleship who blogged a great post about complementarianism.

I wrote a post a long while back titled Complementarianism Sucks: Telling Women to be Quiet in the Name of Jesus.

It's a collection of excerpts from other bloggers about the subjugation of women in the modern Christian church as I was participating in a synchroblog, which is when a bunch of bloggers all blog on the same topic.

Every now and then a reader will stumble through my blog and leave a comment on this post, reminding me that the issue of women and men and equality is alive and well lest I forget. Here's what the reader said, and note, they remained anonymous so I do not know if they are male or female:

You can't POSSIBLY argue against a Biblically supported philosophy without using the Bible in any way, provided that you believe the Bible is true.

Look at your post, Pam. Everything you say is like "I like", "I heard", "I saw", "I listened", "I know", etc.!

You need to be reminded that this world isn't about you and what goes on in your mind. This about God and what he wants, and if he were to demand that there be a separate, lower section of seats in the church for women to sit in, then as a believer in God you better sit there! Now obviously I'm using a more extreme case of "sexism" or whatever you would call it to illustrate my point, but at least you understand it.

If you disagree with that argument then you are disagreeing with God, because whatever God asks of you, you need to do.

It's a simple fact that Eve took the fruit and ate it before giving it to Adam and convincing him to eat it as well. So you tell me, why do you think God doesn't want women to lead the church? (bold my emphasis)

This, my blog readership friends, is why I'm writing a book that confronts gender inequity in the modern world of Church.

So thank you Anonymous for stoking my writing fires to light up the pages with prophetic heralding announcing that complementarianism does indeed suck and that Christ came to liberate all....need a bible verse for that? How about Gal 3:28

There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.

Doubt: The Dangerous Power of Asking Questions

2011-05-27T00:37:00.000-07:00

I believe that doubt is the one thing that hastens social and spiritual and personal change.

- Elissa Elliot

I read this morning a post by an author who raises the question of the transformative power of questioning and doubting. She surmises that societal change originates with somebody somewhere asking a question. She writes:

Now imagine: if you actually discussed your beliefs with someone else, you begin to see, very rapidly, that he doesn’t believe the same things as you, at least not in the same way as you. You have a decision to make. You either burrow into your hole and insist on your rightness, or you listen and wonder, “I wonder why he thinks that?” and “What can I learn from him?”

Doubt promotes dialogue...

Many years ago I expressed doubt about the justice of hell. The room full of Christians who I trusted to hear me out instead began to scripturize me to keep me on the straight and narrow path...narrow being the key word here. But questions are the fertile ground where our imagination discovers new trails of thought and possibility. Questioning and doubting open up vistas of our thinking to consider faith, life, and relationships another way.

I once heard Brian McLaren say that he sees this generation discovering faith by questioning. I love that, for I am the queen of questions and it is true : I have learned and relearned and unlearned what makes the sum of my life by the simplicity of asking a question. In the creed that I follow, which is to live my life as best I can according to the teachings of Jesus, he advised his followers, You have not for you ask not. Asking is a gateway. But asking doesn't come without it's risks.

Questions have long been troublemakers for those who ask them, and especially for those who attempt to answer them. Questions can lead us to bigger open meadows of liberty or push us to the edge of the cliff with a mob ready to throw us off. Questions can be subversive. Who do you say I am? asked Jesus of his followers. Definitely a dangerous question in the context of the times.

What questions are you asking lately?

Dream Mysteries

2011-05-25T22:56:00.000-07:00

Last night I had a dream that I was driving on a dark winding road. Suddenly I went blind. Totally blind and yet I kept driving while hysteria whirled around spinning me into confusion. Like most dreams, my actions did not make sense, as I kept driving the car on the dark, winding road completely blind and yet did not crash.

In the next scene of the dream I have arrived to a river ferry. Good people help me from my car and lead me by the arm on board the ferry where they kindly bring me to a warm bed in a quiet room. I rested deeply and when I woke up, my sight had returned.

When I left my room to find my good Samaritans, I was surprised to discover that every single person on the ferry was disabled. Some used crutches; others were supported by walkers or in wheelchairs, or walked with a deep limp. Everyone was disabled except me.

I have had this dream before, though different variations. Driving and then sudden blindness is the common storyline, but with different settings.

I am a dream kind of girl, meaning that I pay attention to the stories that come to me by night. Mystical or psychological, they fascinate me and have often provided some kind of insight or guidance for my life. Not major like moving to a new state or anything drastic, but definately helpful in everyday life.

I'm still reflecting on this dream. I suppose I will until it's meaning becomes unlocked for me.

How about you. Do you have any recurring dreams? Have you ever experienced a divine dream, or God dream as we call them at my house, that provided you with some kind of spiritual guidance or wisdom? Do share with the group!

The Last Testament of Maddie Rae Johnson {an introduction}

2011-05-23T23:09:00.000-07:00

**I have thought many times about blogging a serial story focused from the point of view of one character who finds herself at the edge of the apocalypse. The recent media frenzy with the myth of the rapture predictions of an old man, a little story featuring a very special woman has found it's spark to come out of hiding. Meet Maddie. A character born during a freewrite exercise during my heyday with the Bridge Writers Group here in Portland. Maddie has been a part of my imagination for about three years. I've kept her locked up long enough. It's time to uncage her and let her breathe the free air of the open page and be met by others. This is the beginning of what will be a new kind of blogging for me: the writing of story in serial form.

I hope you like her.

** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **

At the back of the bus on a long, dusty Memphis highway I was born. I grew up hearing my mama tell that story, drunk or sober, to anybody who asked about me. And plenty of people did ask about me, like teachers and preachers and social workers of all persuasions from the magnolia drenched state of Louisiana.

My name is Maddy. I am 42-years old and this is my life story, a last testament before the end of it all roars down my quiet little street and takes me home to the world I was meant for.

I don't suppose that anyone shall ever read any of this, for there are rumors that all life will suffocate come the next solar storm, which should be, say forecasters, within the next six weeks. So I do not write this as a memoir to interpret my life as a tapestry from the underside. I write this to help tick away the remaining days in order to comfort myself as well as decode meaning from that which appears to be utterly meaningless.

If we are to become extinct then may I vanish with a soul content with the station I found myself within this life. This then is my last testament.

2011-05-20T08:08:00.000-07:00

If you haven't heard there is a Christian leader who has an impressive degree of influence and money who is spreading the word that tomorrow, May 21, is the day of the Rapture. This is a belief in some Christian circles that the faithful will vanish in the blink of an eye as God rescues them from the planet right before he unhurls horrific judgment against everyone else. (For the record, me and most of the folks I know reject this belief)

This leader, Harold Camping, has a wallop of media power and has used the radio stations he owns as well as purchasing billboard ad space around the country to warn all that the Big Day is coming. The unfortunate thing is that he has convinced untold thousands that this is true. As a result, there are people who have quit jobs and disrupted their lives in order to prepare for The End.

Many people are just making fun of it, including myself. I posted on Facebook the quandary of what to wear when it's your last day on earth? A pastor I know back east is hosting a Left Behind party Saturday night. and on Facebook right now is a group calling itself Post Rapture Looting that has accumulated nearly a half million members. A lot of the comments are hilarious. Here's a few:

"Thank you for calling God. Your call is very important to us. Due to the high volume of prayers, the wait time is longer than usual. Please hold and your prayer will be answered in the order in which they are received. Thank you for calling God..."

When everyone is gone and god's not looking, we need to pick up some sweet stereo equipment and maybe some new furniture for the mansion we're going to squat in.

I'm hoping the neighbors dogs will be evaporated.

Running a video test for the bal drop if you care to watch and chat: justin.tv/gasparem Remember - RaptureBall.com Spread the word!http://justin.tv/gasparem

We can expect the humor to heat up tonight and tomorrow as the Big Day comes and then goes. I was joking with my coworkers last night when one of them brought it up during our break. We swapped jokes as we baffled not only at how anyone thinks he has this kind of knowledge but also at how others are willing to believe it.

There is also another angle to this rapture bullshit. People are bringing out their mockery of anything to do with Christ or Christ followers. This makes me feel conflicted. I want to mock these ignorant fools, too, yet I am able to separate the foolish from the saints, people who are following Jesus and loving their neighbor through acts of service rather than spiritual terrorist tactics.

Some folks on the Post Rapture Looting page just can't hold back their snark towards Christians:

My heaven = a world without a$$holes around to tell me I can't get into theirs

In all fairness. there'll be more people left than they'd take. life will go on minus the annoying overly religious fools!

Great idea for Saturday! While these people are praying and waiting for the rapture we can spread sets of clothes all around the outside of the church so that when they leave wondering why the rapture didn't come they'll stumble upon the revelation that there was a rapture; it is just that they were all left behind. Then we videotape the hysteria and post it on youtube.

So, what's a girl to do? I cant' fault people for jumping on the Make-fun-of-Christians party boat since this is such a juicy vein for comedy. Come to think of it, I wonder if any of the Late Night shows will tackle this tonight?

I gotta go. I have work today....but secretly I'm gonna stop by Costco and stock up on canned goods and batteries. 'Cause if this crazy dude is right I'm fairly certain the God he believes in is different than the One I follow and I'll be Left Behind in the mess. Should make for some great blogging though!

