herstory – Page 12 – Feminism and Religion

Embodying bell hooks’ theological vision by Liz Cooledge Jenkins

I was recently asked: Who is a theologian you admire? Since I’ve been deeply steeped in the Christian tradition, plenty of Christian theologians could come to mind—Christian theologians, that is, in the sense of humans educated in the Christian theological academy with the theology PhDs to prove it.

But when I think of theology, these days, I find myself thinking more broadly. Like Kat Armas, who wrote Abuelita Faith as a way of reflecting on and honoring the theological contributions of marginalized women, rather than men who sit in the seats of academic power—and like Sarah Bessey, who writes that theology, at its best, is a field where “everyone gets to play”^[1]—I am skeptical of the assumptions Christians often make about who is or isn’t a theologian. And so, when I thought of theologians I look to for wisdom, I thought outside the box. I thought of writer and activist bell hooks.

POET WARRIOR BY JOY HARJO: HEALING HEARTS AND NATIONS by Maria Dintino

Moderator’s Note: This post is presented as part of FAR’s 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. This was posted on their site in 2021 and then again on March 21, 2023. You can see more of their posts here.

**“MY INNATE IMPULSE IS HEALING, WHICH IS ALSO STANDING UP FOR JUSTICE, WHICH CAN HEAL HEARTS AND NATIONS.” – JOY HARJO**

Healing hearts and nations is what Joy Harjo does. Standing up for justice is what Joy Harjo does. Joy Harjo is a teacher and leader for our times, for all times.

When she asks this question in her book, Poet Warrior:

“What do I do with this overwhelming need for justice in my family, for my tribal nation, for those of us in this country who have been written out of the story or those who appear to be destroyed or perverted by false story?” (46),

Women’s Woven Voices at the Parliament of the World’s Religions by Brecia Kralovic-Logan

Imagine walking into a space surrounded by the woven stories of 1,000 women from around the globe and feeling you are at home. The Women’s Village at the Parliament of the World’s Religions conference in Chicago in August of 2023 offered a place where women could feel welcomed, safe, understood, honored, and inspired. It was surrounded by the color and texture of the Women’s Woven Voices project tapestry.

I am the founder of the international, collaborative, art project- Women’s Woven Voices- that supports women in claiming their powerful voices through writing, weaving, and sharing their stories. For six years I had been inviting women to reflect on their lives, write about their strengths, challenges, joys and what made them feel whole, and then, weave a strip of cloth to represent their story. I collected the woven “Story Cloths” and stitched them together into a collective tapestry. Having stitched over 1,000 stories into the tapestry from women from 10 different countries, I applied to participate in the Parliament as an art installation and then joined the Women’s Task Force to create a very special space for the thousands of women who would be attending the Parliament.

Judy Chicago, Feminist Trailblazer by Joyce Zonana and Janet Maika’i Rudolph

“Instead of looking to the male world for approval, I had to learn to rely on my own instincts. In some strange way, the rejections I faced strengthened me, but only because they forced me to learn to live as I saw fit and to use my values and judgment as my guides.”
The Flowering: The Autobiography of Judy Chicago

Janet: I live near New York City and am fortunate to be close to many museums. The New Museum has been showing an exhibit by Judy Chicago that takes up the entire facility of four floors. And it is remarkable. Not only is the breadth of her work astounding but so are the stories of how she has had to fight to be accepted in a man’s world of art. Joyce Zonana first recommended that I go. This blogpost came about as part of a discussion between the two of us.

Your Body Knows Before You Do by Andrea Penner

Our interstate move of 325 miles due east on U.S. Highway 40, formerly Route 66, that iconic highway through the American Southwest, took us from one rental home to another. A month later, I sat in a closed graduate seminar, having received a coveted “yellow card.” By some stroke of magic, the professor had read my master’s thesis.

“I know your work,” he said, signing the over-enrollment waiver.

For the next several years, I studied, wrote, taught, ate, slept, and moved through marriage and motherhood (and one more rental)—all toward the goal of completing the PhD in English while my then-husband cycled through professional jobs and both of us recovered from eight years of cross-cultural Christian ministry.

