Spirituality – Page 27 – Feminism and Religion

The Winding Road of Life by Jameelah X. Medina

A while back my family and I went up to the mountains to Lake Arrowhead Village. My metaphorical thinking took me on a fantastic mental voyage replicating our way up the mountain. I give thanks to Allah for the power of thought and imagery.

As we ascended the mountain getting closer and closer to Lake Arrowhead Village, that winding road mirrored the road of life, the life of a Muslim, my life.

Our lives are like winding roads, bending left and right, vacillating between high and low levels of faith , right and wrong, sin and repentance, over-consumption and charity, animalistic and angelic, ignorance and knowledge, pride and humility, blessings and trials, and the small and large defeats and victories in battles with our nafs [ego].

Yes, yes, I know; that road we took was just a road, but the symbolism cannot be denied. That road is like the road of belief, the road of knowledge, the road of love, the road of sabr [patient perseverance], the road of success, essentially, the sirat al-mustaqim, the straight path, though there is nothing physically straight about it. Continue reading “The Winding Road of Life by Jameelah X. Medina”

Beyond Clenched Teeth: Reflections on Forgiveness by Elizabeth Cunningham

“I forgive you.”

These words make my teeth buzz like the sound of chalk squeaking on a blackboard. I can vividly recall my sister and myself, as children, saying these words through clenched teeth. Not only were we Christians, we were the minister’s daughters. We had no choice. The only other words I hated as much: “I’m sorry,” also forced through clenched teeth.

Oddly enough I cannot recall my older brother being told to ask my forgiveness when he and his friend pummeled me. That fell into the category of: “you egged them on.” My mother did used to say of my brother, mournfully and anxiously: “he doesn’t know his own strength.” Which meant: it isn’t his fault that he hurt you. But my sister and I were supposed to be nice to each other. Continue reading “Beyond Clenched Teeth: Reflections on Forgiveness by Elizabeth Cunningham”

Why I Need the Goddess by Judith Shaw

I have been drawn to the Goddess for a variety of reasons. Initially, as a young woman, She spoke to me of my own power, self-worth, self-determination and my/every woman’s inherent beauty. She lent Her hand to my emerging sense of independence from male domination.

Over the years my experience of Goddess deepened. At times I feel Her as manifest in me and as a symbol of my own power. At other times She is who I pray to for both personal and community help.

Continue reading “Why I Need the Goddess by Judith Shaw”

Winter Solstice – When Darkness Nurtures Light by Judith Shaw

In the Northern Hemisphere Winter Solstice, usually December 21, heralds both the time of deepest darkness and the beginning of the return to light. It is a liminal day offering a transformation from darkness to light.

In the mid-latitudes in the ten days after the winter solstice the hours of sunlight increase by only a few seconds up to a minute or so. The world slows down allowing a time to relish the quiet of long nights and the inspiration of winter dreams.

Continue reading “Winter Solstice – When Darkness Nurtures Light by Judith Shaw”

Painting Sappho by Angela Yarber

“Someone, I say, will remember us in the future,” she once wrote. To my knowledge, she was never dubbed a prophet. A muse, yes. A romantic, perhaps. But never a prophet, rarely holy, and nary an icon. Until now. Hailed as one of the best Greek lyric poets, many have tried to forget her, or at least the more provocative elements of her life. The passionate poet Sappho was born on the island of Lesbos around 620 BCE (sometime between 630-612 BCE). The word lesbian stems from the place of her birth and her name is the origin of the word sapphic, though most scholars assert that little is known of her actual life and that the majority of her poetry is not autobiographical. Yet her lyric poetry speaks of love for both sexes and myriad people.

What is more, the idea of homo and heterosexuality are not transhistorical essences, but instead are relatively recent socio-historical constructs. To say that there were strict sexual binaries in the ancient world in which Sappho lived would be an anachronism. Sexuality was much more fluid. Not surprisingly, many scholars have tried to name and claim male lovers for Sappho, a heteronormative attempt to erase her fluid sexuality, her hope to be remembered in the future dashed, demeaned, forgotten. In fact, during the Victorian Era, many asserted that Sappho was the headmistress of a girls’ school, another attempt to straighten out her memory, her poetry, her love. Continue reading “Painting Sappho by Angela Yarber”

How I Loved Myself through Charismatic Worship by Andreea Nica

Breaking up with your first love can be an excruciating process; especially when it happens to be completely entangled with your being. God was my first love and he stayed for a long while. We had many exhilarating times together, particularly within the branch of Christianity I was raised in: Pentecostalism. I fell in love with God when I uttered his divine language at 13 years of age.

Currently, I’m writing my memoir and narrative nonfiction, Freeligious ™, for which I explore the scientific explanations of my charismatic experiences in the church, which inevitably led to a closer attachment to God. In the Pentecostal church, we were encouraged to connect with God through supernatural phenomena.