The Quiet Sainthood of Denie Tackett

2011-05-19T10:09:00.000-07:00

I saw on the news that evening a tribute to one of the valley's largest churches. They feed on average the report said 200 or so people every Sunday. They have 150 volunteers to support the feed the homeless program. Mosaic ministries does 100-200 with 4 people that prepare the food and serve while they minister with a personal touch to many of them that go through the line. Their resources come from outside donation and personal sacrifice. Little is made much when God's hand is in it and he has such willing hearts to work with. Mosaic Street

This snippet from a blog of my friend Denie Tackett in Boise, Idaho was written by a couple who had just visited her park outreach and saw upclose the quiet service of this woman I've known since before I was old enough to vote. Denie casually began walking through a city park near the college in Boise to purposefully intersect with the homeless, or "friends who live outside," as she and Ken Loyd prefer calling our homeless brothers and sisters. She felt a call from the Holy Spirit to serve the city's poor, but after a disillusioned stint of service at a shelter (it's so institutional and cold, she said) Denie decided to just take to the streets herself. A rugged, independent woman who carries scars from her rough background, Denie is a fierce mamabear kind of woman who doesn't flinch in dark places. She looks for the lost ones there.


Me and Denie. I first met her when we were teenagers and living in Vegas.

The thing about Denie and others like her that I know such as Ken and also Dustin Cross of Seattle, WA, they each are just Being God's Presence to the most invisible citizens of their cities. The church cited above uses ten times the resources - both people and money - in attempts to accomplish what these three threadbare ministries do in a given week. It's like the difference between a giant concert hall or a small venue. Music is heard at both, but there is an intimacy in the smaller places that cannot be duplicated in a roaring arena of thousands. Denie is a small corner tavern where the best bluesmen come to play for love and nothing else and where everybody knows your name. And indeed she does. I've spent an afternoon in the park with her, I've driven around with her in her truck looking for her friends who hang out under flyovers and in places like Beercan Alley. She is a shepherdess for the stray souls of Boise, but she refuses to a fault to pitch religion to them. The Gospel, she tells me, is best heard when I listen to them rather than them to me. She is the one hearing the Good News of God's love when she discovers another forgotten kind soul wayward in life but not in heart. "These people are some of the kindest people you'll ever meet," she says. But Denie's not naive or blind. She has stories of those who have lied to her, attempted to steal from her or have been sexually aggressive towards her. But she doesn't shy away from the mission she has embarked on. She cries, she prays, she rants, she gets going out the door again - after working five shifts a week in the stressful environment of a Boise hospital - and gives her life away to some of the most destitute in Idaho.

It's not glamorous. There will be no movie of the week made about Denie or the guys in the park as she affectionately refers to them. She has made herself one of the invisible but then she does what Ken Loyd refers to as magic tricks : she, like Ken, helps the invisible become visible to themselves just by paying attention. That is the good news of Jesus' love from my perspective. That is the miracle of human compassion transcending human frailty.

It's Not Just a Sofa...

2011-05-17T08:53:00.000-07:00

It was only a decade or so ago that my husband announced that our finances were in a place that at long last we could afford brand-new furniture. This was significant for me, a kind of milestone in our marriage and family. Up until that point we had only owned beat-up sofas that others discarded, freebies found on Craigs List or bought dirt cheap from a yard sale down the way. But there we were, getting our shoes on and heading to the furniture store - not consigned furniture - but brand new, overpriced sassy and comfy sofas and loveseats. The kind you defer payment for until next year. By afternoon's end, my husband and I had agreed on a set. Unlike some couples who have different style preferences, Jerry and I are on the same page and so we made the salesman quite happy when we found something we both liked within a short amount of time. By the next day, I had a living room full of the loveliest, cushiest sofa and loveseat I could ever have imagined owning. The elation of buying new furniture reminded me that yes, I'm a grown-up now. Grown-ups in my mind buy grown-up'ish things like appliances and window shades and yes, brand new furniture.

It wasn't long before I had somebody over sleeping on it. I'm the woman who says hey, why not stay the night to the troubled teen who really doesn't want to go back home to her dysfunctional family life that is in hopeless chaos. I've had a few teens stay over the weekend, enjoying the coziness of my overstuffed, antique floral sofa throne. One girl, let's call her Karen, was being raised by her grandmother. I had been in her home several times and saw the squalor. But it wasn't just that her home was poor, it was also unpredictable and chaotic. She came over one afternoon after school just to sink into my hospitality and my sofa's loving arms to watch mindless television shows. By dark, I said, You can stay if you want. Just call home. Within minutes she was curled up under a blanket with a soft pillow cozied up under her head as if she was at a spa. I decided to go the extra mile. Since it was a dreary, winter night, I built a fire on the hearth. She melted as the sofa's magic and smell of burning cherry wood unraveled her wound-up soul.

Another visitor to the refuge of my sofa was a young mom with a new baby. Sometimes her housing situation was difficult. I'd push the ottoman up along side the edge of the sofa and she and her little one had more than enough room to curl up together and rest. It was a delight to wake up first in the morning and tip-toe in the living room seeing them blissfully sleeping amidst the vintage swirl of roses and plumes. She and her baby spent many nights on my sofa, the two of us often talking late while her son nursed and slept. She processed leaving her drug-addicted husband on my sofa. I sat there and suffered along side her when he called and screamed his profanities at her, tears falling from her street-wizened eyes. In the aftermath, she withdrew from her dark world and sank into the sheltering cloud of the sofa. Morning would bring her new mercy.

The person who has clocked the most nights in Sofa Land is my young friend Quintin. He just turned 15. Quintin has a long history of sleeping at my house. He used to prefer the loveseat, he'd curl up tight, his legs tucked under with his back snug against the loveseat's back. But as he grew taller he graduated to the sofa where he can be found with a degree of regularity. When he was 11, that's about the time he started coming over more. He's been friends with my son since before the two of them learned to talk. I know his family very well. His mom Janene was one of my closest friends and his little sister Abigail one of the sweetest little toddler girls I have ever known. After the car accident his house became emptier, but not as empty as the cavernous hole their absence has left in his family's life nor mine. He and his sister Cynthia have standing reservations 24/7/365 at my house and on my sofa. School nights included. Sometimes in the morning when I wake up and see Quintin or Cynthia sleeping something inside me begins pulling, a kind of tug-o-war game between feelings of gratitude and love and feelings of grief and despair. In these kinds of moments I'll wonder if it's ok to pray to the dead for I want Janene's guidance. And then I'll miss her, miss having her here as my friend, my co-mother and all the fun we would be having pranking our teenagers as well as all the rants we'd endure with each other when our kids have pushed us to the limit. She was my mom-friend and I miss her and beautiful Abigail who'd be six this summer. She'd start first grade this fall and I can only imagine Janene and I celebrating the milestone with a lazy morning of conversation and donuts.

Our sofa has a thousand stories to tell. It has provided shelter and warmth for relatives, travelers and missionaries. I don't have a guestroom in my house to offer people, but I have my sofa. Next month an old friend from my high school era is coming to Portland with her teenage daughter. How tall is your daughter, I asked when we talked last week. What? her voice startled by this unusual question. Well, you are both welcome to stay at my house instead of a hotel if you want, but I don't have a guest room, I have a sofa and a loveseat, so how tall is she? It'll work, we decided, and so they will bring a new tally to the sofa history in my house : a mother/daughter pair like the sofa/loveseat pair I have to offer.

I often wish I had a proper guestroom to offer visitors. When my kids were younger I'd displace them to the sofa and have some guests stay in their room. But now they are teenagers and besides there being a toxic level of messiness to both of their rooms, I'm just not willing to tell them to move out of their space when privacy has become a basic need for both of them. Maybe when they are grown and gone, which is not far down the road, I'll doll up one of their rooms with new curtains and fresh paint and call it a guestroom. And then my sofa would get lonely and dusty with memories of it's former special usefulness, for it is not only a sofa, but a memory keeper, a living photo album of the people and the stories they bring with them who have breathed and dreamed on it's cushioned sleepscape.

It's not just a sofa...

(Synchroblog) Letting Go of a Church-centered Me

2011-05-10T10:33:00.000-07:00

A profound spiritual encounter with God at the tender age of 18 derailed the train of self-destruction I was on. Jesus helped me disembark and with the wisdom and power of the Holy Ghost I have managed to stay out of that train yard for good.

Instead, I hung out in churchyards. From the get-go, I loved this thing called church. Each Sunday was like a party. People from all walks of life gathering together to sing songs, hear a sermon, pray and cry and laugh together. Sometimes there were potlucks. Along the way, though, somewhere in adulthood when I realized church is not a party but is an expression of a higher kingdom, a different way of doing life together, and thus, people are needed to serve and use their gifts to keep the kingdom of church going, this is when I shifted into living a church-centered life.

I evolved into a super-volunteer. I was at everything. At one time I was teaching Sunday school, leading a missions program for kids, on the prayer team and I attended a Bible class on Sunday mornings as well as typically attended three services a week. I kept this kind of pace up for years, thinking it was how it's supposed to be. I felt pangs of tension along the way, though. When I slowed down long enough for the dust of my chaotic church schedule to settle I'd hear the faint voice of my real self buried under the rubble of over-extending-myself saying, "This ain't right. You've created an insulated church life for yourself. Break out." But the voice was so little that it was unable to get my attention.

