Sarahbeth Caplin's Blog, page 30
December 26, 2016
“I know I can treat you better…” No, Shawn. No you don’t.
December 23, 2016
I’m done with being “nice”
[image error]There are lots of ways to define a “nice person,” but when I think about what this means to me, I’m reminded of Katniss Everdeen’s line from Catching Fire: “I’m not very good at making friends.” I’ve never read a book featuring a character who gets me so much in my adult life, even if there is a decade of an age gap between us. She’s standoffish and introverted. She’s awkward meeting new people and hates small talk. I imagine she, like me, would make a game out of dodging department store employees who want to ask how my day is going and what my weekend plans are. She’d probably find excuses to leave parties early, if she attends parties at all.
I already know, by conventional standards, that I’m not exactly what you’d call a “nice person.” But that’s not the kind of “nice” I want to write about.
It’s been said – rather brilliantly, I think – that “nice people” made the best Nazis, and I have to agree:
My mother was born in Munich in 1934, and spent her childhood in Nazi Germany surrounded by nice people who refused to make waves. When things got ugly, the people my mother lived alongside chose not to focus on “politics,” instead busying themselves with happier things. They were lovely, kind people who turned their heads as their neighbors were dragged away.
Quite a 180-degree turnaround from my younger self, I don’t enjoy talking very much. Seeing multiple pairs of eyes on me makes me break out in nervous sweat and stumble over my words (interestingly, I’ve gotten better at public speaking over the years. Different setting, I suppose). But when it comes to matters of injustice, I become the fiery “nasty woman” my mother raised me to be (and it is one of the highest compliments I can think of to describe my dear mama as “the nastiest woman I know”!). That is something I don’t know how to be silent about. I am prepared, over the next four years, to make nasty over nice when it’s necessary.
A few weeks before the election, I was at a party watching a Bronco’s game when someone brought up politics, and discussed her support for Donald Trump. You’d think someone pulled a string in my back and released it, the way I found myself repeating “He’s a rapist! He’s a misogynist! He’s a racist xenophobe!” over and over and over until my husband, God bless him, literally dragged me out of the building. I don’t know how to explain to him that being a “nasty woman” means more instances like this, where I hope I don’t lose my cool in quite the same way, but I won’t let opportunities to speak up pass by me, either.
I thought of my mother’s neighbors right after the election, when apolitical friends of mine breathed a sigh of relief that we could stop talking about politics. “That’s over!” they said happily. “Let’s focus on other things.”
But then a white nationalist was named chief strategist to the president-elect. Aren’t you alarmed? I asked.
“I choose not to discuss politics publicly,” one friend said. And posted a picture of puppies.
Another friend messaged me privately. She agreed with me, she assured me. She was just as alarmed as I was! “Count me among the silent resistance,” she said.
The silent resistance? What did that even mean, to resist silently?
Though renowned as a pacifist, Jesus did say, “I have not come to bring peace, but a sword” (Matthew 10:34). For years I had no idea what was meant by this. Now, I do; but my “sword” comes in the form of a pen, a tongue, and a social media platform, and I will raise hell like no “nice” person can possibly imagine over the next four years. I will not be “silent.” I may lose friends, but it’s likely that those friendships weren’t all that deep to begin with if this is what it takes to sever them.
You all have my written word that I will never settle to be a “nice person.” From the sisterhood of Pantsuit Nation, nasty women get things done.
Filed under: Social Issues Tagged: Christianity, Controversy, Donald Trump, social justice
December 16, 2016
A Year in Review (of books): 2016
It’s time for my annual compilation of 1% of the books I read and recommended this year:
Fiction
Firsts by Laurie Elizabeth Flynn
The premise of this book sounds ridiculous at first: a teenage girl, Mercedes, has a secret “service” she provides for male classmates eager to lose their virginity. She sleeps with them before they sleep with their girlfriends in order to ensure that the first time is special, and un-awkward. Sounds genius, right? Surely no one could possibly find out about this, and things won’t get very ugly for Mercedes as a result…right?
