Sarahbeth Caplin's Blog, page 35

When rhetoric kills

Yesterday was Transgender Visibility Day. But first, a quote by blogger Libby Anne (her post is about the young creationist group Answers in Genesis explaining the problem of evil, but this quote is relevant to what I want to discuss today):

Two centuries ago, many American Christians believed that slavery was ordained by God. Over time, Christian moral systems have changed, and today it is rare to find Christians who believe that dictatorship is a form of government favored by God, or that slavery is biblical and morally justified. Christian moral systems have changed in part because they have been influenced by secular moral systems, and not the other way around.

It’s for this reason I struggle to believe homosexuality or being transgendered is a sin. Just like there were Christian-based abolitionist groups accused of “going against God’s design” for races, there are now LGBT-affirming Christian groups who are facing the exact same accusation.

What a difference a century, half a century, or even a decade can make. It’s really hard for me to accept “the biblical view” LGBT matters when, assuming the homosexuality issue follows the same track as the slavery issue, many Christians will eventually claim that Scripture was just misinterpreted through the lenses of bigotry. By the time my future children reach high school, Christians might even say *they* were the ones on the front lines for LGBT equality all along!

Against my better judgment, I got into an argument with someone recently about how much our placement in history influences our thinking. He couldn’t get it. He condemned slavery and racism, but condemned my assertion that if he were alive in the era of Jim Crow, he’d probably have been a racist. A Jesus-loving racist. And hey, maybe I would have been, too.

Maybe I’m using the wrong words. When I write about the importance of understanding people who differ from me, some have taken that to mean “accepting all viewpoints as valid.” Um, no. I don’t know anyone who does that, no matter how liberal and tolerant they claim to be. How did the concept of “understanding” get so skewed?!

Today, many Christians are anti-LGBT equality in all forms. I’m pretty convinced that this is a matter of cultural influence over biblical interpretation, mostly because gender dysphoria as we understand it today is nowhere in Scripture (it’s a bit more complex than just cross-dressing). There have always been LGBT people, but not until this century did science and psychology finally begin to understand the biological and psychological underpinnings that make gender and sexual identity so complex.

I’m not making any proclamations about LGBT “lifestyles” being moral or immoral. That’s not a debate I wish to get involved in. What I am saying is that there is fear, disgust, and discrimination happening based on lack of understanding; Christians are just as guilty of this as anyone. Based on several Facebook posts, tweets, and blog forums, it’s pretty obvious who has taken the time to get to know and understand LGBT persons and who hasn’t. “But I have gay/transgendered friends!” doesn’t really mean anything. Maybe you work with a transgendered person and make small talk with him/her on a daily basis. But that’s nothing like sitting down and asking what it’s like to be in their skin; trapped in bodies that never felt like theirs.

That’s unimaginable to me, as a cis-gendered, heterosexual woman. And I confess, I don’t know any transgendered people personally. But I do know what it’s like to go through life being misunderstood, and I want to understand. I want to be corrected if my opinions are rooted in ignorance. I want to be called out if anything I’m doing is only helping the world remain a dangerous place for people to simply be themselves.

You can tell some people that the rhetoric they’re espousing is not only wrong, but dangerous. You can tell them that their words are literally killing people. You can present a list of facts that show why their opinions are misinformed. And it still won’t make a difference.

I am so damn sick of being part of a group that routinely preaches ignorance. There are many wonderful Christian advocates out there, but they are overshadowed by the hateful ones. The hardest part of faith is not always doctrine, but people. And it’s times such as these where Jesus’ examples of loving the most unlovable are so poignant and necessary.

Filed under: Other stuff, Religion Tagged: Christian culture, Christianity, Controversy, evangelicals, LGBT, social justice, Spiritual Abuse

The Way I Used to Be: a review

Scrolling through reviews of the newly published novel The Way I Used to Be on Goodreads, one in particular stood out to me. This reviewer is “sick and tired of yet ANOTHER ‘damaged girl’ narrative after being raped.”

