Guest Contributor

In My End: My Beginning by Margot Van Sluytman

In my end is my beginning.
T. S. Eliot

This year two colleagues of mine died. And my heart roared. Tears aplenty accompanied me. Poet that I am. Word-lover. Image-seeker. Meaning-making-hound-dog. Doggedly seeking a place to plant myself so that the ache of these losses within the crucible in which I find myself grounded, honed, chiselled, challenged, challenging, writing, wording, rewording, sculpting relationship with my students, who are too my teachers, is soothed. By tiny shards. Soothed. And death finds home everywhere. In each nook. Cranny. Crevice. Concreted crenellation or grassy llano, there she be.

What research, I ask myself, can we do when the heart fails to cease its eking, leaking ache, and crushing sorrow? What academic skill need we birth, resurrect, divine in order to erase this over-whelming tsunami of acknowledging our finitude? Where to look? What book? What paper? What journal? To what podcast need we creep, crawl, scurry, bound, fling ourselves in order to quell brutal, blistering despair? Self-immolation cannot work, for too, too many teeming tears douse the flames.

The Case for Women’s Visionary Films by Freia Serafina

Power in the woods.
Creation of artist Jym Davis.

As a film history professor, I am intimately aware that women’s representation on screen is historically lacking. While preparing to teach a new course, I found myself hard-pressed to uncover significant academic discourse that highlights the divine feminine that doesn’t solely live in the realm of a Christian worldview. Indeed, film scholar Tenzen Eaghll points out that much of the existing scholarship from the past 100 years “all tend to equate religion with Christian theology in some manner, and … focus[es] narrowly upon Christian themes such as Jesus, salvation, faith, etc.” He states that scholars of religion and film essentialize all religion as Christianity, and that many scholars of cinema additionally speak of religion as an all-encompassing umbrella organization giving us a condensed notion of a shared theological worldview, devoid of nuance and alternate meaning. Eaghll goes on to argue, as I do, for a more critical approach to the study of film that requires us to pay closer attention to how “representations of religion in film conceal issues of race, class, gender, colonialism, secularism, and capitalism – common themes in ideological critique – as well as notions of origin, authenticity, narrative, violence, and identity.” I believe the solution lays in the inclusion of women’s visionary films.

Who Speaks Into Your Life by Michelle Bodle

An occupational hazard for a woman in a religious setting is having people try to claim authority to speak into my life that they simply do not have. Two recent examples were so blatant that they caused me to pause and reflect on the underlying dynamics that led to these unrealistic expectations.

In the first event, I was out with a friend for coffee, and someone from her congregation approached. They wanted to pray for an upcoming service, but then, during the prayer, he started to pray against the “confusion” at our table. His sudden praying against this “confusion” is notable in that it only arose after my colleague introduced me as the lead pastor at a church (not an associate) in a denomination where this particular gentleman’s church broke off. After the prayer ended, he tried to explain his “prophetic gift” and how he arrived at praying against any confusion, which was tied to his own confusion during the prayer. However, the truth was, there wasn’t any, and he thought he had authority, during prayer, to speak into my life in a way that he did not.

Priestesses of the Shtetl? The Jewish Women Spiritual Leaders of Eastern Europe by Annabel Gottfried Cohen

‘Four thousand years ago, in the ancient Near East, women were poets, drummers, scholars, dancers, healers, prophets and keepers of sacred space.’ In The Hebrew Priestess (2015), Rabbi Jill Hammer argues that as the Israelite cult became more centralised, leadership roles were restricted to men and women’s spiritual leadership was gradually repressed. Yet, as Hammer and co-author Taya Shere demonstrate, ‘the remnants of the priestesshood remain for those who seek them out.’ Combining a close reading of biblical and rabbinic texts, alongside other contemporary sources and archaeological evidence, Hammer has identified thirteen models or netivot of feminine Jewish leadership, which she argues persisted, albeit in altered and marginalised forms, into the medieval, early modern and even modern periods. My own research supports these conclusions, suggesting that Hammer’s netivot framework provides a useful lens by which to better understand Jewish women’s traditions that, in a patriarchal culture, have often been marginalised.

Women’s Spirituality in the Film Classroom by Freia Serafina

Freia presenting at Princeton Theological Seminary for the American Academy of Religion, Regional Conference

Recently tasked with the co-creation of a film ethics course, I thought extensively about what material would best serve film acting students in a New York City Conservatory. I wanted to include films that would focus on diversity, story inclusivity, and encourage them to wonder if what they saw on screen impacted or influenced their reality. In a course centered on ethics, religion and spirituality tend to enter the conversation. This entrance provided me with the opportunity to introduce a plethora of women’s visionary films that would be used to examine the spiritual lives of women and how religion and spirituality impact the film narrative. Women’s visionary films can be defined as films that are “written, directed, and/or produced primarily by women and share women’s vision of realities. The sacred themes of these films, in diverse cultural contexts, engage women’s self-reflective use of the arts to convey greater insight into the colors, shapes, emotions, and spirituality of women’s lives—women’s imagination, suffering, hopes, beliefs, and dreams.” (Mara Keller, 2018)