You can probably guess from the synopsis that things do get ugly, and Mercedes ultimately does face social consequences (she is helping these guys cheat, after all) but that’s precisely what I loved about this book. Mercedes isn’t meant to be likeable at first. You aren’t supposed to feel sorry for her. But the character growth and maturity in this book is unlike anything I’ve read in YA lately. I admit, I was genuinely surprised, but I’m so glad I gave this book a chance, and I hope you do as well. If teenage sexuality isn’t a dealbreaker for you, that is – it goes without saying that there’s plenty of that in here, though I wouldn’t say any of it is graphic.
Devoted by Jennifer Mathieu
Rachel is a teenage girl raised in an extremely fundamentalist family, which I find utterly fascinating, given my secular upbringing. The rules she had to live by are reminiscent of some of my friends who grew up in similar environments: girls could not wear pants, always had to appear cheerful, no movies above PG allowed. Even classic novels were forbidden. As a female, Rachel was raised with the intention of marrying young and having a family. Yet this is not something she’s sure she wants.
Rachel’s doubts, questions, and turmoil are all too believable, and the tension her faith struggle creates within her family make for a gripping read – I finished this book within a day. These aren’t cardboard stereotypes of religious people, either, which is another reason to love this book. And the ending doesn’t wrap up neatly, which I appreciate, given the complex nature of the topic.
Small Great Things by Jodi Picoult
I admit to having a long-held grudge against Jodi for her completely inaccurate, offensive comments about self-published authors, but the premise of this book was too good to pass up: Ruth, a black labor and delivery nurse, is forbidden to care for the newborn of a white supremacist couple. When the baby goes into cardiac arrest, she hesitates, and the baby dies, prompting the supremacists to file a lawsuit against her.
The #BlackLivesMatter movement was probably the best thing to happen to this book in terms of relevance. I saw a great deal of myself in Kennedy, Ruth’s lawyer, when she said, “I don’t see color. The only race that matters is the human race, right?” This book, aside from being a gripping page-turner, does a fantastic job unpacking the privilege (white privilege, that is) behind such statements, well intentioned though they may be. The only people who can claim they don’t “see color” are people for whom color is not an issue. People like Ruth, who are routinely followed by department store employees or treated noticeably harsher than white patrons, don’t have the luxury of not “seeing” color.
The book is written in alternating chapters from the perspectives of Ruth, Kennedy, and Turk, the father of the dead baby. His chapters are, understandably, hard to read, but still illuminating. The epilogue wrapped up a little too neatly, but I still highly recommend this book. I also recommend Roxane Gay’s review here.
Nonfiction
Finding God in the Waves by Mike McHargue
I reviewed this book for Off the Page, but here’s an excerpt:
What I appreciate most about this book is that it’s written for people in the middle of the spectrum of absolutism. Inevitably, there will be Christian readers who deride this book for being too lukewarm, as well as nonreligious readers who will scoff at the idea that there is any room at all for the supernatural in the life of a scientist or science-minded person. Finding God elaborates on a popular saying: science explains the how, but religion explains the why. Science explains how life begins, but not its purpose.
The skeptical reader who can’t quite wrap his head around a virgin birth or a dead man coming back to life is invited to, at the very minimum, contemplate Christianity’s answer to our reason for being. This thought reignited McHargue’s faith and enabled him to attend church again. The God he writes about is less concerned with correct beliefs than he is about the condition of one’s heart. The faith McHargue recovers is arguably more genuine and honest than what he started with, because he is learning to engage with God on his own terms rather than follow prescribed formulas.
Men Explain Things to Me by Rebecca Solnit
A short book that comically explains the phenomenon known as “mansplaining”: men explaining things to women that they already know – in some cases, things women know better than they do. The term itself may be new, although the experience itself is not, and ultimately points to a larger problem: society does not take women seriously, whether it’s in assuming their competence in the workplace, or the seriousness of rape allegations. Far from a “woe is me” narrative, this book takes a serious look at why this happens, and what women can do to stand up for themselves. It does include some disturbing anecdotes about domestic violence and crimes against women worldwide (genital mutilation, bride burning, rape as a tool of warfare), but these are facts we can’t ignore.
At the risk of sounding like your high school English teacher, what books have you read this year?
