Feminism and Religion

Sleeping Solo in a Stone Circle by Eline Kieft

What twenty years of pilgrimage taught me about ritual, place and the slow cultivation of perception…

Ever since my first shamanic training in the UK and in Sweden in 2005, I felt called to seek out prehistoric ritual landscapes. Over the past two decades I slept in Neolithic burial chambers, welcomed the dawn from Bronze Age stone circles, wandered among standing stones on remote islands, and returned to certain places often enough that they became companions on my journey.

In this post I share some images and insights from my latest overnight solo adventure at the sacred site of Machrie Moors, on the Isle of Arran, Scotland, and how my practice of spontaneous immersion grew into a deep way of listening.

Going to Machrie Moor

Unlike the better-known circles of Avebury or Callanish, Machrie rarely appears in guidebooks outside Scotland, and perhaps because of that, it retains a remarkable intimacy. Sheep wander freely between the stones, the wind rolls in over the hills, and the landscape seems content in itself.

Set between sea and the dramatic outline of Goat Fell (which in the morning light appeared like a reclining goddess, see image below), the Machrie Moor complex consists of six stone circles in open moorland. There are also several other smaller menhirs that seem strategically placed like signposts leading into the site, which you can’t see from very far because it’s in a valley.

The Turning of the Wheel by Sara Wright

Today Grace enters. The air is clear, the window open. One hummingbird hovers at my window. Every twig is covered with lush green leaves and every time I gaze into the green, I feel that gratitude pulsing through me – the wonder of being alive. A brilliant green frog inhabits my toad pond. Last night a Datura blossom literally opened before my eyes etched with pale lavender – a moonflower of exquisite fragrance and beauty. If anything, I appreciate these moon blossoms more than I did in the desert.

My bee garden is humming, saturated with crimson, deep orange, yellow, pink, a cacophony of color and sound. I say sound because I also imagine that I can hear the flowers singing their song of abundance, gratitude, and praise to all there is…

The first lemon lily pods are ripening, green apples bend the trees low, grapevines are heavy with new fruit, and columbine spikes are bursting with seed that I scatter between the cracks of stones. Diminutive pale pink poppies keep popping out of a tangle of ajuga runners and fledglings hug the cabin. The forest birds have quieted. Some will soon be migrating but stillness blotted out the forest trills when the deadly smoke first filtered in. Little gold birds flit back and forth, sunbursts singing up the dawn. The Mourning Dove waits for me at twilight…

The Four Dragons by Xochitl Alvizo

I’m writing a book, a constructive intersectional ecclesiology theologically grounded in the Gospel According to Mark. In other words, a book about what it means to be church today, in light of the constellation of challenges it faces, that turns to the earliest gospel as a resource.

Early in the book proposal writing process, one of my editors gave me a creative writing assignment; I’m sharing the prompt with you here along with my response. Sit back and enjoy a short story about four evil dragons and a struggling community that lost its way…

THE PROMPT (1/15/26):

I want you to pretend that you are going to tell the story of your book to a 6 year old heading off to bed for the night. This needs to be a kind of mythic story – Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there lived….. And it has to be short. There needs to be an evil dragon, and a wonderous bi princess who slays the dragon and restores peace to the Kin-dom.

Maiden, Mother, Crone: The Anthology by Madeleine White

Introduction: When I last wrote for Feminism and Religion, I shared some of the experiences that led me to write Maiden Mother Crone, a memoir in verse exploring trauma, motherhood, addiction, recovery, hope and the search for more inclusive forms of spiritual expression.

That personal journey has now opened into a wider conversation.

Maiden Mother Crone: The Anthology, published by Sea Crow Press and co-edited by me and Sea Crow Press founder and publisher Mary Petiet, is the third and culminating volume in my Crossing Places series. Drawn from around 150 submissions and developed through workshops in the UK and internationally, it brings together poets from across cultures, generations and geographies to explore body, memory, land, love, loss, motherhood, daughterhood, ageing, renewal, courage and hope.

While responding to Mary’s questions about the anthology, I found myself returning to Bosorka, a statue I encountered recently in Bratislava. Created in memory of the women and men persecuted and killed after being accused of witchcraft, she seemed to embody many of the questions at the heart of the collection: whose voices are heard, whose experiences are mistrusted or erased, and how poetry and storytelling can help us remember, bear witness and create connection.

Legacy of Carol P. Christ: Anne Hutchinson, America’s First Feminist Theologian: 1591-1643

This was originally posted on Oct 20 2014

“She had rather been a husband than a wife; and a preacher than a hearer; and a magistrate than a subject.” Reverend Hugh Peter of Salem

Anne Hutchinson was banished from the Massachusetts Bay Colony for heresy in 1637 and excommunicated from the Puritan Church of Boston in 1638. Her banishment came just three years after she, her husband, and eleven living children arrived in America seeking the freedom to practice their religion as they saw fit. Governor Michael Dukakis pardoned her in 1987. Historian Howard Zinn called her a true American hero.

I managed to get through graduate school in Religious Studies without ever having studied the theology of Anne Hutchinson,* though I vaguely remember references (probably with smirks of disapproval) to the “Antinomian Controversy” which is associated with her name. I recall Anne Hutchinson’s name because of an article published in Feminist Studies in the 1970s, when I had just begun to study women and religion. However it was not until recently that I learned of her place in history through reading American Jezebel by Eve LaPlante.

Hutchinson was accused of theological errors in her trials. The Calvinist doctrine of predestination figured heavily in the accusations. But the real issue at stake was that Anne dared to follow her own inner knowing, to articulate it theologically, and to teach her views against the grain of the Puritan authorities in Boston.