Herstory Profiles: Honoring Queen Lili’uokalani by Anjeanette LeBoeuf

My first post of 2024 is still celebrating women who are not celebrated enough. This post sees us in the Hawaiian Islands. A leader, visionary, and pillar of the community; Queen Lili’uokalani was the last reigning monarch of the unified Hawaiian Kingdom. She spent her entire adult life trying to improve the lives of her people. Her legacy is one of beauty and of heartbreak for she would be forced to abdicate and live under house arrest when the United States illegally seized the Hawaiian Islands. Yet it is one of her many hymns, Aloha ‘Oe that continues to remind us of her unbreakable spirit, her legacy, and her dedication to duty and service.

Queen Lili’uokalani (1838-1917), born Lydia Lili‘u Loloku Walania Wewehi Kamaka‘eha would be hānai (honorarily adopted) into the Kamehameha royal family. She was baptized into the Christian faith at an incredibly early age and was educated at the Royal School which would make her eligible to become one of King Kamehameha III’s heirs. She married John Owen Dominis in 1862 who would later become the Governor of O’ahu. Both Lydia and John Owen would become high ranking Free Masons. When her brother David Kalākaua become King, Lili was announced as his immediate heir, became Princess, adopted her royal name Lili’uokalani, and the Official Envoy for the Hawaiian Kingdom. In 1878, Lili’uokalani would pen one of the most famous songs of the Hawaiian Islands, Aloha ‘Oe. *

The Sky Dancers by Sara Wright

December is a poignant month for many people, including me. Although I find the darkness comforting, winter stillness a gift, I do not celebrate the season as others do.

I begin December by bringing in the dawn each morning (if it’s clear) by standing outdoors in the cold watching Sirius, the dog star fade…Some mornings the sky turns rose, tangerine, or gold as clouds slide over the horizon or billow up like cottony balls of fluff. The air is fresh, fragrant, and clean. I listen for the first birds, the female cardinal’s chirp, the chickadees, and doves have yet to appear – these daily ‘morning mysteries’ are spontaneous and acted out in gratitude without thought.

This month is a time of remembrance … I think of people I loved, some I did not, those I lost…

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.

The Unbearable Sweetness of Being by Vibha Shetiya

I watched with confusion and a guilty sense of disgust – maybe this was the way things were done in India? My aunt had reached across to the cluster of letters strung together by a single piece of wire twirled around a nail on the wall, and gently dislodged one of them. They were from my father to his mother. I didn’t know what to think. After all, she went on to say, Your father is so good with language; just listen to this, just how beautifully he writes, before reading out aloud a lengthy passage. She was a good reader; gentle, perfect cadence with pauses in the right places. But I wanted to turn away on this intrusion of privacy, on this emotional voyeurism, but then thought, Wait, just last evening and the evening before that, and the many evenings before that she had spent the only free time she would get – from the large extended family who, hearing of her generous spirit, had congregated in her home in Bombay, that city of big dreams but of tiny square footage (blissfully unaware that they were now indebted to her for life) – on her rudrakshamala, deep in meditation, in union with god. So pious a woman! So pure a heart! Such a giving soul! Surely then there can’t be anything wrong here. Especially if it’s to say something nice about someone you cared for. And, after all, those letters were right there in the kitchen above the dining table, weren’t they? Not tucked away in some corner of a chest of drawers hidden from sunlight.

The Dark Tunnel by Sara Wright

Recently I had a very strange experience. I had fallen and was dumped into a nursing home to ‘recover’.

Since I have written about other aspects of this terrifying experience on this blog and published some pieces elsewhere, I am turning my attention to what happened to me after being drugged senseless, and then being stripped of every aspect of personal autonomy.

After I refused the 17 drugs, I incurred hostility from some nurses and aides who blamed me for having diarrhea and many other infractions none worth mentioning (one of the consequences of stopping the drugs was loose bowels).

The one medication I needed was routinely withheld. Each time this happened I became more frightened and anxious. Shaky. These same caregivers either ignored me or intoned “all you have to do is relax, breathe”. They dismissed my PTSD/Anxiety disorder as some kind of psychological problem or were too ignorant or indifferent to care.