Filed under: Uncategorized
December 7, 2016
Leaving church because of Trump-loving Christians
On the subject of Christians leaving church after being hurt by other Christians, I’ve often heard this is response:
“If you leave Christianity because of other Christians, your faith was in man, not God.”
I don’t agree with it, but I understand why Christians say it. No one wants to believe we are capable of driving each other away with callous words or hurtful behavior when our role is to encourage and grow with each other. No one wants to admit to the possibility that our own behavior might have played a role in someone’s departure from faith.
Within the last few months, I read several blog posts and opinion pieces on popular media outlets by Christians who left their current denomination due to their brethren’s support of Donald Trump. I’ve written my own posts about my disbelief and utter repulsion at the number of believers who lauded him as God’s divinely appointed leader, despite his platform of racism, sexism, and xenophobia.
I’ve seen pictures of white supremacists at Trump rallies wearing crosses around their necks. I’ve read Facebook posts from Christian friends who trivialize the legitimate fears of people of color, the LGBT community, and the nonreligious, concerned about the future of their civil rights. My understanding that the Holy Spirit dwelling within one’s heart makes one more righteous and compassionate has been called into question. How is it possible that devout followers of a man who himself was the child of refugees could be so callous and indifferent?
I haven’t lost my faith, but I have nothing but sympathy for those who have during this election season. I think of the line from Genesis, “It is not good for man to be alone.” Christians aren’t meant to walk in faith by themselves; there is a reason that the church is called the Body of Christ. Many Christians are fortunate to have never been deeply wounded by other Christians, but just because it’s never happened to them doesn’t mean it can’t happen to someone else. Those who have never been hurt seem few and far between, to be honest.
In church as in any family, members aren’t required to agree on everything, but compassion and empathy are two of the most important markers of discipleship that must underscore everything we say and do. While it’s natural for family members to quarrel, it is an understandable shock to the system to witness “little Christs” defend a man who not only bragged about sexual assaulting women, but also, despite rumors of a recent conversion, claimed he had no need for repentance.
It’s an even bigger shock to hear such things from the mouths of the mentors who guided and encouraged us: bible study leaders, elders, even pastors. When such people represent the will of God to us, and their words and actions do not match the clear commands of Jesus to care for “the least of these,” a crisis of faith is practically inevitable.
People lose their faith for all kinds of reasons. It’s easy to devise a one-size-fits-all formula to explain evangelicalism’s dwindling numbers, but all this does is absolve us of any responsibility for things we did or should have done to hasten a brother or sister’s departure. And rather than take responsibility for things we may have done or said, many Christians instead turn to gaslighting and victim-blaming behavior: “Why don’t you pray more?” “You should have attended bible study more often.” “You should read this book.””Your salvation is at stake if you don’t get back in line.” Etc, etc.
Many of us, myself included, don’t want to permanently leave the church, but are in desperate need of a mental health sabbatical. I haven’t lost my faith in God, but I have lost faith in many of the Christians whose positive influence in my life and public support of Donald Trump I struggle to reconcile. In this instance, leaving my church was necessary to retain my faith.
Because my faith struggles are still raw, I have refrained (although it’s been tempting!) from accusing Trump voters as not being True Christians. Though I firmly believe the values of his campaign are staunchly against everything Jesus Christ ever stood for, my experience with doubt has taught me that it’s not for me to judge the state of anyone’s heart if they claim Christ as Lord. As far as the dictionary is concerned, belief in Jesus’ divinity is the bare minimal requirement to call oneself a Christian. No matter how incredible I find their conclusions, everyone comes to the Bible with their own set of baggage and experiences that will influence the interpretation of what they read, and part of maintaining peace is attempting to understand that baggage.
It may be possible that church is the least healthy place to process some of the shock and determine which friendships are worth continuing, and which cannot be reconciled when the differences run too deep.What helps keep me sane is knowing that God is still there even when I feel spiritually homeless, and community can be done in coffee shops or apartment living rooms without the need for steeples. That’s all church is supposed to be, anyway: community. A group of people growing and learning together. The Bible never says it must happen in a specific building.
Like this post? Check out Confessions of a Jew-ish Skeptic, now available on Amazon.