The extent of which author Amber Smith chronicles main character Eden’s downward spiral after being raped by a family friend is not for the faint of heart. Eden’s life becomes a mess, that’s for sure. She’s justifiably angry about her assault, and that no one would believe her if she told. So she lashes out. She hurts people. She sleeps with dozens of guys because she’s lost all sense of self-worth. Not surprisingly, she earns a reputation as the school slut.

True, this narrative is familiar. It’s been done before, but I really think Smith’s book is different. I’ve read many YA books about rape: Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson, All the Rage by Courtney Summers, What We Saw by Aaron Hartzler, and Fault Line by Christa Desir, to name a few. The last two are written from the perspective of an outsider responding to the aftermath of an assault on someone they know. The first two are written in the voice of the victims themselves, and yes, they are “damaged.” How can they not be? But despite having that in common, the stories they tell are still unique. The protagonists’ ways of processing what was done to them are still different, because all survivors’ responses to rape are different, and all of them are valid.

So how is Smith’s novel different? I have not read a novel that so accurately shows the ripple effect that rape can have on a person’s life, even years after it happened. This book is so raw, yet so painfully real. The story follows Eden from her freshman year up until senior year of high school (which has some flaws, since that’s a huge chunk of time for a novel to cover, so naturally there are gaps missing in time), and the “damage” is cumulative. Other rape novels fall into the cursed pattern of TELLING instead of SHOWING the reader what is happening. Smith is an expert at “showing” Eden’s downward spiral, and that is important. It’s important because, while not everyone who has dozens of sex partners is “acting out” from abuse, you never know if “that slut” is fighting a battle you know nothing about. And in a world that loves to slut-shame, humanizing those “sluts” is so, so necessary.

Personally, I resonated with Eden. I too have hurt people because I’d been hurt, and felt good doing it. Sometimes I lashed out because of a truly insensitive comment someone made: “Your Dad can’t die without knowing Jesus, or you know what will happen!” Other times, I made a conscious choice to hurt someone with words. While my grief was a motivator, I know it wasn’t an excuse. I think Eden realizes that about her own actions, and her behavior toward the people trying to help her really is infuriating at times, but what I see – and perhaps what other abuse survivors will pick up as well – is fear. Fear of being known, of having someone see the damage done and run away in horror.

It’s easier for Eden to let guys use her sexually than expose her heart, but she still hopes to find some semblance of worth in these encounters. And she never does. The loneliness and insecurity continue to worsen, but even after she realizes the effect these meaningless hookups have on her, she still concludes that intimacy is a far greater risk. Oh, do I get that.

Fear is the reason I told my husband on our first date that I’d been raped by my last boyfriend and still had a lot of processing to do; could he handle that? I wanted to get all that out on the table before getting my heart involved, which would hurt so much worse than losing him from the beginning, before falling in love with him. He said, “I’m still processing hurt from previous relationships, too. We can do that together.”

So while the “damaged girl” narrative isn’t original and may be considered a trope, I still think it’s important to dissect, if handled responsibly. Other Goodreads reviews came from self-identified rape survivors who went the complete opposite direction: they feared sex and shunned all kinds of physical touch, no matter how platonic. These reviews confessed not knowing about the connection between PTSD and “acting out” sexually. But this book helped them understand. For that reason, I highly recommend it, but at your own risk. Trigger warnings abound, and I had to take frequent breaks to finish this. Still, it’s worth it.

Filed under: Rape Culture Tagged: depression, Feminism, grief, rape culture, self-care

Apologetics: more questions than actual answers

Nothing is more dangerous to one’s own faith than the work of an apologist. No doctrine of that faith seems to me so spectral, so unreal as one that I have just successfully defended in a public debate.

I have to agree with C.S. Lewis here. I still collect apologetics books with the hope that someone will have some original material. Or maybe someone will explain a common Christian-ism (“People send themselves to hell”) in a way that makes a bit more sense. But what happens when those explanations still fail to satisfy? I also have to agree with my friend Neil, who claims apologetics are not for the lost, but for the saved. If you are already convinced of Christianity’s basic doctrines – belief in God, belief in sin, belief in Jesus’ resurrection – then apologetic explanations are a lot easier to accept. You’re not as inclined to notice logical fallacies around the edges.