But then, one fine Portland morning when the rain was falling as pretty as the grey clouds cried from the sky, I had one some would call an epiphany. I had sat down to pray, and Lord knows I was a workhorse of a prayer warrior on top of everything else, when I felt the overwhelming presence of the Creator Lifeforce whom I know as God hush me right down with a startling single sentence : unplug from every ministry you are in.

I began to cry like the rain clouds outside my window as the voice of Love exposed my wretched overworked soul. Oh how hard I was trying to achieve worth through spiritual service and gain people's favor through churhc volunteerism. I was desperate to belong, but without a sense of self-acceptance I could not trust that anyone, God or the family of God, could accept me for Me. I had to work my way into that acceptance, and ohmyfuckinggod, I was wearing myself and neglecting my children along the way.

I trusted that small but big voice that visited me that day. I began to unravel my ministry obligations. And then, I sat. I just sat, like a second-string right fielder sitting the game out in the dugout. I sat. And as I sat with my unscarred calendar hanging in the kitchen and my voicemail box empty and lonely, life unfurled within my perishing soul. I was in the wilderness, and wild as she may be, there is a beauty there that can't be found unless you leave the hustle of the crowded city and head deep into it.

That was more than five years ago. I have discovered new canyons and mesas of wilderness wisdom on this spiritual trek. I learned that I actually do have an anchoredness in the love of God. We are good. But what is lacking is trust and security with the people of God. I still have a bent inside of me to prove myself lovable and likeable. I want to show you how cool I am so you'll be my friend. This surfaced again in my life not too long ago. My family and I are now part of an irreverent, irreligious faith community of fierce no-bullshit-allowed sisters and brothers, and even in this freeing space of life, I managed to once again move in a spirit of codependent neediness for love and approval. Once again the spirit of epiphany rescued me and once again, I am relegated back to the dugout which is just fine with me. I am blackdog determined to let the people of God prove that I am a woman loved even if I never do a damn thing to pitch in and help with whatever church chores that are begging for volunteers. I am capable, oh-so-capable, but my capability will ruin me like that first drink a recovering alcoholic takes. I have to say no and recover from my churchalholicism.

It's liberating and unsettling. I suppose there might always be a bit of a limp in me to veer into unhealthy service mode. But I've thrown the crutches of churchcentered living down into a gulley somewhere in the wild. I'll stay on my wilderness sojourn knowing that I'm in fine company with other sun-kissed women and men who will enjoy my company without needing me to do anything for them. This is life unfurled on the inside and out.

**My friend Craig Spinks of Recycle Your Faith has posted a clip of me riffing about this very thing. You can view it HERE

***This blog post is a part of the Synchroblog,

Synchroblog is a home-grown group of bloggers who like to write on topics of post-modern faith & life and have the chance to interact and intersect with other bloggers considering the same topics. This group is open to anyone who is interested in being part. We value respectful conversation and dialogue and honor our differences.We share links & try to learn from each other.

This month's topic at Synchroblog is Life Unfurling. To find other posts in this month's syncroblog or to jump in yourself, just go HERE and you'll find both including a submission from my friend Kathy Escobar who writes about Letting God Off the Hook.

The Wild Roots of Mothers Day

2011-05-08T12:06:00.000-07:00


Julia Ward Howe (May 27, 1819 – October 17, 1910) was a prominent American abolitionist, social activist, and poet, most famous as the author of "The Battle Hymn of the Republic".

I was curious about the origins of Mother's Day, which is being celebrated today in the United States. I was intrigued to discover that it has a rather rogue beginning from a spitfire of a woman named Julia Ward Howe - which coincidentally, my own mother's name is Julia. This woman, an American during the era of the Civil War under President Abraham Lincoln, determined to call for a day that called for an end to America's war and involvement in other conflicts. She was a stout feminist who believed that women must take responsibility for shaping society and culture.

An activist, abolitionist, poet and writer, Julia issued a Mother's Day Proclamation calling for America's women to rally together. As I read it for the first time today, I could hear her anguish across the years for women to unleash their influence to disarm their warring men.

The flowers we send our mothers today have their wild roots in the voice and life of Julia Ward Howe.

Mother's Day Proclamation

Arise, then, women of this day!

Arise, all women who have hearts,
Whether our baptism be of water or of tears!

Say firmly:
"We will not have great questions decided by irrelevant agencies,
Our husbands will not come to us, reeking with carnage, for caresses and applause.
Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn
All that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience.
We, the women of one country, will be too tender of those of another country
To allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs."

From the bosom of the devastated Earth a voice goes up with our own.
It says: "Disarm! Disarm! The sword of murder is not the balance of justice."
Blood does not wipe out dishonor, nor violence indicate possession.

As men have often forsaken the plough and the anvil at the summons of war,
Let women now leave all that may be left of home for a great and earnest day of counsel.

Let them meet first, as women, to bewail and commemorate the dead.
Let them solemnly take counsel with each other as to the means
Whereby the great human family can live in peace,
Each bearing after his own time the sacred impress, not of Caesar,
But of God.

In the name of womanhood and humanity, I earnestly ask
That a general congress of women without limit of nationality
May be appointed and held at someplace deemed most convenient
And at the earliest period consistent with its objects,
To promote the alliance of the different nationalities,
The amicable settlement of international questions,

The great and general interests of peace.

Twitterfied!

2011-05-06T12:53:00.000-07:00

Do you tweet? Are you hanging with your tweeps during the day keeping up on what's happening in their Twitterverse? Are you following any hashtags like #restoreunity or #mymomisnuts?

I have had an on-again/off-again relationship with all-things-Twitter. But recently I jumped back into the party and began tweeting about life again. I got the app on my Blackberry which means I can tweet instantly from wherever I have a cell signal. I have a couple hundred followers (modest in the world of Twitter) and I myself am following many dozens, including @jimmyfallon and @barakobama. Yes. You can follow the tweets of the President of the United States of America as well as your favorite late night talk show host!

So do you tweet? Come follow me on Twitter. And I'll follow you back!

I'm Pregnant

2011-05-04T13:54:00.000-07:00

I'm pregnant, but not in the way you might think.

Authors often refer to their books as babies, of the labor and love involved in producing the final book. In that regard, yes, I am pregnant and the baby, or the book, is due later this year!!

I am pleased to announce to my blog readership that I have entered a partnership with Civitas Press to publish a book tentatively titled, Unladylike.

This book has been a long, slow burn in my bones about the inequity of women in the institution known as church. There are many fine books about this topic already on th market, but most of them focus on the controversy of women in leadership. I am coming from a different angle. I haven't personally hit the so-called stained-glass ceiling since I have no calling to be a pastor or a church leader. I have many friends who have and who tell heart-wrenching stories of sexism and inequality. I do not have that story. But what I do have, and waht I think is underreported, is the quieter form of sexism that affects most women of faith in one form or another, including myself.

For more details about the book click HERE Some of my friends in an effort to support me have already ordered copies. Crazy! I can't believe I just wrote that...already ordered copies!

And, to top it off, the set publication date (aka due date!) for this first book is November 11, 2011.

I will blog next time about why the number 11 is so significant to me.

Until then, thank you for being a reader of this blog and for helping me to develop my writing voice! This has been the best writing course in the world for me!!!!

My Inner Teenager

2011-04-30T10:17:00.000-07:00

I am a clumsy friend. I sort of stagger into relationships, hoping for the best though nearly always feeling deeply insecure with the one I'm trying to get to know. Most people have an inner child that oozes out unresolved childhood anxieties, or a critic in their head who tells them why they can't do anything right. Me? I have a teenager, an inner 15-year old who has managed to hold hostage a portion of my perception for decades. She's quiet most of the time, idling away God-knows-where in this cavernous head of mine. But certain things will bring her to the surface, particular equations of life and love that will create enough of a disturbance to invoke her angsty self from hiding.

Nothing seems to waken her more than my attempts to better my life. She will come full force blabbering into my ear (no respect for my personal bubble at all) demanding to know why did I do that, and how come I didn't do this, and really, who do you think you are anyway? She is relentless. This persnickety teenage girl can bring a buzz kill to the best party.

Like the other day. I managed to get an invitation to interview for a scholarship given by a foundation here in Oregon. Only 20 percent of the applicants get an invitation so it really is affirming in so many ways to make the short list.

After the interview, which consisted of sitting at a round table with three interviewers peppering me with questions about my future goals, I naturally began to assess how I did. Did I convey confidence? Check, I believe I did. Did I communicate effectively and forcefully enough why I am going to school at this stage of life? Check, I definitely did. Did I..... wait....damnit. She's awake.

Before I could finish the self-assessment in she rolls, disheveled hair, dark circles under her eyes, an innocent look on her face. Why do you think they'd pick you anyway?

Argh. With one sharp question this impetuous girl deflated my sense of well-being and accomplishment, but I would not take it quietly. I argued with her. "I don't know if they'll pick me or not, but at least I got an interview. At least I got this far," I retorted as she moved closer from my subconsciousness to consciousness.

"The interviewers seemed bored with you. Didn't you notice how they kept looking at the clock?"

I let her lag on a bit, as I usually do, for though she's a mouthy little pest, I have a strange affection for her. I think some people might call it co-dependency. Or self-loathing. Take your pick.

After a few more stabs at my self-confidence I sent her on her way. She faded from sight, melting into the backdrop shadowlands of the hidden part of me.