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Filed under: Theology Tagged: Christianity, Donald Trump, evangelicals, self-care, Spiritual Abuse
December 1, 2016
The trip to the ER that changed my mind about outlawing abortion
The trip to the ER that changed my mind
I don’t like writing about abortion. I don’t have much original content to share in that debate, but I figure you can never hear enough personal stories, which are far more effective in changing minds than ranting in the rabbit hole of Facebook comment threads.
To be clear, I’ve never had an abortion. Thanks to the pill, I’ve never had to even consider one. But I had an experience a few years ago that heavily swayed my thinking. I haven’t stopped calling myself pro-life, but I’m a different sort of pro-lifer now than I used to be.
What I mean is, I’ve stopped elevating the life of the fetus over that of the mother.
(Some squicky details about periods ahead, which probably isn’t necessary since women’s bodies aren’t squicky, but here’s a warning anyway).
In the winter of 2013, I started what seemed like a heavier period than usual. I wasn’t on the pill yet, and heavy periods were pretty normal for me. An irregular cycle was also not unusual, so it didn’t strike me as odd that this bleeding was happening six weeks after my previous period. What was unusual was the number of tampons used up in just under an hour: six, to be exact. Six of the Super Plus kind, which typically last anywhere from three to six hours depending on where I am in my cycle. And the cramps. My God, the cramps. I’m no stranger to those, either, but not the punched-in-the-gut kind.
I called my then-fiancé, a physician assistant, who advised that I go to the ER. It was around ten o’clock at night, and I was able to be seen pretty quickly. I was given thick cotton pads to sit on while being examined. I’d never seen that much blood before.
The bleeding stopped shortly after I arrived at the hospital, and the pregnancy test came back negative – but given what I’d experienced until that point, the nurse told me it was likely that I wasn’t producing enough of the pregnancy hormone to show a positive test. I’d have been six weeks along, at most. It’s not uncommon for irregular women to suspect they are pregnant after missing at least two periods, whereas I had only missed one.
I share this story because it was the first thing I thought of when I read an article about how Texas will soon require the burial of aborted fetuses. Because most abortions occur within the first eight weeks of pregnancy, this means that the burial contents may well have included those cotton pads I bled on.
It also means that the contents of a miscarriage in a toilet bowl ‘count,’ as not all abortions occur in the operation room of a hospital or clinic. Which means there is no way to rule out the possibility that women who suffer legitimate miscarriages could be suspected of or charged with murder.
For years, I was the kind of pro-lifer who believed that the abortion issue could best be solved if it were treated like other kinds of murder: outlawed in all fifty states, the assailant(s) arrested and thrown in jail. Not until I became a ‘suspect’ (or so I might have been, had this happened in Texas in the not-so-distant future) did I realize the holes in my rhetoric; the vehemently anti-life effect it would have had on countless women, their children, and families. After all, it’s hard for a single mom to pick up her kids from school and feed them if she’s held in custody and can’t afford bail.
This experience may not ever happen to you, which is why it is so important to listen to those who have lived through it. I shut down every opportunity to hear such stories, though – most likely because I marketed myself as an unsafe person with whom to share such a personal thing. But with social media, these stories are all too easy to find, and they deserve to be heard. Women deserve better than this, and for the sake of all future pregnancies, the pro-life movement desperately needs a makeover.
The pro-life movement needs to re-establish itself as a body of people who care about preventing abortion from becoming an option in the first place, by supporting measures that have been proven to work, and ensuring adequate care of all moms and babies, once they leave the womb. A proposed law like this is not interested in the health and well-being of women. Instead, it focuses its energy into shaming women after the procedure has been carried out. The fetus is gone by then – so what is the point?
Shame is the point. Not ‘protecting life.’ Just shaming women.
Filed under: Social Issues Tagged: Abortion, Controversy, social justice
November 22, 2016
Christian anti-Semitism, politics, and me
A few years ago a Lutheran friend invited me to her weekly bible study when she heard I was shopping for a new church. The denomination’s founder, Martin Luther, was only a name to me at that point; someone who came up in my Elizabethan history books, but was nothing more than an interesting footnote.