In church recently, a man shared his testimony and offered his reasons for belief. In a nutshell, it boiled down to Pascal’s wager: it’s better to believe and be wrong, because nothing will happen to you after you die, as opposed to not believing, and ending up in hell. For those who already believe, this makes perfect sense. Then you have people like me with the following objections: 1) Can’t this wager be used to justify belief in any religion? And 2) Is fear of being wrong really a good reason to become – or remain – a Christian? Doesn’t sound like a relationship of love to me.

When you’ve been searching and searching for years and the answers still don’t make sense, maybe it’s time to drop the questions and focus on what does make sense: redemption. Radical compassion. Humble servitude. The faith I am fighting to reclaim was something truly beautiful. I’m afraid that if I dwell too much on making sense of hell, original sin, and other less-than-pleasant teachings, I’ll lose my faith altogether. I don’t want that.

So as much as I’d love some answers, what I’m happy settling for right now is a community of like-minded believers who share the same struggles, and use their stories to encourage one another. I want to meet more people who feel like walking contradictions; who are constantly told they can’t be both Christian and [blank].

I no longer feel a need to defend my faith. My experiences are my own, and unlike apologetic arguments cannot easily be refuted.

Filed under: Religion Tagged: Christian culture, Christianity, evangelicals, hell, Writing

Here’s why we still need feminism

I read this quote on Twitter, but I can’t remember who said it: Saying “I don’t need feminism because I’m not oppressed” is like saying “I don’t need a fire extinguisher because my house isn’t on fire.”

I love it. I’m continually astounded that there are people, especially women, who can’t see the connection between “I’m not being oppressed” and the hard work on behalf of feminists to make that safety from oppression possible. Do we no longer need soldiers because we’re already “free”? No; we need soldiers in order to stay free. Some rights always have to be fought for.

Perhaps feminism is misunderstood because the focus is always on the bigger picture. We are now able to vote, work outside the home if we want, pursue any degree of higher education that we want. But I see a need for feminism in smaller, day-by-day interactions and experiences that are far too common. On the grander scale of equal rights, many people view the cat-calls and the need to go to the bathroom in groups for safety reasons as just things to put up with, because “it could always be worse.” We need to stop being such babies. We need to put on our Big Girl pants and just deal with it. Think of women living under the Taliban!

That doesn’t make it okay.

The following videos are excerpts from a Colorado State production inspired by the Vagina Monologues, explaining these “everyday feminisms.” You might recognize the first one from an earlier blog post, and the second is performed with permission from the original writers from Rutgers University.

 

Filed under: Feminism, Rape Culture Tagged: Feminism, rape culture, social justice

Let’s talk about hell!

My last post was about “redemptive justice”: the idea that punishment must teach the offender something, or else it doesn’t work. It’s why I’m against torture and capital punishment: you’re just not in a position to correct your behavior when you’re being harmed, and especially not when you’re dead.

That is why I can’t wrap my head around a loving god who consigns nonbelievers to a fate of burning for eternity.

That’s not to say I don’t believe there’s a hell (although that belief is shaky at best). Yes, it’s a critical part of the “Christian package,” so my best answer is simply “I don’t know,” because honestly? I don’t like thinking about it. But it’s a, um, heated subject (forgive me), so I can’t afford to be neutral about it.

I don’t think God would force anyone to spend eternity with him if they don’t want to. But I’m not convinced that hell is a literal place of fire and brimstone, either. That conviction, too, is shaky, but I’m not alone in considering it. I’ve done thorough research over the last several months, with help from Gregory Boyd, Jon Sweeney, Benjamin Corey, and my Jewish annotated editions of the Old and New Testament (which I highly recommend).

I purposely selected a mix of conservative, progressive, and scholarly sources to avoid confirmation bias. With a topic like this, it would be easy to only seek out sources that are likely to confirm what I want to be true, but I’m too intellectually honest to be satisfied with that. I want the truth, no matter how disturbing it might be.

