Feminism and Religion

Legacy of Carol P. Christ: Should Our Children and Grandchildren Live Better Than Us? And Whatever Happened to Our Dreams?

This was originally posted on November 4, 2011

Last Sunday on Meet the Press Tom Brokaw spoke about the breakdown of what he felt had been a common consensus about American life. He said that Americans are questioning the American dream which tells us that “our children and grandchildren will live better than us.” He found it disturbing that people now feel their children will not be better off than they were. The poor no longer see a way out of poverty and the middle class fear that their children will be unemployed for long periods in their lives, burdened with college debt, and unable to afford mortgages and college educations for their children. I have heard this idea expressed many times in the recent economic crisis, including by progressive journalist Adrianna Huffington.

Bloody Waters by Ivy Helman

(Author’s note: I live in Prague, Czech Republic and teach at Charles University. Try as I might, I could not express in prose my thoughts about the violence in the world and particularly the violence here, in Prague, on the 21st of December, especially given the fact that I was a block away from what took place. So, I have written a poem instead.)

I swim through
the slimy waters of patriarchal violence
Difficult to express in words
the anxieties, the fear, the sadness
I feel as I take another stroke

towards

the parshah Bo (Exodus 10:1-13:6),
a divinely wrought plague of locusts
devouring all in their path.

Breathe,
stroke.

Darkness lasting three long days
blood smeared on doorposts and lintels
the deaths of first-borns, humans and animals alike,
the proclamation of a New Year and its festivities
to remind us of such nonsensical violence.

Breathe.
There is blood in the water.
Stroke.

Kairos Time by Beth Bartlett

I love the time between the Winter Solstice and New Year’s – a time of suspended animation, a reprieve from the demands of daily life, a respite from the woes of the world, from needing to pay attention to the time of day, days of the week, and tasks that need to be accomplished. A whole week with nothing scheduled on the calendar. Simply presence. It is a liminal time on the threshold between the old year and the new – whether measured by the turning of the planet from dark to light on the Solstice or of the Gregorian calendar year – a time when many of us pause and reflect on the year past and our hopes for the year to come. It is a moment of what the Greeks called Kairos time, as opposed to Chronos time, by which we measure most of our lives — in seconds, minutes, hours, days, and years.

In the years I spent in academia, my life was governed by Chronos time that often forced me to live in the future rather than the present. Course scheduling and book orders needed to happen far in advance. Course syllabi planned students’ readings and assignments for the next several months ahead. Learning was to occur in specific blocks of time, which always struck me as such a bizarre way to teach and learn, when we’d have to break off discussion and deep learning simply because the hour was up.

Public Goddess Gatherings by Caryn MacGrandle

I swat at her like an annoying fly. ‘Stop it. I’m good. I’m very happy. Go away.’

I took a part time security gig on the weekends to bring in some extra cash, and they sent me out to direct traffic at a holiday outdoor market here. 150 booths of incredible, local, organic, home-made, natural items. Right up my alley.

The festival started at noon. And the steady stream of cars started. By 12:45pm, the entire parking lot was filled, several football fields long: a Dave and Busters, a Wahlburgers and a Trader Joe’s sharing the same area. All their spaces filled too.

RELIGIOUS POLITICS by Esther Nelson

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I am a fan of Jim Rigby, a Presbyterian minister, serving a parish in Austin, Texas. I follow Jim on social media and read his posts regularly. I find his take on modern, American Christianity succinct, on-point, and very similar to my own experience growing up with evangelical, fundamentalist missionary parents.

Jim describes his initiation into religion in the following paragraph:

“As a child I learned an a-political version of Christianity. I…was offended if a preacher brought up social issues in a sermon. Religion for me meant a personal relationship with God so I could sing “Jesus loves the little children” but not feel any need to confront the possibility that my nation might be dropping napalm on them. I was taught to pray for world peace but to remain silent about my nation’s polices that made war inevitable. I could talk about Moses telling Pharaoh to set his people free, but was not permitted to break any chains in my own day.”

Prison Doors Open: Poetic Justice of Elizabeth Fry by by Margot Elizabeth Van Sluytman/Raven Speaks

Elizabeth Fry, also known as Betsy Fry (1780-1845)

Voices as One
HER glory showers
Tremendous poignancy upon
Our persistent walk. We are
Joined. Siblings in Spirit.
Imbibing the hymn of
Reformation. The song
Of justice. The canticle
Of joy and freedom.
©Margot Van Sluytman

First Call to Ceremony by Sara Wright

I prepare for winter by tipping sweet balsam to make my wreath. Always an intentional undertaking, I honor all evergreens during this month and next as I weave myself into the Circle of Life with fragrant boughs…

I gather my balsam candles and put lights on my little Norfolk Island Pine in preparation for the Festival of Fire, scattering crimson cranberries around her base. Adding acorns, hemlock cones, moss and lichen attach me to ‘All There Is’.

Inside and outside are One…

“I am a lady in waiting”… I have learned that Nature decides when it’s time to engage in any ceremony that helps spin the wheel – I listen for the call.

Legacy of Carol P. Christ: In the Web of Life — No Exceptions

This was originally posted December 2, 2011

Does God love me more than She loves my doggies? Does She love animals more than She loves trees and flowers? Does She love trees and flowers more than She loved the first cells that formed in the waters of our planet? Did She not also love the atoms and particles of atoms that coalesced to form the earth?

In her books Sacred Gaia and Gaia’s Gift Anne Primavesi questions the notion that the dialogue between God and the world began with “our entry onto the scene.” Primavesi argues that “human exceptionalism,” the view that the world exists for us, and that we are an “exception” to the world, has been and is the predominant Christian view. In the stories of Adam and Noah, God gives dominion over the creatures of the earth to man. Theologians asserted that of all the creatures that inhabit the earth, only man is in the image of God, and the image of God in man is found in his rational intelligence, which is shared with no other creature. Because he is in the image of God, man will escape death, which is the lot of every other living thing. Rather than challenging human exceptionalism, modern science furthered it, asserting that “matter” was “dead,” and that therefore it was right and just for man to subdue “nature” through technology and to harness it for his needs.

Back Off Wednesday by Caryn MacGrandle

Moderator’s Note: This was clearly written closer to the Thanksgiving holiday but we feel that it has a message that still holds strong.

Owens Cross Roads, Alabama. Long before Owen’s claimed his crossroads, the Land I live on was stewarded by the Shawandasse Tula, the S’atsoyaha Yuchi and the Cherokee.

We just got through another Thanksgiving an American holiday built on domination and patriarchy. Several years ago, I became vegetarian, but my adult son’s boss bought all his employees turkeys. An estimated 46 million turkeys give up their life every year so that we can celebrate our heritage as Pilgrims.

I cooked the turkey so that this one would not have given up its life in vain. I will make sure that my children who are still carnivores enjoy it.

Ariadne’s Dancing Floor by Arianne MacBean

As the story was told to me, my parents were listening to composer Claudio Monteverdi’s Lamento d’Arianna when my name was decided. I would be called Arianne, after mythical Ariadne’s melancholy refrain, sung to the heavens after being abandoned on a deserted island by her lover, Theseus. Raised on the Greek myths as bedtime stories, my father regaled me nightly with tales of gods, goddesses, and mortals twirling in the maelstrom of life. I was in awe of Cyclops and Sirens, but it was the myth of Ariadne and the Minotaur that I requested most often.