Examples include: speaking in tongues (glossolalia), healings, trances (drunk in the holy spirit), visions (hallucinations), prophetic messages (delusions), rebuking evil spirits (paranoia), and many more god-friendly activities. While some of my church peers and most outsiders found the charismatic ordeal to be phantasmical and plain ol’ crazy, I became enchanted by the initiation. The initiation process was quite simple really. As believers in Christ, we must receive the baptism of the holy spirit which usually took the form of speaking in tongues, clinically known as glossolalia. Continue reading “How I Loved Myself through Charismatic Worship by Andreea Nica”

Let’s Celebrate the Holiday Shopping Season by Barbara Ardinger

We’ve recently celebrated Thanksgiving, when I hope that, like me, you gave thanks to the deity of your choice for the wise and thoughty blogs we’ve been reading on this site. Now we’re well into the holiday season, which seems (at least in the malls) to start earlier every year. No matter what you call the December holiday, its origin lies in the winter solstice, which is the tipping point of the year’s dark season. The solar gods—Adonis, Amon-Ra, Apollo, Attis, Baal, Horus, Jesus the Christ, Lugh, Marduk, Mithra, Shamash, Sol Invictus, and the rest—are born or reborn now. These are the gods who live for a season or a year in great honor, after which they’re sacrificed, spend a season underground, and are then reborn. This happens every year at the winter solstice. (Just so you know: if Jesus was a real man, he was probably born in the spring or fall between 7 and 4 B.C.E. In 354 C.E., Bishop Liberius of Rome moved his official birth date to December 25 to match the birth date of the popular Roman god Mithra.)

Also born and reborn at the winter solstice is the light itself, the solar light and the temple light, too. We can think of the reborn light as literal light—a lamp in a temple that burns for eight days when it has fuel for only one—or metaphorical light, that is, learning, wisdom, and generosity. Hanukkah (which usually comes in December but which coincided with Thanksgiving this year) embraces both literal and metaphorical light. Continue reading “Let’s Celebrate the Holiday Shopping Season by Barbara Ardinger”

A Thanksgiving Story by Barbara Ardinger

A Turkey Tail Tale

Once upon a time, oh, maybe five hundred years ago, there lived a little girl and her brother in a small village at the foot of a high, flat hill, on the crown of which stood the palace of the Prince and Princess and the large city that surrounded the palace. The two children were practically orphans. This was because their ethereally beautiful mother had died as the result of the misapprehension of an impetuous unicorn, and their father, who was a printer, had to frequently leave their little cottage and climb the hill. This was because no one in the village knew that printing had recently been invented, so, slinging his incunabula and foul copies across his back, the printer had to leave his sub-urban village and climb the hill to the city and the palace to secure printing work. Fortunately, the Prince employed a highly literate and prolific dwarf who was always composing epic tales that just called out to be printed and preserved in folio editions with highly decorated covers. The printer’s two children were thus neglected and often hungry; they would, in fact, have starved if not for the generous neighbor women who took pity on them and fed and washed them and patched their clothes at least once every seven days.

When the printer came down from the city one day at the beginning of summer, he was accompanied by a large, loud woman and her two young, loud daughters. “Children,” he said, “this is your new stepmother. And your new stepsisters.” The woman and her daughters took one look at the grubby children and the grubbier hovel (not to mention the cluttered printing room next to it) and raised their noses into the air. This printer, said the woman to herself, promised me a nice cottage! I got the distinct impression that he was rich! Or at least well-off and able to provide good dowries for my daughters. And just look at this! I don’t think my daughters and myself will be able to bear such wretched surroundings. But all she said out loud was, “Well, well, well. Two children. How nice.” But her two daughters pointed at the children and laughed at them. “Why are you even here?” they shouted. “You belong in a cave in the woods with the other filthy wild animals!” Continue reading “A Thanksgiving Story by Barbara Ardinger”

IS IT ESSENTIALIST TO SPEAK OF EARTH AS OUR MOTHER? by Carol P. Christ

The charge of “essentialism” has become equivalent to the “kiss of death” in recent feminist discussions. In this context it is taboo to speak of Mother Earth. Yet, I would argue there are good reasons for speaking of Mother Earth that do not add up to essentialism. What if the values associated with motherhood are viewed as the highest values? What if the image of Mother Earth encourages all of us to recognize the gift of life and to share the gifts we have been given with others?

For those not familiar with the “essentialism” debate in feminist theory, it might be useful to define “essentialism.” In philosophy, essentialism is the idea that every “thing” has an “essence” which defines it. In its pure form, essentialism is a by-product of Platonic “idealism” which states, for example, that the “idea” of table is prior to every actual table and that every actual table is an embodiment of the idea of table.

Aristotle disagreed with the Platonic view “way back then,” arguing that the idea of what a table is can be inferred from actual tables, and so on for every “thing.” There is no need for an idea to exist prior to the existence of anything. Rather ideas help us to name and categorize existing things. In the 20^th century “existentialism” again challenged “essentialism,” asserting that “existence precedes essence.” Existentialism argued that free individuals are defined by what they do, not by what they “are” prior to or apart from their actions.

When Whitehead said that all western philosophy can be understood as a footnote to Plato, he was referring in part to disagreements among philosophers about the relationship of ideas to things and existence to essence.

In the context of feminist theory, the charge of “essentialism” is used to criticize theories which speak of woman as opposed to man or feminine as opposed to masculine. Continue reading “IS IT ESSENTIALIST TO SPEAK OF EARTH AS OUR MOTHER? by Carol P. Christ”

Who Am I Under Oppression? By Deanne Quarrie

In a class I am taking we were asked to journal with these questions: Ask yourself who are you in the inner voice that does not speak in the world around you or which you have worked tirelessly to bring into fruition in your life. Who are you that has felt suppressed and suffocated?

I sometimes think that I do not know who I am anymore. Life teaches us that it is those outside of ourselves who determine our value to society. We are given love and support (if we are lucky) by our parents as children. Our value is determined by how much time and attention they give us. If we get a lot, we grow up confident in ourselves trusting our way through life. When we attend school our value is determined by the effort we put into our studies, the grades we receive and the extracurricular activities we take part in and finally by the friends we choose. Continue reading “Who Am I Under Oppression? By Deanne Quarrie”