I need to pray for that girl. Seriously. That's how I dealt with my writing critic. I was at my friend Jane's house a few summers ago, or more accurately, in her treehouse. She asked me how writing was going. Dismal, I told her, the writing critic that lives in my head won't let up. I can't write anything that satisfies.

"Well let's pray for that critic in your head then, Pam," she gently suggested in her Jane-special-way, "after all, that critic is not just a part of you. That critic is You." Well then, when you put it that way. And so, Jane and I quietly prayed together for the healing of the writing critic in my head, that she would become my friend rather than foe, that she would be released from all anxiety about the public writing life. In that treehouse, where we talked and prayed, the treehouse that Jane's husband had built many years ago beside the flowing goodness of Salmon Creek, something astounding happened. The writing critic dissolved under our prayerful hands. Emerging in her place was a new creature, a new friend... a writing coach. I can mark that since that time my writing has improved and flourished once the leash of the writing critic was cut. I now have a wonderful alliance with the coach who was born that day. She gives me direction, constructive feedback, inspiration. It really has been remarkable how that one prayer session with Jane became a game a changer.

I guess I need to do this with my inner teenage girl. I wonder how that would go? I can absolutely imagine telling her, Hey, God loves you, I wanna pray for you. And her giving me the middle finger shouting F*ck YOU! as she bolts back into hiding somewhere inside the invisible world of me. Maybe I better have some rope handy before I spring this on her. Maybe I ought to call Jane and see if we can meet-up in that treehouse again. There is a whole lotta life to get a grip on and risks to take, courage is needed and failure is absolutely a given part of the process.While some folks inner teenager might lead them into reckless living, mine would hold me back and drag me into hiding away from the big world of grown-ups.

Where is Jane's number.....?

Stories from The Shack : Coming to Seattle!!!!!

2011-04-28T08:11:00.000-07:00

Words have power and books can change the world. A few years ago an everyday man living on the outskirts of Portland with his wife and children threw a novel together as an expression of his creativity for his family. He passed a few copies of it around beyond the family circle and with the positive feedback found courage to ask an author he was acquainted with to take a peek at it. From there his story picks up steam. The author loved it and showed it to others and before long, the xeroxed book was published and being distributed from somebody's garage in California to bookstores scattered around North America.

Most stories about an unknown writer's first book end right here. Happily. But for this author, Paul Young, and for his book, The Shack, the story was only getting started.

A typical book sells less than 5,000 copies. When I first interviewed Paul in 2008 he said he and his book project team hoped to sell 10,000 copies in two years. That was the dream. Well, it didn't quite work out that way. They sold out that first print run of 11,000 within 3 months. And it just kept gaining momentum, like a snowball flying downhill on a great big lick of mountain ice.

Within a couple of years The Shack went viral on a global scale. Last I heard it had sold 12 million copies and had been translated into at least 30 languages. The word phenomena seems too light to describe what was happening with this obscure, accidental best-selling author.

I blogged quite a bit at that time about The Shack, including a book review (I gave the book 3 stars, but the Lord 5 for the holy ruckus the story was
stirring up! Read all my Shack posts HERE)

From time to time I would have occasion to interview Paul who would inevitably tell me a round of stories told to him of how this book was affecting people. At some point I began to think to myself, This deserves attention. There are so many amazing stories being generated from this Shack story.

So, it is with great pleasure that I announce the collaboration of my friend Jim Henderson and his production company, Jim Henderson Presents, with Paul Young in producing a mixed-media entertainment spectacle to bring those stories to life on the stage. The show is simply called Stories from the Shack
It will premier in Seattle on Mother's Day next month.

At his website, Jim writes this about the show:

Sometimes it’s too big for even a movie screen. And once in awhile a story is even bigger than the person who wrote it. That’s what happened with The Shack. The flood of over 100,000 stories coming from readers overwhelmed Paul’s capacity to respond. Lectures and speaking engagements could no longer express the emotions and capture the needs. Something new had to be created in order to catch the wave of response that was breaking in on Paul. That’s where the idea of a live show called Stories From The Shack came from.

"Why Mother's Day?" I asked Jim Henderson in a recent phone interview. "Intentional or coincidental?"
Just the way it worked out with everyone's schedules, he reports. I find that interesting myself, for one of the biggest controversies of the book is the author's choice to portray God the Father as a woman (read the book to understand this cryptic reference!). I think it's somewhat prophetic that the show featuring stories from the book and the book's impact being on Mother's Day is brilliant.

"Why should people come out on Mother's Day, Jim? What makes this show special and worth the effort?"

"It is a mixed-media spectacle," said Jim, "featuring music from American Idol Danny Gokey who also has his own story to tell about how The Shack affected his life. And we're also going to have aerial artists helping to bring the story to life through aerial acts. It'll be like Cirque du Soleil meets The Shack."

Will Paul be there?

"Yes, absolutely. He's part of the show."

Mother's Day in Seattle. The Shack plus music, stories and aerial artists. If you can get there, Do It. Sounds like another 5-star phenomena in the making of a story that has had a profound affect on people from all over the world.

Click HERE for ticket and show information.

The Writing Life of Pam Hogeweide {ReMixed}

2011-04-26T16:03:00.000-07:00

A couple years back I signed up with iContact to manage an email subscription list for the electronic newsletter I started up. It went well for awhile, the idea being that I'd let my readership know what I was up to and where to find my writing pieces, as they scattered around the web. But then I started school last fall and my writing life has been more like the academic writing life of Pam Hogeweide as I crank out term papers and essays.

But I'm beginning to come out of the fog of school a bit and find myself desiring to write again from a non-academic voice. Blogging has been my best and most frequent way to do this, but sometimes I guest write in other forums, too. I'd like to get that going again. Writing is my most favorite way to express myself. I am a writer. Whether a few read or many, I write. It is good for my soul and it is good for my mind. I must write or I get kinda cranky. Words help me to sort out all the fussing in my head, and believe me, there is a whole lot of fussing and pouting that endures quietly in my head day by night. I have a cluttered mind, with tendencies to overthink and think myself right back into a corner of cynicism and mistrust. Writing helps keep that tide of cynical overthink pushed back a bit. Somebody once said, I can't remember who, that We Write in Order to Discover What We Think. That fits me like a custom made corset.

So, back to the Writing Life of Pam Hogeweide enewsletter: I have reinstated it. You can find a sign up form in the sidebar of my blog or if you are reading this in your email or RSS feed shoot me an email and I can add you if you want. I'll only be sending it out once to twice a month.

Meanwhile, if you are a blogger and wanna ever trade guest blogging with me, let's do it!

Where's the Bacon? aka How My Dad Taught me to Survive Mean Sons of Bitches

2011-04-25T19:43:00.000-07:00

I had no idea that it would have served me this way. None at all. My dad, who passed away in 2007, was a difficult man. Chronically ill the last half of his life made him bitter, not better. But even before he got sick he was what some in the South would refer to as "a mean son of a bitch." Hospitalized often, my mom has reported that at times he was so rude to nurses it embarrassed her.

And now I work in a hospital with lots of contact with patients and some of them are like my dad : mean sons of bitches. I'm a room hostess, which means I assist patients with their meal choices and tray delivery service. I am in and out of hospital rooms all day long. In my short tenure there - just about at my seventh month anniversary - I have encountered a wily patient or two who reminded me of my dad.

Like this one patient who was hollering about his turkey bacon. This man laid in his hospital bed and refused to give me his lunch order because turkey bacon had been missing from his breakfast tray. "Why should I tell you what I want when you ain't gonna get it right anyway," he retorted as I cheerily entered his room without a clue of what a grouch he was. "Don't even bother trying to tell me you gonna bring me what I order 'cuz I know you ain't gonna get it right." His demeanor, the gravely tone of his voice, his age, his irritability, it all reminded me of my dad.

Though my dad scarred me up good with that abusive mouth of his, a fairly warm relationship managed to emerge when I entered adulthood. This encounter with this patient brought the ghost of my dad in the room with us. I had to force myself not to smile as the patient continued his rant about not getting his turkey bacon.... so much like my dad.

I had no idea of the kind of skin I would develop when it comes to cantankerous old men who speak with a tone laden with irritation. I'm able to filter it out, conditioned by a father who spoke often to me this way. It's a dysfunctional love language for me. When my coworkers tell me they don't want to deal with a certain patient because they're rude, my interest gets piqued and I just have to see for myself how rude they are. (As rude as my dad could be? Well let's go in and see...) More often than not the patient is grumpy and simply requires a bit more attention, coddling if you will. I was not very good coddling my dad, but growing up under him has given me a certain flair with coddling disagreeable patients to a measure of cooperation.

Every time I interact with a difficult patient I remember my dad. I can hear him whispering in my ear. "This guy's a pussycat compared to what I put you through."

The turkey-bacon-patient had a rant to get out of his bones. I stood there and just listened, his anger buttressing up against my lifetime of memories. Unlike my dad, he was not abusive towards my person. He was just frustrated and upset about the lack of control he had in getting something as basic as turkey bacon. As my dad's spirit hovered in there between me and that old man, it clicked : it's not about the turkey bacon. It's about dignity. The patient is stuck in a hospital bed completely vulnerable for others (like me) to help him with his basic needs... like food... like turkey bacon.