THE COURAGE TO BE HATED by Esther Nelson

Carla Power, a prolific journalist, has written a long-awaited, insightful biography of amina wadud (b. 1952) titled THE LADY IMAM HOW AMINA WADUD’S LIFE AND FAITH CHANGED THE WORLD (One World 2026). (Because the Arabic alphabet uses no capital lettering, amina chooses to be consistent with that script by not capitalizing her name.)

amina and I were colleagues from the mid-1990s through the mid-2000s at Virginia Commonwealth University, Richmond, Virginia, where she was a Professor of Islamic Studies. In this essay, I want to highlight some anecdotes from Carla’s book as well as offer some of my own reflections about amina. This essay is not intended to be a book review, but a tribute to someone who learned to navigate her life with grace in spite of myriad difficulties which included diagnoses of bipolar disorder and ADD/ADHD.

Notwithstanding the many words written and videos made about amina, she herself (in addition to chapters in books and essays) has written the following two books:

QUR’AN AND WOMAN REREADING THE SACRED TEXT FROM A WOMAN’S PERSPECTIVE, Oxford University Press 1999.

INSIDE THE GENDER JIHAD: WOMEN’S REFORM IN ISLAM, a book that demonstrates that “jihad” (to struggle) encompasses something well beyond the popular understanding of “holy war.” Oxford: Oneworld, 2006.

Lammas Lessons from Bronze Age Crete: The Goddess and the Grain by Laura Shannon

Today is Lammas Eve, the traditional time to celebrate the harvest. I invite you to reflect for a moment on the harvests of our lives and the gifts of the Mother Goddess, to feast on the rich images from our indigenous Old European ancestors

On Lammas (lit. ‘loaf-mass’) people shared bread baked from the first-cut grains. It is the cross-quarter day of deep summer, midway between summer solstice and autumn equinox. Although best known as a Celtic holiday, the astronomical calendar was closely calculated in other early cultures, including Bronze Age Crete. While we don’t know if ancient Cretans specifically honoured the exact day of Lammas/Lughnasad, they certainly celebrated the harvest with seasonal ceremonies honouring the Goddess and the grain.

‘Grandstand’ Fresco, Knossos, Crete (restoration). Photo: Wikimedia Commons

Miriam MacGillis Discusses Thomas Berry’s View of the Universe, Transcribed by Janet Rudolph

Introduction: Miriam MacGillis is a modern-day prophet who not only holds a broad understanding of cosmology but brilliantly expresses it. She was an early colleague of Thomas Berry, introducing many people to the Story of the Universe. I have had the great honor of transcribing the tapes of her lecture series called Education for a Small Planet from 1986. Below is an excerpt from Tape 1B. It is edited for clarity. Excerpts from tape 1A can be read here and here.

***

Thomas Berry speaks about three principles which have been at the heart of the unfolding of the universe from the beginning. They are very simple and can’t be separated. I’m just separating them now [to discuss them]. In reality they’re three in one. They are extremely simple. Very often, the simplest things are the hardest things to grasp. But once we really begin to reflect on them and their implications, it’s so logical, so clear, so simple.

The first is the principle of differentiation. When we talk about the universe and its guidance system, this principle becomes even more highly articulated when we get to the Earth. It’s a very simple dynamic. Literally, all it means is that from the very beginning everything that is, is differentiated. You couldn’t have a universe unless there was differentiation of its elements. Because hydrogen and helium and carbon or whatever, grow into more complex structures . . it’s because they are different that they interact with each other and in that interaction cause each other to change. They cause each other to break down from being what they are in their simple state. In the dying of what they were in their simple state, they change and become transformed into something more complex.

Congratulations to Comunidad: LGBTQ Catholic Ministry by Marie Cartier

Congratulations to Comunidad ministry for LGBTQ+ Catholics at Saint Mathews in Long Beach, CA, Saint Mathews Church – for forty years of service!!! I have been involved with them (and even on the board for over two terms) for two of those decades.

Cardinal Mahony presided at the Anniversary Mass. I cried while singing, with everyone, “And I will raise you up.” It is just so moving as a queer Catholic to be *recognized*. ☆○☆ To be seen. “Here I am , Lord.” To be seen.

And I am also an ordained priestess in the Temple of Isis, have practiced Buddhism and other spiritual traditions…but the faith tradition of my birth has a huge cultural pull. ♡ And was crucial to my work on my book Baby, You Are My Religion: Women, Gay Bars and Theology Pre-Stonewall. (Note: The book is coming out in 2027 as a completely revised 2^nd edition with a new subtitle: Baby, You Are My Religion: The Lesbian Bar as Sacred Space. )

Soul-Fully Scripting Flesh: Poetic Justice & Joy by Margot Van Sluytman

Ours is a city of abundant tattoo shops. Places, I was to learn, where art and heart are rife. Places in which rich conversations occur. Conversations that linger long after the ink has begun to settle.

Wending my way to find the place to begin the process of scripting my skin, I spoke with a young man. His back was bent as he focussed on his animal friend and for a short while, before approaching him with my questions, I read the ink that covered his arms and legs. So many designs, descriptors, expressive strokes of thought and meaning known only to him. Hieroglyphs wherein his voice, his many selves, were revealed, yet hidden unless conversation were struck and desire to speak forthcoming. Wherefrom grew his choices?

I decided to cross the street and to ask him the meaning of some of his tattoos, the ones that spoke most vocally to me. As I moved closer, I spotted the script on his wrist. Script among an array of the colours and images. That script struck me. A fragment from The Tempest. Caliban’s words.

Be not afeard; the isle is full of
noises,
Sounds and sweet airs that give
delight and hurt not.