Herstory – Page 32 – Feminism and Religion

The Computer Man by Sara Wright

When he left, I couldn’t believe it was over. All my anxiety and fear, all my apologies for being so ‘stupid’ about computers, all the negative experiences with tech people had been turned upside down.

Thirty years of internalized shame sloughed off skin after skin. I was finally free of patronizing tech abuse for the first time in my life. And Stan had just picked up a new client! If I had any problem in the future all I had to do was to contact him. Oh, such relief! That his prices were so reasonable was another welcome aspect of this first exchange.

OMÓS DO SINÉAD O’Connor by Rev. Nóirín Ní Riain

Sinéad contacted me for the first time in 1995 asking me if I would teach her some Gregorian Chant. I was living in Glenstal Abbey at the time and she came to my home to spend a few days with me.

I was working on a doctorate then on the Sound of God and we had great conversations in between moments of teaching and at meal times. She was an extraordinary student. Sing her a phrase and she had it immediately; sing to her an entire chant, no notes taken, but she could sing it straight back to you. She loved Gregorian chant and in the afternoons, we would steal into the church and try out the morning’s learnings. One evening in particular I shall never forget. We went up to Compline – Night Prayer at 8.35pm. Afterwards, one of the community, Br. Ciarán, came down to us and Sinéad asked him if she could sing the hymn which the community had just sung once the monks had left. She did and indeed it became her favourite encore at many concerts she gave at that time.

Free Write at the Turning of the Wheel by Sara Wright

Pink plastic barbies in a pink plastic world they said it was great it was garbage insulting every feminist I know – as for ecofeminism – well it must be dead am i dead too? – how could an earth lover survive in a plastic world with plastic pink barbies I barely made two hours? -oh yes a few colors they had to didn’t they? And the hourglass figures dominated the dolls that tip over because they are so tall even without high heels – an insane movie full of patriarchal lies and this is our culture – constructed out of lies – i left in confusion – people i trusted said a “must see” – turns out one, a professor that recommended it hadn’t seen it – had been seduced by reviews – who doesn’t believe the new york times besides me ?– thick humidity greeted me at the door after the pink charade – oh something alive captures me from a ten inch tree – two rosy apples ignite a soul dead corpse – yet another torrential downpour blurred my

Curiosity by Beth Bartlett

In my last post I mentioned the tale of Prometheus who stole fire from the gods. Zeus’s punishment of eternal torture was not enough to avenge the offense.[i] In addition, Zeus punished the entire human race by sending the first woman, Pandora. Pandora is a woman of “all gifts,” one of which is the curiosity that drives Pandora to open the forbidden jar, unleashing evils and miseries into the world. Woman as punishment, as the bringer of evil and misery — these themes have shaped the western view of women for millennia.

Elixir: In the Valley at the End of Time by Kapka Kassabova, Book review by Laura Shannon

Kapka Kassabova is an award-winning author of poetry, fiction and nonfiction, born in Bulgaria and now living in the Scottish Highlands. Her newest work of narrative nonfiction, Elixir, soars with the luminous prose and unflinching honesty we have come to expect from this brilliantly gifted writer.

Elixir is an extraordinary, profoundly moving book. The moment I finished reading it, I began again from the beginning, pausing only to order multiple copies for friends. Like Robin Wall Kimmerer in Braiding Sweetgrass, Kassabova effortlessly integrates science and the sacred, addressing historical, ecological, and personal trauma with clarity, compassion, and hope. Elixir combines memoir, travel, history, ethnography, botany, philosophy, spirituality, eco-psychology, traditional Chinese medicine, and even alchemy, in a subtle, sophisticated exploration which defies categorisation.

Inanna’s Sisters, by Molly M. Remer

Sometimes I feel like my own Ninshubur.
I set up a lamentation in the street.
I call my own name,
beat the drum
to lead myself back home,
prepare the temple
for my own arrival.
I will not give up on myself,
will not abandon my own wholeness,
I refuse to sacrifice my Self.
I will not stay in the underworld forever.
We all need people in our lives who will say:
No, this will not do.
I’m coming after you.
I will help you to crawl back up,
back out, back through.
I will reach out to you.
I will boost you up.
I will rise with you into becoming.
You will not stay behind defeated
and alone so long as I,
your Ninshubur,
draw breath.
I will beat the drum for you.
I will call your name.
You are not alone.
Come back to me.
I see your power
and your strength.
I hear your longing.
Return,
return,
return.

I first met Inanna in the firelit darkness of a midwifery retreat in central Missouri. Toddler son at my breast, I watched, spellbound, as the charismatic, dark-haired midwife recounted the tale of Inanna’s descent into the underworld, through the seven gates we traveled, to the seat of our own wounding and our own medicine.

Image and Likeness by Dale Allen

I attended a beautiful women’s circle to celebrate my dear friend Gloria’s birthday recently. Each woman was invited to bring a sharing for Gloria – a poem, reflection, oracle card, song or dance – whatever felt right. Each sharing that day was not only a gift to Gloria, but to each of us.

I had met Gloria during the period of my life when I had written a play titled, “Dancers of the Dawn,” with a cast of seven women of different ages, shapes, sizes and colors. The play featured original music, drummers, myth, history, dance, even comedy for a sumptuous experience of the sacred feminine emerging in modern women. Gloria was a part of the women’s sacred circles that we co-created during that time – circles that continued for a decade and still retain heart-connections today.

Ancient Her-Story by Annelinde Metzner

Lately I’ve been rereading and refreshing myself with important books of the Great Goddess. Three books at a time! I would switch off, chapter by chapter, among When God Was a Woman by Merlin Stone, When the Drummers Were Women by Layne Redmond, and one that had remained overlooked on my shelf, Sanctuaries of the Goddess, The Sacred Landscapes and Objects, by Peg Streep (1994.) I’ve been immersed in the knowledge of 30,000 years of honoring and worship of women’s bodies and the Great Goddess. When I got to Chapter 7 of Peg Streep’s well-researched book, “The Goddess at the Peak: Crete,” I was blown away with the evidence we still have, in art, architecture, religion and culture, of a highly advanced society, full of life and joy, where women were central to all life. With my mind, my heart, my intuition and my sense of past lives, I’ve attempted to place myself there, before any influence of patriarchy.

Abundant Life Is for Women, Too by Liz Cooledge Jenkins

I lived in East Palo Alto, CA, for two years in my mid-twenties. During the first year, a man was killed down the street from my apartment building, in the parking lot of the building where my friends lived. I walked through that parking lot often, as a shortcut back to my own place from wherever I could find street parking. I didn’t know the man, but I knew people who knew him. His death was both disturbing and tragic. The neighborhood mourned. My friends and I got together and wrote a prayer for our community. The murder changed my experience of living there.

The World Needs More Feminist Books…And Why You Should Write One of Them by Dr. Angela Yarber

I believe more women—and particularly queer and/or BIPOC women—deserve to publish books. Let me explain why.

It was my first year of seminary. After majoring in religion in undergrad, I had a decent handle on feminist theology, but I hadn’t yet reconciled my strong, feminist upbringing with the faith tradition that held my ordination in their patriarchal hands. A seminary friend recommended I read Sue Monk Kidd’s Dance of the Dissident Daughter and everything changed.

This was twenty years ago. That one book helped me internalize the intersectional feminist theory that had always dwelled outside of me. Decades later, I find myself teaching in my own seminary classrooms and mentoring DMin students, requiring that same text, along with one of my own books, Queering the American Dream, and Christena Cleveland’s God is a Black Woman when discussing the power of feminist memoir in religious leadership.