He had my full attention. When he was finished ranting I said, "Sir, I will do everything in my power to make sure you get turkey bacon with your breakfast tomorrow morning. But help me know what I can get you for lunch today and I will personally make sure that your order is correct."

His clenched jaw relaxed. His puffed out chest from under his hospital gown deflated a bit. His face softened. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to go off on you like that. It ain't your fault." He extended his beautiful, black-skin hand towards me like an olive branch of peace. As we clasped hands I swear I heard my dad laughing his ass off muttering, "He ain't half the mean son of a bitch I was!"

The Good - Hearted Sexist

2011-04-13T00:13:00.000-07:00

"I support women in all levels of leadership in the Church," writes a pastor from his blog.

I did not always have this “view” but after years of praying, wrestling, discussing, listening, fasting, and praying some more, I came to this conviction some time ago and while it has been questioned, pushed back, and tested, I remain convicted. It is a view that endears me to some and um, makes me a quasi-heretic to others. --Eugene Cho

I appreciate so much that this pastor has made this public statement. What disturbs me is that he had to make it in the first place and that it required a significant amount of spiritual energy and soul-searching on his part to get there. I'm so glad he did though I hope for the day that men and women together will enjoy the wisdom of mutuality and serve God and one another in the free spirit of liberation.

A couple of years ago I was interviewing a pastor I know in the Portland area. I really nice guy, compassionate, good-hearted, authentic in his public and private life and respected by all who knew him. He was on the cusp of changing his mind about women and the leadership question, he told me. He and his wife, he further confided, had been in discussion about the possibility that perhaps women are meant to freely roam the entirety of the construct of church rather than only certain parts, i.e. womens ministries and the nursery and kitchen. I listened and held my tongue. It was tempting to scold him for being so cautious about something that I feel deeply is a matter of fairness and justice.

But I think I get it now. It's not just about women. If one has been taught and trained their entire life that the Bible teaches us that God has pre-ordained roles for men and women, then to change one's mind about women is to bring a certain amount of tension upon how one has interpreted the Bible. I can understand that. I don't like it, but I can understand it and sympathize with it.

There's a new wind blowing across Christendom these days. A huge flux of women and men, young and old are unable to unflinchingly accept old rank and file forms of church as usual. There is indeed a holy discontentment brewing up a storm. I'm hoping it will mean a storm of women who are no longer willing to wait for their men to give them permission to freely move about the body of Christ, but will instead free themselves. I was listening to a Civil War historian on the radio today who said that many slaves did just that long before President Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation. They didn't wait to be told they could be free. They abandoned the system of slavery and liberated themselves.

Why is it so hard for amazing, intelligent, good-hearted men like the Portland pastor I know to accept women in mutual roles of power and influence?

I really wanna know.

The Bridge: A Love Letter

2011-04-08T21:52:00.000-07:00

On an ordinary corner in the northeast part of Portland, sits a yoga warehouse that gets a little loud on late Sunday mornings. It's not much to look at. A typical box building with a forgettable paint job. A lone window gleams from the cinder block front reflecting the tree-lined street scene.

During the rest of the week the warehouse is well behaved. Quiet. Full of yoga goodness as Portland's sons and daughters come inside to rejuvenate the body, spirit and mind.

But when Sunday comes, and surely she comes each week like the sun comes up each day, the peaceful corner takes on a new energy as a rowdy church called The Bridge takes up residence for a few chaotic hours. A barebones faith brigade, The Bridge has been my family's faith community since New Year's day 2006.

It's a church that thrills many who have found an oasis in their spiritual wilderness. For others, it's a short-lived fling that fizzles out with disillusionment and disappointment when the honeymoon ends. This is the nature of human relationships and it is the nature of community. It doesn't always work out. As cool as The Bridge may seem with the rampant energy of Portland's twenty-somethings hollering their hallelujahs without a single inhibition, at the end of it all, we are just a collection of flawed, imperfect human beings trying to share life and the way of Jesus together. Totally my kind of people and the tribe I love to be flawed with.

With a wide open front door, Sunday mornings are always a bit of a surprise. Who will the wind blow in today? Lately there's been a man from a nearby housing program for those with disabilities who loves to come be with us. He has no regard for your personal bubble and will huddle real close by asking, Can you do this? as he circles two fingers up close to his eye. It is a wonder that our loudness doesn't keep him at a distance. I watch how the tattooed young brothers and sisters treat him as he hovers into their space

pestering them, Can you do this? and for the most part, everybody welcomes him and indulges his circle finger game. I suppose you could say it's his love language. So we try to speak it too, like my friend Justin who absolutely welcomes anyone who comes near our warehouse church on a Sunday morning and can often be found in friendly conversation just outside the doors. He's kind of like an unofficial greeter in some ways.

The Bridge is notorious for raucous music. One of the things that have endeared me to this faith community since day one -- which was New Year's Day 2006 -- is that the music set is nice and long, often close to an hour, while the speaking time is quite small, usually in the 20 minute range. If you have any history of going to church than you will quickly note that our Sunday morning model has been flipped the other way.Love it.Not sayin' it's better, just that more music and creativity and less passive listening works well for me and my family.

By the time The Bridge wraps up there is another tribe of folks who gather. Carrying empty grocery bags and backpacks, this group shows up to get free groceries that The Bridge has been giving away every Sunday since about the summer of 2006 (or was it '07?). Our young men and women dedicate themselves every Sunday to picking up the donations and getting them to the yoga warehouse where they are sorted and bagged into four different categories: vegetarian bags, meat bags, the bread table and the pastry/coffee table.

Most of the folks coming for free groceries do not ever attend our church. This is not the intent of Food Church as it has affectionately become known. There are no strings attached, no friendship evangelism tactics or hidden agendas to use groceries as bait to save people's souls. It's just love quietly demonstrated through a bag of groceries with no expectation of a response. I love this about The Bridge. Free love. Imagine!

Every Sunday is an eclectic, electric experimental party of worship, love and inclusion. Sometimes it's chaos which sometimes baffles me. I don't always "get" what's going on and will suddenly feel my age, as if I'm a frumpy church lady muttering to herself, What's got into youngins' these days! But I get over it quickly like an auntie who can't remain offended at her fave nieces and nephews. There's too much about Bridge folk to enjoy!

Me and my husband Jerry, circa Feb 2011

I know this has transpired into a tribute post. I didn't mean it to go there. But maybe I needed to say it outloud again that The Bridge is my faith community, my tribe, that group of people who leave the porch light on no matter how late it is...or how young, old, rich or poor one might be.

Totally and amen to that.

My 400th Post : Learning Like a Woman

2011-04-03T00:34:00.000-07:00

This is my 400th post at this blog. In cleaning up old doc files I found this wonderful essay I wrote in the fall, my first official college paper for an introductory class I took about a liberal arts education. I think it is perfect in honor of my 400th blog post.

************

Slowly, I began to understand fully that there was no place in academe for folks from working-class backgrounds who did not wish to leave the past behind. – bell hooks

I live in a north Portland working-class neighborhood. I grew up in a working-class family and I am married to a factory worker. I recently began a new entry level job at a hospital after being a cleaning woman for nearly a decade.

During my admission interview last spring I asked the interviewers, “Will I fit in here?” What I really was asking was, “Am I too working-class to join a learning community like Marylhurst?”

This reveals the fear I have that my identity as well as my roots could be challenged by trying to better my life through higher education. This is the mindset I bring as a learner.

I am, by nature, a voracious learner. I have considered myself a well-read woman, informally educated by my own thirst for new understanding and the relentless pursuit into undiscovered realms of knowledge. I am a dedicated student for life.

I settled it in my mind a long time ago that this kind of individualistic education is just as valuable as one built within an institution setting. I told myself that unlike university students who must follow their instructor’s academic guidance, I am free of all restraint and may study whatever I want in whatever manner I so choose. I am my own professor and academic adviser.

While this may all be true and sound noble, it was actually a means of comforting myself.

Entering a formal university education – a learning community – has been the chief unrealized longing of my life. I was made to learn, and the truth is, I learn best when in the company of others. My exploration of the world of knowledge has been a lonely one. Books are wonderful and the Discovery channel is fascinating, but it is not able to replace my need for camaraderie with others who are also on the road of learning.

I suppose this disposition for solitary study began when I was a girl. Growing up southern, I learned the unspoken code of the classroom quickly. Social power and academic power were not friends. I learned that girls who raised their hand too often were found to be irritating. Boys liked the demure girls better. I am not a demure female, but I learned to mimic my modest, quiet classroom sisters, and in doing so, began to unwittingly train myself to become a private, solo learner. My inner life became rich with invisible dialog between me, myself and I.

It would take several decades for me to realize that I had accepted the cultural conditioning of dumbing myself down in order to appear more “girly.”

Now in my forties, I have been cutting the apron strings of my past that have kept me from university. The grown-up me is thrilled to have finally made it, but there is still that little girl inside who wonders if she should keep her hands nicely folded in her lap.

The convocation by Adrienne Rich, Claiming an Education, arouses deep resonance in me. She said,

Our upbringing as women has so often told us that this should come second to our relationships and responsibilities to other people. We have been offered ethical models of the self-denying wife and mother, intellectual models of the brilliant but slapdash dilettante who never commits herself to anything the whole way, or the intelligent woman who denies her intelligence in order to seem more “feminine”, or who sits in passive silence even when she disagrees inwardly with everything that is being said around her.