MATILDA JOSLYN GAGE: IN HER NAME, AMERICAN WOMAN WRITER AND ACTIVIST (1826-1898), part 2 by Maria Dintino

part 1 appeared yesterday

Leila Brammer in her book Excluded from Suffrage History: Matilda Joslyn Gage, Nineteenth-Century American Feminist, explains the long-term impact of the dismissal of Gage:

“The loss of Matlida Joslyn Gage from the history of the woman suffrage movement and her ideas from the intellectual history of feminism speaks to the influence of exclusionary processes in social movements as well as their unfortunate consequences…we must remember that Joslyn Gage was intricately involved in the movement, wrote in newspapers and magazines, and published a book, but all these activities and her significant feminist thought had to be re-created and rediscovered nearly a century later”(120).

MATILDA JOSLYN GAGE: IN HER NAME, AMERICAN WOMAN WRITER AND ACTIVIST (1826-1898), part 1 by Maria Dintino

Moderator’s Note: We are pleased to announce that we have formed a co-operation with The Nasty Women Writers Project, a site dedicated to highlighting and amplifying the voices and visions of powerful women. The site was founded by sisters Theresa and Maria Dintino. To quote Theresa, “by doing this work we are expanding our own writer’s web for nourishment and support.” This was originally posted on their site on January 5, 2021. You can see more of their posts here.

A few weeks back, I came upon a term I had not heard before, the ‘Matilda Effect’. It’s defined as: a bias against acknowledging the achievements of those women scientists whose work is attributed to their male colleagues (Wikipedia). This term was coined by science historian Margaret W. Rossiter in 1993, in her essay The ~~Matthew~~ Matilda Effect in Science.

The Matthew Effect, labeled in 1948 and credited to Robert K Merton, and later to Harriet Zuckerman as well, refers to the way that: eminent scientists will often get more credit than a comparatively unknown researcher, even if their work is similar; it also means that credit will usually be given to researchers who are already famous (Wikipedia).

Bible Believing Church Sign by Michelle Bodle

A dear colleague is retiring from ministry this year. As I often do at times of celebration, I think about the most meaningful conversations, questions, and impact that person has offered my life. As I was thinking of this colleague in particular, what came to mind was a statement that made to him that sparked a conversation that has been ongoing between us for almost a decade: “That church is not for me.”

My friend talked about driving his motorcycle down a well-traveled highway and seeing church after church. If you know churches, you know that church signs can be anywhere from enjoyable to problematic. Some church signs try to convey witty messages, but they often miss the mark. Other times, a church speaks of its beliefs or current sermon series, using insider churchy language that does not hit with those whom the sign may be trying to reach in the first place. But church signs do exist for a purpose – to catch the eyes of travelers, which was undoubtedly the case with my colleague.

“I was driving down this road, and the sign that caught my attention said, ‘Bible Believing Church,’ and I’ve been thinking about that repeatedly,” he stated. I replied that I didn’t need to think about that sign; I knew exactly what it was trying to convey—that I was not welcome there.

Cymidei Cymeinfoll by Diane Finkle Perazzo

Carbon and quartz; granite and marble.
Her iron bones were forged in fire.
Her heavy body was carved from stone.

She rose up through black water and rocky soil,
up to the out and around, and born into
the green and growing ground.

As she walked, the ground rumbled and shook.
Rocks rolled and tumbled from the mountains
and Roman roads crumbled where she stepped.

She brought a gift they did not ask for; a vessel
forged in fire from the womb of the earth —
a life-giving cauldron of renewal and birth.

A Feminist Reading of Saint Wilgefortis by Sofia Meskhidze

The legend of Saint Wilgefortis tells the story of a Christian woman who was martyred for her faith. While there are numerous women martyrs in the Christian tradition, Wilgefortis is distinguished by her gender non-conformity. She is often referred to as female Christ^[1] and is almost always depicted with a beard, in a dress, and nailed to a cross. According to the legend, she was a Christian princess from Portugal whose father had promised her to the pagan king of Sicily. Wilgefortis, refusing to marry, prayed all night for God to make her unmarriable and as a result miraculously grew a beard, causing her father’s rage, after which he had her tortured and crucified^[2]. The origin of the legend is thought to be the Volto Santo sculpture in Lucca, Italy, one of the most well-known examples of a clothed crucifix^[3]. Misinterpretation or not, it is without doubt that the legend spread wide and Wilgefortis was in medieval times venerated almost as much as the Virgin Mary. In fact, this popularity displeased the Catholic Church, who actively discouraged it and even removed Wilgefortis from the official list of saints in 1969^[4]. Here I argue for the importance of Wilgefortis to feminist theology, feminist and queer Christians, and her potential as a non-binary/gender non-conforming icon.