Xochitl Alvizo – Page 3 – Feminism and Religion

Archives from the FAR Founders: Feminist Gutter Punk Freedom by Xochitl Alvizo

This was originally posted on October 3, 2017. My brother has since died, not so long ago on June 12, 2023. But I keep needing this lessons, his wisdom. I recently (about two weeks ago) broke my foot and life is different without the mobility I am used to. So this archive post is a good word for me in yet another moment of life’s struggles.

My brother is, in this own words, an “old school street, squatter, gutter punk.” Indeed, he lives outside the system. He is an anarchist atheist and has lived many nights of his life on the streets – by choice. He has a quick and easy smile and makes friends effortlessly. Recently, while stuck in Seattle during an extended layover on his way back to Europe, where he’s been living the last few years, he passed the time making new friends and exploring the immediate area –

– he even found a sign greeting him by name (he goes by Lou).

Archives from the FAR Founders: Privileged Feminist By Xochitl Alvizo

This was originally posted on November 23, 2011. This is part of a project to highlight the work of the four women who founded FAR: Xochitl Alvizo, Caroline Kline, Gina Messina, and Cynthia Garrity-Bond. The author has added a note at the end.

I have the privilege of having radical lesbian feminism ‘work’ for me. I can’t explain why it does – but it does – it just works for me. I am not of the same generation as most feminists who experienced and awakened to radical feminism during the women’s movement of the 70s and 80s in the United States. I am not white nor was I middle-class when I encountered it (though I probably am middle class now). Nonetheless, as I encountered radical lesbian feminist writing, and eventually some of the women who wrote them, it spoke to me in the depths of my being and rattled my very core. Radical lesbian feminism liberated me and birthed me into a whole new way of Be-ing…and that is a privilege I must not take for granted and must hold loosely.

Human, Just Human by Xochitl Alvizo

Mary Daly and other feminist scholars of her time knew that taking away the power of naming, whether oneself or the world, is one of the primary ways to take a people’s power away, to subjugate them to a world they do not help form or create.[1] Control over their bodies, their sexuality, and their relationships, is another. It has happened throughout history that not all people are allowed the same level of sovereignty over their bodies. Women, children, black people, indigenous and enslaved people, and whoever is deemed a threat to the social, economic, and cultural status quo being advanced (enforced) at a given place and time, have been forcibly and violently legislated against and policed into submission through varying implicit, explicit, informal, and institutionally sanctioned ways.

A World in Which to Be by Xochitl Alvizo

My brother moved to Europe sometime between 2012 and 2013. He went for love, moving there with the woman from Germany who he planned to marry. He didn’t marry her, but he did marry someone else from Germany. He lived there a good while, but then also in Spain, then back to Germany, and eventually Basel, Switzerland. That is where he was living when he died on Monday, June 12, 2023, just three weeks ago, five days before (what would have been) my dad’s 70th birthday. I’ve now lost my dad and my brother, the two men in my family, within a two year period. It sucks – it really sucks to lose the people that help bring meaning to your life, those whom you most enjoy and from whom you learn life’s biggest lessons.

Human by Xochitl Alvizo

I’ve written about my existentialist leanings and how these are very much a reflection of my upbringing, and particularly my papa’s influence on me. He always talked about how we are all “just human.” He would humph disapprovingly at the use of categories or identity labels for people; he wanted to always affirm that all people are human, nothing more, nothing less. For my dad, labels and categories fixed people to a particular aspect of themselves.

He did not like the idea of reducing a person’s being, or limiting their many possibilities, with an overarching label. There were times with me when he would grumble if I referred to myself as Mexican-American or lesbian, for example, and he would say, “Argh, you’re human, that’s what you are, human.” He was always on guard about how a given identity can serve to limit my own imagination about myself or, worse, allow others to box me into their preconceived ideas of what that identity means.

From the Archives: The Hunger Games, Holy Week, and Re-imaging Ritual by Xochitl Alvizo

This was originally posted on April 3, 2012 and serves as a nice follow up to my recent posts, and to the Christian holy days being celebrated this week.

Being passive spectators of violence and injustice, even if mournfully so, is not just a thing of Panem, it is our everyday reality.

In The Hunger Games Suzanne Collins takes the reality of an unjust society and gives it an imaginative makeover. In Panem, most people are kept at such extreme levels of hunger that even when they do eat they cannot fill the hollowness that has settled in their stomachs, while others are deciding on the next cosmetic alteration they will undertake – whiskers, jewel implants, or green-tone skin color? The disparate conditions between the rich and the poor, the few and the many are absurdly and starkly portrayed but done so in a way that we can still recognize our world in theirs. And at the center of this world is the state imposed ritual of punishment and control, the yearly Hunger Games – a nationally televised competition that all the people of Panem are required to watch. The 12 districts watch mournfully as two kids from each of their districts compete to the death, and the wealthy watch gleefully, for the games are the height of their excesses and entertainment. The yearly Games conclude when one kid, the lone ‘victor’, is left standing. All while the nation watches.

Rethinking Church from the Ground Up by Xochitl Alvizo

In the last post about rethinking church communally, I ended with reference to the fact that those who do not identify with an organized religion – nearly 70% of the religiously unaffiliated – think that churches “focus too much on rules,” “are too concerned with money and power,” and “are too involved in politics.”

I found this to be the case also among participants of “Emerging Church” congregations, which I researched for my dissertation. Many participants of the congregations I visited had previous negative and damaging experiences of church – experiences that caused them to become unaffiliated from church and Christianity all together. But, when discovering or happening upon an “emerging” congregation, some were pleasantly surprised by the experience of an open, welcoming, and justice-oriented community of faith that was creative in form and ritual, and egalitarian in leadership.

Rethinking Church Communally and Creatively by Xochitl Alvizo

I spend a curious amount of time discussing, studying, and writing about polity – the structures and procedures of congregational/denominational governance (my previous post about communion reflects one kind of polity). Amid theological and sociological research about the decline, revival, or re-emergence of Christianity and the church, my research specifically focused on how emerging congregations organized and structured their decision-making processes. As a “body” – ecclesial, social, political – what are the new and creative ways that congregations structure and organize their collective living and relating?

Re-imagining the Ritual of Communion by Xochitl Alvizo

I remember the words so clearly: “I know what it’s like to have my body broken, I know what it’s like to have my blood spilt. I won’t celebrate anyone else’s broken body or spilt blood, and I don’t want anyone doing that on my behalf.” Sitting in the pew next to me, my friend spoke her truth in a soft and tentative, but somehow still firm, voice. She then slumped in her seat and folded up her legs, hugging them against her body. While everyone else got up to take communion, I stayed in place beside her.

There was a period of time in my life when I was not willing to participate in communion. My friend’s words stayed with me, transforming the communion table from one of hospitality to one of violence. “Celebrating” communion didn’t feel celebratory anymore. I chose not to take communion for several years. I let my friend’s words guide and deepen my reflection on the practice of communion—especially in light of the trauma suffered by all too many bodies.

Una Hora de Vida, Es Vida! by Xochitl Alvizo

I learned, recently, that this is a common phrase among my family members – “an hour of life, is life.” I remember the first time I heard my mom use the phrase, not more than a few years ago, I latched onto it immediately. Since then, I have realize that many of my relatives use the phrase – it’s kind of a family mantra, which makes sense, then, that when I heard it, it reverberated within me—“Yes! An hour of life is life.”

To me it was a clarion call to not waste a single hour – to never think, “Oh, but I only have an hour…” and instead embrace the hour for all its potentiality—I have an hour, what will I do with it?