This describes me.

I have become a brilliant actress feigning ignorance or slow understanding for that is what I have known since my girlhood.

Entering university has challenged my past, yet I believe it will also shape my future. I am ready, at long last, to claim my education and raise my hand often past the ceiling of propriety.

Grace Found

2011-03-28T11:05:00.000-07:00

I've been cleaning up my doc files this morning and stumbled across this forgotten draft written a couple of years ago. In light of the dust storm being kicked up from Rob Bell's Love Wins new book that challenges the theology of eternal damnation, I decided it was timely to find this forgotten writing and to polish it up and post it. There is some great dialog in this about the nature of God's grace. I hope it will provoke you to add your thoughts about it.

(2008)
Ok, one of my fave bloggers recently posted up about one of my fave topics: Grace. Here's an excerpt:

But for His grace we would not be Christians, right? However, I've discovered that many Christians are afraid of the real message of grace, especially those in MFI type churches. Why? Well they don't like the notion that we are all equal before God. Telling the prominent pastor who's spent 40 years dedicated to serving the church that he is no more justified in God's sight then the drug addicted, gay stripper who genuinely turned to Christ, doesn't usually sit too well. That message scares many Christians who feel they've paid their dues and deserve a "special" place before His throne. I even heard someone once say that in heaven the Mother Theresa's of the world will get to sit at the feet of Jesus, while the newly converted convicts will have to stand in the back.

Here's a bit of the comment I posted over there:

I love this post. Grace, grace and more grace. It is, I believe, the single most underrated attribute of God. What you’ve said here is so true, that we know the bible verses and how to talk up grace, but living it out with ourselves and with others is a different story.

Here’s the thing: I thought I was a grace kind of girl, until my spiritual disciplines withered up. My flaming prayer life became barely a glow of smoldering coals about to die out in a rain storm; my bible became suspect, I didn’t trust how I read it or what was in it, so I put it aside. For not months, but years. And my service in church was stripped away. “Do you love me now, God? Is that grace for real when I’m not productive, when I’m watching too much tv and letting cynicism overtake my tender heart?”

Over and over I hear a resounding Yes. “My grace is more than enough for your effed upness, whatever that is, how ever much of it there is, and for however long it may last. Your humanness cannot outrun my God-graceness.”

Grace to me is simply defined as mercy undeserved. When can I possibly ever earn or deserve mercy? If I could, then it wouldn’t be mercy anymore. That would be called a paycheck.

I just love reflecting and writing about grace. It's the most beautiful and stunning attribute I see in God. And it is one of the most debated. How gracious is God? How far does that grace extend? For how long? Past death? Into hell? Is there grace for the unrepentant? For the rebellious? These are the questions that ineveitable get raised when a dialog about God's grace is engaged.

I myself brought it up when I took one of the blogger's comments went a bit deeper into Graceland:

I want to take your post, though, one step further. I am of the perspective that the grace that the new testament teaches is not just reserved for the elite who say the prayer or have the right beliefs. I reckon that grace, or undeserved mercy, is extended even to the gay pagan stripper whether he knows it or not. The grace, or mercy, of the cross was for all humankind, not just bible thumping christians.

I don’t want to veer off into a debate about Christian reconiliationism (or universalism as some call it). I’m just wanting to highlight that if grace is undeserved mercy, and I think it is, then all of us are getting the rain of it. Buckets of it. We just probably don’t know that.

As ambassadors of Christ, we are meant to be ambassadors of the kingdom of grace and mercy. Can I hug the gay pagan stripper and say Hey, you are already loved and forgiven and getting rained with grace?

What if he doesn’t get cured from gayness to straightness? What if he keeps stripping to pay his rent or buy his lover’s meds cause he has HIV? What if he won’t give up his pagan ways (at this point at least) because he is convinced that the polytheism paganism offers is more inclusive than the monotheism of Christianity? Does grace, or undeserved mercy, find it’s way into those chambers?

I think so. Which is why I think the grace of God is the most underrated thing about God that we know. And I like to imagine that even in the timeless space of eternity that the beauty of that grace will enthrall each of us forever.

Oh my, the discussion that then ensued! Here are a few comments and questions that some of the other commentators raised:

Pam, that’s just silly. You and I both know that if Christians really believed Grace like you described it then they couldn’t hate sinners any more. They wouldn’t have anyone to judge so that they could feel better about themselves.

{this comment cracked me up. But I think he's onto something...not ON something, but onto something!!!}

The blogger, who goes by the handle, The Reformer, wrote this in reply:

Yes, Pam grace does find it way into the darkest chambers of all people. However, my bible does tell me that Christ is the only way to eternity. If one does not believe in Him one cannot be saved. You see grace is abundant and unrestrained. Its always there for everyone at all times, but if you reject it by living in conflict with Christ, then there’s no truth in you.

I totally get this. Really I do. I just don't agree with it. Not anymore. How can grace, or mercy undeserved, be grace if it has conditions?

Someone posted about their misgivings about hell (which is where many dialogs about grace seem to veer off into, at least with me) and wrote this:

Whenever I hear Christians talk about Hell, I have a picture in my head of Nelson Muntz saying, “Ha ha! You’re going to burn forever!” Christians know that their friends and family and neighbors are going to eternal damnation and they act like they’re cool with it, just as long as they have their own ticket punched. Does that strike anyone else as being really twisted and mean?

I think he makes a good and honest point here. We Christians, if we truly do believe in hell, have been far too glib and casual about it. Hell... people, it's hell. How can I sleep at night if people I care about are destined to burn forever and ever without any hope of ever getting free from that place described as having "much gnashing of teeth?" It is absurd...and those who do not believe in eternal damnation, or eternal hell, stand in the meadows of grace and hope and wonder, "How can you think of your own flesh and blood condemned to eternal fire, yet live in peace with that horrible knowing?"
One particular poster, Jeremiah, had a lot of disagreement with me about grace. He wrote this:

I believe that the qualifications for receiving grace is being born again. Haven’t read thru your stuff, but I think when Jesus says that whoever does not believe in Jesus is condemned already, He is making a distinction between believers and unbelievers, those who love light and those who love darkness. Those who experience the Kingdom and gladly submit to it’s King, and those who do not and are not under the grace of the King.

Is there grace, or mercy for the unrepentant? Is repentance a requirement to enjoy the benefits of living in God's good grace? Is that therefore grace, or earned merit and favor?

What is Grace? Is it undeserved mercy, as I like to define it, or have I sugar-coated the gracious nature of God into a big doctrine of free love and flowery dogma?

I am a hopeful reconcilationist.

This means that I hope in the ministry of reconciliation of God to continue beyond the grave.

This means that I am hopeful that the redemption of God's love as demonstrated through the life of Christ overcomes the gates of hell.

This means that I am of the hope that the banquet table of grace and mercy is forever open to anyone.

Rob Bell and the Audacity of Love : Love Wins {over hell}

2011-03-15T14:46:00.000-07:00

In the Christian circles I run in there is a newly released book titled Love Wins by Rob Bell, a megachurch pastor in Michigan. I'm not a fan of megachurches, but I am a fan of Rob Bell, though I've never read any of his four other books. He got my attention with the production and content of his short video series called Nooma, specifically the clip called She.

But this is not why I'm bringing up Bell's name. It's his new book with the bold, audacious message that God's love is actually bigger than hell and that Love will win in the end of the story. Not hell.

Oh how dare he.

It's causing a stir, a HUGE stir in cyberspace, with the predictable mud slinging and wargames already begun.(oh how fond Christians are of religious discourse and debate!) I have no intention in throwing a bone in that dog fight debate quickly turns to unkindly mean-spirited dogma.

What I will say is that I am thrilled that someone like Rob Bell (who has a tremendous amount of influence) is challenging the traditionally held belief of eternal damnation.

I've challenged this belief, too, and you can read it about my wrestling match with it HERE....and as an obscure blogger in my little, tiny corner of the great big ocean of blogs, the topic of hell is the most commented topic of any other topic I've blogged about in five years and 400 posts. (The second most stirring up topic? Women and equality in the modern Christian church. Go figure.)

Curious? To hear from Rob himself about his new book and the message of love winning over hell's fire, check out his interview this morning on ABC news.

**If you've read the book and have a review please leave a comment with the link. I'll plan to get a copy soon and get out my own review.

Liberation as a Man Tied to Liberation of Women: a TED talk

2011-03-15T13:59:00.000-07:00

It's Women's History month here in the United States. Earlier this month we also recognized International Women's Day. In light of it being Women's History month I did little search on TED for a talk to feature on my blog today. TED Talks are short videos, usually 10-18 minutes tops, presented by people expert and passionate in their topic. TED, which stands for technology, entertainment and design, brings together the brightest and most creative thinkers and speakers at their events. Speakers on the platform have a maximum of 18 minutes to present their talk. Thus, these short videos, aka TED talks, are archived online for anyone to view. Some of my college instructors have used TED talk videos for class instruction.

I prowled around TED looking for a video from a woman about women in light of the month. Instead, I found Tony Porter, a Black university professor and speaker from New York, a man who advocates for equity with women. The talk is only 11 minutes long. It's a presentation he gave at a TED womens event last year. Below is the transcription of some of what he said. I hope you'll view it and in doing so catch a bit more fire as I did in being committed to the equity of the sexes.