Once I learned about his deeply anti-Semitic beliefs (including that all Jews ought to be expelled from Europe), I could not in good conscience bring myself to attend that bible study with the possible intention of one day calling myself a Lutheran, despite knowing my friend shared none of those beliefs.
But anti-Jewish history is more than an unpleasant footnote in Christian history, as I was reminded by this timely Facebook post shared by a friend:
There is no better time than now for progressive Christians to audit our theologies and make sure they are not anti-Jewish. Are you using “pharisee” as a catch-all term for hypocrites, etc? Stop. Are you claiming that Jesus was a feminist because he liberated women from Judaism? Please don’t.
This thinking has been used to do so much harm. If we are going to stand against the alt-right, our theology should challenge the neo-nazis that are feeling empowered right now. As it stands, much of our theology is right up their ally. No more excuses, we HAVE to do better.
For years I struggled to find an answer when friends and family asked me what I ever saw in Christianity that would make me want to convert from Judaism. Save for a few isolated incidents, my childhood was largely spared from anti-Jewish hatred. Instead, I experienced a good deal of ignorance about the Jewish religion from my Christian classmates, which was frustrating, but never made me feel unsafe. I was taught to handle questions such as, “Is Moses the Jewish Jesus?” with patience, as this ignorance was not the fault of my then elementary-aged friends.
The real truth is that I wanted a relationship with God (just don’t ask where I heard that expression from, I really am not sure) and the resources for that weren’t available at my synagogue. But they were available at church.
After a CNN interview in which members of Alt-Right, a white supremacist group, questioned the personhood of the Jewish people, the cognitive dissonance I placed between my faith and Christianity’s anti-Semitic history demanded to be addressed. I can’t un-know these things, nor can I un-know the number of Christians in my life who wave away this history as merely a bug and not a feature of Christianity as a whole. Those people weren’t True Christians™, they’ve told me, which should be obvious, given that their savior was called the King of the Jews.
That Jesus was Jewish, and a descendant of Jews, placated me for a while. The problem is that the movement inspired after his death has been so far removed from his original intent. That movement, and its effect on human history, my history, is what I must look at today. You analyze a movement for what it is, not just for how it started and what it was intended to be.
I am increasingly disturbed by the unwillingness of “nice Christians” who either ignore or casually dismiss this evil in their religion’s roots. Those eager to point out #NotAllChristians are forgetting something critical that God himself made clear: all Christians are part of one Body (1 Corinthians 12:12). And while not all are guilty of antisemitism, Christians cannot shirk responsibility for it. “Taking responsibility” does not mean sharing the burden of guilt, but addressing this evil and reforming the church from the inside.
And now there is something I need to get off my chest: as Christian support for Trump increased, I felt increasingly unwelcome in my church. And now that Trump is our elected president, I feel a deep conflict of loyalty. I am a Christian (albeit an extremely conflicted one), but I was a Jew first. I was reminded again that I am Jewish, at least in terms of ethnicity, at my last doctor’s appointment when I was asked on the intake form if I have any Ashkenazi ancestry.
My Jewishness is one item on a long list of boxes that define who and what I am, and it’s something I honestly don’t know what to do with. Most days I don’t think about it, as I’ve never been an active participant in the Jewish faith, nor do I attend synagogue. But then there are the religious politics that force it to my attention, sending me down a rabbit hole of conflicting ideologies and questions of identity once more.
The Nazis of 1930s Germany did not care about spiritual belief, but blood, as do the Neo Nazis of today. Then and now, I could profess belief in Christ from the rooftops and it would not matter, because the Alt-Right members of Trump’s cabinet only care about my family tree. And here’s the thing about family: they are forever. The Jewish family was my first family, and though I estranged myself from them, they are my family still. And I have an obligation to them still, no matter how much my beliefs have changed, or will change in the future.
Filed under: Social Issues, Theology Tagged: Christianity, Controversy, evangelicals, Judaism, Racism, social justice
November 14, 2016
Political unrest cannot be resolved with bible verses
Last week, a friend and I were browsing through the Religion section of our favorite independent book store, and I sanctimoniously pulled out all the ones I recently read and loved. My friend graciously accepted all the books I piled into her arms, but stopped to point one out I actually hadn’t read before. It was one of those self-help-meets-devotional kinds of books that, admittedly, I tend to judge pretty harshly.