I need you with me. I need you working with me and me working with you on how we raise our sons and teach them to be men-- that it's ok to not be dominating, that it's okay to have feelings and emotions, that it's okay to promote equality, that it's okay to have women who are just friends and that it's okay to be whole...that my liberation as a man is tied to your liberation as a woman.
-Tony Porter, TED talk

A Church Only a Mother Could Love : The Bridge

2011-03-10T13:24:00.000-08:00

This church doesn’t have a PR department or a logo or a red velvet bag for your tithe. All they have is a scrappy, shared yoga studio on NE Tillamook and each other. The only thing I could find lacking at The Bridge was judgment. There is no “IF” at The Bridge. No qualifications. They literally DO love you just for being there. It’s the “only a mother could love you” church. Everyone qualifies. Every. Single. Soul. The more flawed the better. (Amanda Westmont, A Year of Sundays)

Last Sunday, while I was holed up in my writing cave studying the begeezus out of my eyeballs, a couple of local bloggers with an ambitious plan to visit a different church each Sunday this year stopped by my rowdy little faith community.
This may seem like a dizzying commitment to church hopping, but what makes this grand experiment of theirs more interesting is that they are atheists. Not sure what variety of atheist they are since the postmodern times we live in there are tribes within tribes of every ideology. I would guess that they aren't of the fundamentalist-atheist tribe or they wouldn't waste their time peeking their heads through any church doorway.

So why are they doing this?

You'll just to go read their Blog to find out.

International Women's Day - Hurray for Failed Evangelical Wives Like Me

2011-03-08T00:41:00.000-08:00

Not an Evangelical Marriage from Recycle Your Faith on Vimeo.

Craig Spinks of Recycle Your Faith out of Colorado toured through Portland last year with his lovely wife Sarah. He was on the prowl around America for folks to talk to about themes of faith and Christian culturalisms. On that prowl of his he found me through our mutual connection to Jim Henderson.

Craig Spinks, 2010

He filmed me for over two hours, letting the discussion erupt spontaneously wherever it would. Part of that discussion took a turn into the special considerations of evangelical marriage. An entire book could be written about the unnecessary suffrage of women who aspire to be model Christian wives who in their submissiveness to their husbands trust that it is their godly duty to obey. I tried for many years to fit in that role and it just wasn't working for me. Jerry, my husband for more than twenty years now, is a laid-back guy with a quiet sort of strength. I'm the loud one in the family. In Christian circles, most notably evangelical circles, there is an unspoken code that women are to remain in the shadow of their husband. He must shine. She must support. Our marriage did not exemplify this in the least. Jerry is so unassuming that at one church one man was aghast when he saw us kiss for he thought Jerry must be my brother. "You're always up front talking and praying that I just thought you were single and that Jerry was your brother... I thought it was weird when I saw you kiss and then I figured out, 'Oh, Pam's married.'"

This says more about his picture of evangelical women than it does about my public displays of affection with my husband.

I am not alone in my experience of the impossible task of being A Christian Wife. A good friend of mine tells the tale of how that striving for pious submission nearly swallowed her whole and took her marriage to the brink of extinction. Another friend of mine has felt the pressure to not outshine her husband for he is a traditionalist and would perceive any surpassing of himself as disrespect. She walks a tightrope of keeping peace in the family while not losing sight of who she is and what her giftings are. I feel for her.

Women are not the only ones who bear these kinds of pressures. Christian men do, too. I interviewed Jerry about this a couple of summers ago while we were on a beach outing. Check it out HERE for the six minutes of Jerry actually speaking with me actually submissively listening...well, mostly.

In honor of International Women's Day let's remember Christian women, married or not, who are trying so hard to find their story within the framework of religious duty. It's a hard game to get out of. A woman puts her whole identity into her family and when that devotion is locked in step with demanding faith it can be excruciating to untangle one's self out of the web. I know a woman who managed to do that from an extreme conservative group in the Portland area...she had stories that made me ask, "What year is this?"

Be nice to a woman today. Especially if she's a loud Christian woman with tattoos who occasionally drops a F bomb 'cuz that's the only word that will do. Give her a hug. And a kind word. Let her know that even though she's not very good at the submissive dealio, she is doing ok with the human part, the woman part, of this grand gig called life.

Finding My Story

2011-02-28T11:47:00.000-08:00

In the world we live in there are a thousand messages, microstories that pummel the mind day and night. Movies, sitcoms, youtube videos, blog posts, books, conversations, billboard advertisements, newscasts, magazine articles, Sunday sermons, music, education...on and on the list goes, a cacophony of voices shaping our thinking whether we like it or not.

I am taking a media class at Marylhurst this term. It has been a fascinating exploration of the theories surrounding media and society. Did you know that it is a mistaken notion that violence in the media is a cause of more violence in our communities? It has been shown that media violence does not cause more violence. What it does cause is the perception that we are under constant threat of violence. If the news reports primarily the violence happening in the city we live in and if the movies we watch and series we enjoy revolve around murder and mayhem, than it is not a far-fetched idea to understand that we perceive violence as an epidemic. (Obviously in some cultures and nations violence is a daily threat, but for the average American it is not.)

Perception is reality, goes the saying. The messaging we allow to filter our experiences will rule the way we think and thus, the way we behave.

It gets even more interesting when we consider the source of the messaging. If a society or institution promotes an idea as a norm and if the general consensus of the masses is to accept it as the norm, than whether it's fair or just or even common sense, The Idea becomes normative and unchallenged.

For instance, let's take the institutional church's treatment of women. Those in the point positions of messaging in the church have primarily been men. They are the ones who primarily have the influence and power to affect the stories the faithful integrate into the heart and mind. If one is conditioned to accept without question the stories and values of a religion's tradition, then there develops a tendency known in the academic world as hegemony. Wikipedia defines hegemony like this:

the political, economic, ideological or cultural power exerted by a dominant group over other groups. It requires the consent of the majority to keep the dominant group in power. (red my emphasis)

Hegemony (pronounced he-jeh-moh-nee) is manifested in all kinds of ways, such as back in the day when there were White Only theaters and drinking fountains in some parts of the American South. Even though it was unjust the majority of society consented to it by obeying it. Another example of hegemony is war. Though the majority of a nation may reject war on ethical and moral grounds, they consent to it by virtue of the powers that be declaring war.

In the same way women are subjected to hegemony by consenting to allow it to continue in the institution known as The Church. Women allow it - and so do their men - by consenting through resignation, silence, acquiescence, and agreement. The Church, by and large, says women may not have the same degree of influence as men since the Bible has been interpreted to message this for as far back as anyone can remember. It is normative. People of all kinds of creeds, socioeconomic status, education, etc... passively sit and listen to sermons about women needing to submit and let the men lead for this the divine order of things according to the bible. Women who accept from those in power messaging us to remain submissive (for this is a high quality in a Christ honoring woman) unknowingly perpetuate the oppression of being less than.

A number of years ago a woman I know was deeply involved in the swirl of religious activity at her church. She had a reputation for her piety and enjoyed a certain amount of admiration from some of the most prominent members of her faith community. One day one of the pastoral staff paid her what she considered a high compliment. "All the pastors at this church regard you with high respect because of your submission."

The woman glowed with happiness as she was praised and affirmed. She wanted so much to be a good and proper Christian woman. This pastor -- kind-hearted as he may have been -- reinforced the hegemonic message that Women Are To Submit to Their Men Who Must Lead. What troubles me the most, though, is not his misplaced words of praise, but rather her misplaced sense of accomplishment. This is a textbook example of hegemony, of those in power ruling over the majority through consent. The story continues to be the same story, generation after generation, because we allow it to be so.

If a woman or a man begins to speak up in opposition to this story they are often portrayed as straying from biblical truth and by default, God's Divine Order of Things. Who can argue with God? This is the outrage, the absurdity, in my opinion, of the hegemonic system of inequity towards women what is meant to be the kingdom of God. Apparently the king of this kingdom demeans half the citizens to the back of the bus based on gender. Merit and talent, gifting and passion are not qualities that make any difference. It's a little chromosome that determines your status in his kingdom.

A teenage girl once sobbed in shame as she revealed that she felt a stirring to pursue pastoral training after high school. Her whole life she had heard the story, the messaging, that women submit and men lead. She heard it in the way the people of her church treated one another, for every female Sunday school teacher she had and every male elder and pastor listed in the church bulletin. She saw it in her home, in the way her mom deferred to her father for significant decision making. So when the desire to be a pastor emerged from her young, tender heart it spun her out. It did not match the story she knew.

"What's wrong with me?" she cried as she revealed this desire as if confessing a sexual misstep. "Girls can't be pastors!" We talked long and hard about other points of view concerning women and the pulpit. She had not allowed herself to even think about such possibility since this would defy biblical teaching about God's divine order. She was locked up, heart and soul, in a hegemonic worldview that threatened to hold hostage her mind, self-image and future vocation. It would take an inner revolution for her to decide to break rank with tradition and announce her intention to go to seminary.

Eventually, however, she succumbed to the pressure of keeping the status quo. She buried deep her perverted desire to be a pastor, and in doing so, buried a part of herself. The teenage girl grew to be a woman who was resigned to her fate to serve someone else's dream.

I tried to help her change her story. I really did. But in the end, she is the one who has to decide which way to turn the page. It still weighs heavy on my heart that she stopped turning the pages at all.

It may not seem very consequential, this idea of women and power and influence in religious societies, especially in the West. Are not women enjoying a greater degree of privilege and voice than ever before?

Yes and no. It is true that there is much that has been discarded in many faith denominations in regard to women. I maintain, though, that it has been precursory. In other words, that it's a beginning but certainly not the end. It's not enough when women still look to men to give us influence or our say on the platform. Women have relegated their permission to speak and be heard to men. We wait for men to hand us the mic or invite us to the pulpit. We accept the inequity of how a woman is assigned subservience in the name of her god.

Women like me have chosen to close the book just like the young teenage girl. I am part of the problem. It is Me. I rant and rave about the injustice of it all. I complain with my women friends around kitchen tables about the unfairness of the good ole' boys club with their No Girls Allowed sign hanging on the tree house door. We have been barking up the wrong tree.

It's long overdue to burn the f*cker down.

Black Dog Shame

2011-02-15T23:12:00.000-08:00

As a lover of all things certain, I wanted faith to work like an epidural; to numb the pain of vulnerability. As it turned out, my faith ended up being more like a midwife - a nurturing partner who leans into the discomfort with me and whispers "push" and "breathe." Faith didn't make my life less vulnerable or comfortable, it simply offered to travel with me through the uncertainty. Brene Brown, Ordinary Courage

For much of my Xtian life I have chased after the magic prayer that would make my broken soul right as rain. There was inside of me an insistence that if I just believed the right things in the right way and with just the right amount of passion and fervor there would come a breakthrough from the pain of Being Me.

I'm not sure why self-loathing and it's cousin self-contempt have chosen to be my companions since I was a child. But there they've been, year after year, prowling around my life like a couple of black dogs looking for a fight. Trouble is, I thought the only way to get rid of them was to overpower them with self-help formulas and religious rituals. I've done prayed it up and down and inside out and had demons cast out of me and the Holy Spirit cast into me...yet there they stay, those two black dogs staring me down with the cocky air of undefeat.

But now here I am, pushing past the fourth decade of my life. I don't feed those dogs as much as I used to. (no wonder they've hung around so long. I fed 'em real good!) I've been learning there's a whole 'nother way to confront them, these beasts of shame and uncertainty, for that is what they are, their true nature. The self-loathing and contempt is the game face; the subtext for why these black dogs ever showed up in the first place has to do with the universal human condition known as Shame. That's a strong emotion that will drive a woman insane with psychic pain or a grown man to drink and use so as to numb it out. Shame has a power few can match. My best day in my best dress with my hair behaving and me feeling all pretty and gussied up can be undone in a moment by a surprise visit from Shame. That is one black dog that won't be ignored.

I thought these black dogs could be cast out like evil spirits. Their black energy could be exorcised with candles and spells, Christian, pagan or otherwise. For many years I have practiced my craft of faith attempting to put those dogs on the run. Instead, they've had me on the run. On the run from Being Me.

A new voice has managed to serendipitously come into my life. Meet Brene Brown, Dr. Brene Brown. Dr Brown, or Brene as I'm already calling her (pronounced Bruh-nay) is a sociology professor in Texas. She has a PhD and studied shame and vulnerability for ten years. She is a leading expert on what shame is, how it affects people, and how to tango with it. According to Brene, shame cannot be exorcised like a demon. She has learned from all her research that shame is a universal feeling deeply embedded in the human condition. We can't undo it. But...and this is a very important but... we can learn to develop what she calls shame resilience.

The primary way for a woman like me, she writes, to develop a resilience to having those black dogs prowl me into a corner of shame and self-contempt, is to expose it. Speak it outloud. Be Vulnerable. Spoken to the right person, a moment of shame shrivels up under the light of empathy. Human empathy, that miraculous transaction when one human being truly enters the story of another and does so without judgment or fixes, is the powerful antidote to keeping the black dogs of shame on a shorter leash.

Like last week. I said something stupid to a total stranger. Only later did I realize how inappropriate my words were. The heat of the shame, that black dog's breath, crept inside my chest and gripped me in it's jaws. I could hardly breathe. How could I be so thoughtless, so uncouth, so....retarded! The beautiful day I had been enjoying up to that point became overshadowed with dark storm clouds conjured up by shame.

But then I thought I would try it. I would tell somebody about it, even though it was embarrassing. I saw a friend, a trustworthy woman with a kind way. I told her my sad tale and she busted out laughing. "Oh Pam, you know how many times I've said something like that?" Suddenly my world was made right. The black dog crept away and the sun came out to shine on me again. A small example, but a great feeling of not having to be commanded by shame anymore. I can be free to Be Me and it doesn't need to involve a massive 40-days of fasting and praying. The miracle of God's love dissipating shame is in the telling of it to another human being. I think the Good Book describes it as Love One Another.

Brene says it best in her blog. I'll leave you with that and hope you find people around you to Be You with all your dogs and mess-ups. That's the kind of magic prayer I'm looking for these days.

My faith is most alive when I'm willing to be vulnerable and open to connection - with myself, my family, my friends, and even with strangers. As Martin Buber wrote: “When two people relate to each other authentically and humanly, God is the electricity that surges between them."

Taking Back God: American Women Rising Up for Religious Equality (A Book Review)

2011-02-15T14:00:00.000-08:00

One of the things I love about finally being a university student is visiting the campus library. OMG. Non-fiction books galore. My favorite genre, books on religion, philosophy, anthropology, all kinds of fascinating subject matters with barely a fluff title in sight. I actually try not to browse when I'm there as I have enough assigned reading to keep me occupied, plus the other titles that tend to find their way home to me. I usually go to the library to study before class. So it was unusual that this book caught my eye. The title alone hooked me, or rather, the sub-title,

American Women Rising Up for Religious Equality

Written by author Leora Tanenbaum, this book provides an examination of religious inequities that goes beyond the borders of evangelicalism in 21st century America. Tanenbaum gives us a view of what women negotiate within the men's world of power in Western Islamic circles, American Catholic women, and Jewish women. In other words, she takes a look at the lives of women within the monotheistic spiritual traditions found in the United States. In other words, the women of The Book.

I haven't read the entire book. As I've said, I have competing titles with class work...but I headed straight into chapter four which addresses the plight of Evangelical women, a tribe I am very familiar with as it is the tribe I hail from.

She begins this chapter recounting a visit she had a Bible study where the trained seminarians sought to liberate Bible-loving Christ followers with a new perspective on those troublesome Paulist texts that make God sound like a man-favoring women-must-be-treated-as-less kind of Deity. No, says the seminarians Tanenbaum spoke to.

"People might be surprised that the very instrument that has been used for oppression - interpretation of the Bible - can also be the source of liberation," says Alena Amato Ruggerio, a professor of communication at Southern Oregon University.

She goes on to deftly unpack the worldview of patriarchy that is prevalent in mainstream Christianity with anecdotal examples as well as solid journalism. Such as the woman she interviewed who was a typical Evangelical Christian woman except that she questions the idea of what is known in theology as "male headship." This is Christianese which sugarcoats the notion that Men Lead, women follow as this is God's divine order of things. End of story. The author, who herself is Jewish, accurately portrays the obstacles for women for true equity within the Christian church, such as access to all positions of spiritual leadership as well as equal footing in all relationships, whether in the home or in the ministry. (We are all meant to serve and lead in different spheres., in my opinion.) The woman in this example well expressed the tension she bucked up against not only with others, but also with herself:

"If God is real and God created me, then God created me with this personality in order for me to take a leadership role," she protests. "I'm called to be a leader in certain situations, and if it's my personality to step into that role, then I should do it rather than sit back and submit. I think God created me this way for a reason, and it's not an accident that I'm this way, an dit's not something cultural tha thappened to me to make me this way and that therefore I shouldn't be this way. So I've come to the conclusion that a lot of people, including myself, just don't understand what the bible is saying." (page 94)

Tanenbaum doesn't overly emphasize the Evanglical Christian tradition. That would be me, for this is the tribe I am most familiar with. She takes a hard look at her own tribe of Judaism with the fitting chapter title, God Gave the Torah to Jewish Women, Too. But I was especially struck with the parallel struggles of American Muslim women. Their struggle for equality is nearly identical to Evangelical women. The parsing and bickering over meanings of passages and words written eons ago keeps much of the debate centered on whether or not men and women can pray in the same room side by side. I was pleased Tanenbaum quoted Ingrid Mattson, an Islamic leader in America and the first woman president of the Islamic Society of North America. ( I had a chance to hear her speak in Seattle a couple of years ago through an event with Off the Map. )

So even though I haven't exhaustively read this book from cover to cover, I highly recommend it for those scholars and thinkers, writers and activists who are not content to continue to ignore the chasm of inequity defended in the name of Yahweh, Allah and Jesus. The chapter on language, women and worship alone is worth the weight of this book where the author examines the exclusionary tenor of sacred writing when it comes to women. Just this morning I was reviewing some note taking I began last year of looking closely at the gospels and the mention of women. It is most definitely a male-dominated document. There is a lot more to say about that, but I will leave it there and encourage you to get this book and read it...and then act on it in whatever way would make sense for the tradition you find yourself in.