The cover showed a woman wearing a loose-flowing tunic over dark leggings with cute boots (how bad is it that I was tempted to purchase the book because I really liked that cover model’s outfit?) holding a bouquet of flowers, her eyes cast upward toward heaven. It was a book about dealing with rejection, something that has never not been relevant to my life. And yet…I had some doubts (but we both agreed to buy the book).
I thought, rather judgmentally, that I had already read this book – not this specific title, but its ‘type.’ The “successful Pinterest-loving Christian blogger/speaker with a great marriage and a bunch of kids who doubts God’s goodness because of her cellulite” type. The “toss a Bible verse on it and call it fixed” type.
As you can guess, I can’t stand that type. I’ve seen so many of that type posting what they sincerely believe are helpful Facebook posts reminding us all that “God is in control” even if Donald Trump is now our president. Thanks to Facebook’s “On This Day” feature, I’ve been privy to all the times I too wrote posts like these, completely unaware as to how anyone could possibly find them anything but comforting.
My eyes have been opened to a phenomenon I’m not sure what to call other than Privileged Theology. Let me explain.
Privileged Theology is well-intentioned, don’t get me wrong. But in dire circumstances, like when the new president appoints known neo-nazis as his advisors, it isn’t helpful. God is in control…but swastikas are being spray-painted on buildings. God is in control… but immigrant children are being told by school bullies that their parents will be deported. God is in control…but gay couples are fearing that their newly-minted marriages will be overturned.
God was, presumably, in control during the Holocaust, during the lynchings of the 60s, and during 9/11. I’m not, at this point, entirely clear on what God being “in control” actually looks like if it doesn’t prevent innocent people from profound suffering. That’s what people are afraid of, and that’s why this theology isn’t calming anybody down. God’s control may be evident in the bigger picture, but the days that make up the next four years will feel incredibly long, and this line will not help anyone.
It has been my experience that the people who tout this line – myself included – are people who are highly unlikely to be affected by any of the risks a Trump presidency poses on America. This line, from what I’ve observed, comes from the computers of comfortable white, upper middle class Christians as they sip their lattes and prepare for their next speaking gig, or women’s group, or MOPS meeting.
They mean well, no question about that. I have no doubt that they sincerely believe what they say, and it works to assuage their fears about the unknown.
But, to paraphrase another popular Christian blogger, Jen Hatmaker, if it isn’t true for a poor person or an immigrant or struggling single parent, then it isn’t true for anyone.
At this point, no one can make projections about what the next four years will look like. All the experts who analyze election trends for a living were completely wrong about Hillary having this one in the bag, so we really don’t know what to expect anymore. For many people, there will never be a time when faith is needed and depended upon as much as it is now.
But the very legitimate fears minorities feel at this moment will not be soothed by any Facebook post or Bible verse. They will be comforted by the church stepping up and acting like a church, caring for the marginalized in its midst. They will be comforted by the Christians going where I believe Jesus would go: into the gutter with the poverty-stricken and the grieving.
Filed under: Social Issues, Theology Tagged: celebrities, Christianity, Controversy, grief, LGBT, Racism, social justice, Writing
October 21, 2016
Dabbling in doubt: a plea to my church
Weeks ago, it was announced that the next small group study would cover a series of “pressure points” – that is, a series discussing difficult questions and circumstances that cause many Christians to stumble and question their faith, following the Sunday sermon on the same topics.
This announcement felt like an answered prayer. A series for doubters and skeptics to openly discuss their issues? I couldn’t wait to get involved.
Browsing through the study booklet, I quickly realized that this wasn’t quite what I expected. To the church’s credit, the most obvious topics were included: concerns about God’s goodness regarding evil, suffering, and death, issues about sex, etc. Other topics surprised me: “the workplace” (apparently addressing the pressure some Christians might feel when it comes to being open about faith at the office), politics (no explanation required), and parenting (raising godly kids and whatnot).
Maybe my expectations were misplaced. No current atheist I know left his faith because he never got advice about how to proselytize to co-workers.
Of course, for many people, these are relevant topics, and they deserve to be addressed. My concern has to do with mis-marketing, and the injustice of cramming topics like suffering and loss into one night as part of a six-week long series. The reality is, a topic like suffering could go on for weeks, months even, and is relevant enough to just about everyone’s lives that it really deserves its own study series. Furthermore, the guiding discussion questions – “How is Jesus a model for suffering?” “How do you handle suffering?” – may be the questions that the church staff thinks we have, but those aren’t the questions that I have.
The way the discussions were structured didn’t allow for much diversity. Each group had the right to go off the grid and launch their own discussion based on the individual needs of its members, but at the end of the night, that was it. Next week the sermon would cover a different issue, and we were supposed to move on. That toughie could now be checked off the list, it’s been ‘solved,’ and we don’t have to dwell on it anymore.
It’s not the first time I’ve seen a “tough topics” course structured like this.
For people like me toeing the line of agnosticism, this method of “study” is a bit of a tease. It promises to go deep, when one sermon per subject just barely scratches the surface of the issue. One sermon per week will bring up questions that deserve more mulling over than one follow-up discussion can allow, and I would leave feeling quite bereft.
Have you ever played with a cat using one of those plastic sticks with a feather at the end? You dangle it over the cat’s head, teasing them by bringing it close and then pulling it away, as they hilariously jump and try to catch it.
When this series was announced, I’m sure my face looked something like this.That’s what a series like this feels like to me. I commend my church for addressing doubt, I really do – but the actual execution leaves much to be desired.
Furthermore, there’s another troubling aspect of the Doubt Issue that I need to address. A little doubt, like what we see in Abraham, Joshua, and other biblical patriarchs, is all well and good…but only if it resolves neatly and doesn’t lead to something really drastic, like leaving the faith altogether. My friend Cassidy explains it well in an old blog post:
Doubt is much like mourning; after a certain period of time, the mourner’s and the doubter’s friends and family get a little tired of hearing about it and stop being able to show sympathy or support for the mourner or doubter.
Every single doubter who comes to the wrong conclusion, or who otherwise doesn’t follow the standard approved narrative for doubters, is a contradiction of Christianity’s teachings about doubt–which is, itself, probably the biggest reason why Christians both desperately ache to be thought of as friendly toward doubt and yet also are completely hostile and dishonest about engaging with doubt. They are perfectly aware that doubt leads to deconversions so of course they want to address the problem, but they also can’t really engage with it in a way that actually would lead to honest inquiry and sincere examination–because both would quickly unearth a number of reasons to reject most of the childishly over-simplistic doctrines of evangelicalism.
I want to have better expectations of my church, but a sermon series like this really makes me…well, doubt.
This isn’t to say that pastors should only teach about doubt, and I realize that it’s impossible to cater to the individual spiritual needs of all 10,000+ members in attendance (yeah, it’s a big church). But a big church like this has plenty of resources. What about an on-going support group of sorts, for people to come and have a safe space to express thoughts and ask questions they’d get reprimanded for in bible study? A space where “You’re not a real Christian” isn’t allowed, because we’re all in different places on the journey, and only God can determine who is “real” anyway. A place without specific structure – no discussion manuals, no pre-written questions – just open, honest discussion and encouragement. Often, I’m not looking for answers so much as an affirmation: You’re not alone. There’s nothing wrong with you.
Or how about this: conduct an anonymous survey to find out what the congregation’s real struggles are, rather than just assuming them. Structure sermons around the results.
For anyone who’s ever felt like they’ve given the “wrong” answer in bible study, what we need is a support group – not another sermon series. And like Alcoholics Anonymous, what is said in the room stays in the room – for many people, expressing doubt is a serious offense that can risk being disowned by relatives, so privacy would be absolutely paramount.
Week after week, I continue showing up, hoping to hear something – anything – that will make me feel fed. I cannot be blamed for lack of trying. But showing up week after week, feeling pushed further and further into the margins because my concerns are not others’ concerns, and I must not be “doing faith” correctly, will not guarantee my presence forever.
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Filed under: Theology Tagged: agnosticism, cats, censorship, Christianity, Controversy, self-care, Spiritual Abuse
October 19, 2016
WWAMAD? What Would a Mature Adult Do?
I was adamantly pro-life in college (and by “adamantly,” I mean “anyone who has an abortion is an evil sadist who deserves a life sentence in prison,” without any ounce of empathy for the circumstances that lead to abortion being an option in the first place: namely poverty). I had a friend who was very pro-choice. In fact, she interned at Planned Parenthood. By agreeing never to discuss abortion, we were able to sustain a friendship – a friendship so close that she stood next to me on my wedding day.
I look back on this as a reminder that I am capable of agreeing to disagree, to live and let live. Sometimes this is very hard to do, but it is nonetheless what mature grownups do. Grownups understand that people believe different things, often due to unique life experiences, and we respect their right to do so. I imagine most of us would rather not live in an echo chamber – I certainly don’t.
WWAMAD? has been my mantra this election season: What Would a Mature Adult Do? I repeated this question for every pro-Trump post I saw on Facebook; every “But Hillary is just as bad!” and “He just tells it like it is!” post. I could overlook these comments, even as I shook my head or rolled my eyes, because I’m not an ardent Hillary fan, despite believing she’s the more qualified candidate. In fact, I do think she is a very flawed candidate, and my reaction to her electoral win (let’s face it, it’s pretty inevitable at this point) will be rather anti-climactic.
But this post isn’t about Hillary.
It’s about the moment I saw posts, comments, and shared articles from a handful of acquaintances, past and present (and many of them Christian), continuing to laud Trump even after a recording that bragged about assaulting women was released to the media. Even after news surfaced that he had raped his former wife, was accused of raping a teenage girl (true, we can’t prove guilt beyond reasonable doubt, but he’s making his accusers look awfully credible), and made disturbing comments about what he would do to his own daughter if she weren’t his daughter. Even after multiple women came forward to accuse him of assaulting them. And no, “Sorry if you were offended” does not count as an apology – in no way does it acknowledge that the original statements were wrong and never should have been said.
Worse yet are the women and men alike reiterating that Trump’s comments were nothing more than “locker room talk.” I’m outraged that women don’t hold the men in their lives to higher standards than this, and mystified at the small number of men I know who have come forward to stand up for their gender and insist that this is not acceptable.
I’m outraged, anxiety-ridden, and triggered. Two weeks ago I broke my months-long sobriety streak because I couldn’t handle the stress (if you’ve never experienced it yourself, then let me tell you: PTSD is a real bitch).
It’s hard to explain how much of a gut-punch it is to hear in conversation or read Facebook posts from people who know about your past – people who might have told you they believe you, and insisted that what happened to you wasn’t your fault – and still find a way to excuse confessions of assault as “guy talk,” “lewd comments,” or my favorite, “mean things.” At this point, a line has been crossed. We are no longer in the land of “agreeing to disagree” when sexual assault is involved. No, this time, it’s too personal to do that.
What Would a Mature Adult Do?
I’ve talked to my husband, my brother, and a few close friends. I’ve prayed about my response. There is no right or wrong answer to this question; not if it’s answered after a great deal of reflection and humility. For me, as a mature adult (so I hope), it is best to act in the interest of self-care. If anyone’s posts trivialize what was done to these women (which was also done to me), I don’t need their presence in my life. My recovery matters more.
So I did something I once swore I’d never do, because it just felt petty: I did a clean-up of my friends list. Most of the ‘unfriended’ (I can’t stand that word) were people I haven’t spoken to since high school and will likely never see again, anyway. Others were harder: they are people I see in church, whom I cannot avoid without being overtly rude. Short of finding another church, which is not a simple thing to do, I had to repeat the question again: What Would a Mature Adult Do?
A mature adult, I figure, will still be kind and courteous in public spaces, but will not go out of her way to meet for coffee or outside-of-church activities. Those will have to rest.
I don’t intend for this to be permanent. But when trust has been broken, the only thing that can close the gap is time. Hopefully, if the offenders are also mature adults, they will understand why this separation is necessary.
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Filed under: Feminism, Social Issues Tagged: Abortion, celebrities, Controversy, depression, Donald Trump, Feminism, grief, rape culture, self-care, social justice