But after all that studying, I’m nowhere close to a definitive answer. I’ll be studying for the rest of my life and might not come to an answer, unless God himself shares it with me (unlikely). The best I can offer are educated guesses.

This is what we know about Gehenna, the hell that Jesus talks about: it refers to a garbage dump outside of Jerusalem, where pagans performed human sacrifices (hence the reference of “weeping and gnashing of teeth”). But more pertinent is the fact that eternal suffering isn’t mentioned anywhere in the Old Testament. Instead, we get references to annihilation: ceasing to exist, being snuffed out. That’s a fate reserved for the truly wicked and unrepentant. So at what point in history did this literal pit of fire come to be? Sin comes into the picture in the first book of the Bible, so it would have to have always been there. But the Hebrew Scriptures never mention it.

Those are logical appeals to a different definition of hell, but my biggest concern is the justice angle. Punishment, by definition, is corrective. Our justice system only implements life sentences or the death penalty when criminals are deemed too dangerous to be released back into society. With eternal life, there’s certainly ample time to be corrected and restored. So you’d think.

Blogger Benjamin Corey really put a dent in my thinking when he wrote a post about the Jordanian pilot who was burned alive by ISIS. Most of the world was appropriately horrified by this extreme barbaric act. But how many of those horrified people also believe in a god who permits that sentence to nonbelievers? Presumably, the pilot was a Muslim, and traditional Christianity would say he deserved that fate.

I believe we are sinners, but I just can’t believe that level of suffering is what we all deserve. When the Bible talks about “deserving hell,” I lean toward the idea that we don’t deserve God’s presence when our inclination is to choose sin instead. Isn’t that ultimately what hell is – separation from God?

Perhaps attempting to define “separation from God” is missing the point; I’m sure all Christians can agree that this separation is not a good thing. But using hell as a scare tactic to gain converts isn’t a good thing, either, when it so horribly contradicts the idea that “Perfect love casts out all fear” (1 John 4:18). During the Spanish Inquisition, thousands of Jews chose conversion over burning at the stake, and I don’t blame them one bit. But how genuine were these conversions, really?

I have to believe that a God of love has better ways of drawing people to him. That has to be my final answer, no matter what: that God is love, that God is just, and (to quote Jon Hollingsworth) if his grace is as big as people say it is, then we have good reason to be optimistic about eternity.

Filed under: Religion Tagged: Christian culture, Christianity, evangelicals, hell, Judaism

The problem with vindictive justice

My friend Sarah Morehead wrote a very moving, personal post about how vilifying sex offenders actually encourages further abuse:

Put away your pitchforks for a minute and hear me out. We’ve all seen it happen and maybe even participated in the diatribe ourselves. A convicted sex offender is sentenced and the shouts of “Monster!” and “You deserve what you’ll get in prison!” (and worse) erupt from our networks.

Just yesterday, we learned that Jared Fogle (former spokesman for Subway) was assaulted in prison, where he’s serving time for possessing child pornography and engaging in “commercial sex acts with underage minors,” as the government filing put it. My friends (theists and atheists alike, incidentally) gleefully cheered the “justice” and “karma being served.”

I know this vindictive feeling well. The last words I said to my abuser were “You’re dead to me” over the phone as we were breaking up and he kept repeating, “I’m sorry you got hurt,” which is the worst not-pology I’ve ever heard. Not “I’m sorry I hurt you,” but “I’m sorry you feel hurt,” once again shifting the blame on me for reacting appropriately to what I later learned was coercive manipulation. He was so good at it, I didn’t realize what was happening. My eyes slowly started to open as friends confronted me to tell me what they saw from the outside. Looking back on it now, I can’t believe how blind I was. I cringe at the thought that I was a “victim” for so long – five years.

So yes, I know the feeling of wanting violent, vindictive justice. I wanted him to know exactly what I felt when he told me “Trust me, you’ll like it, you’ll change your mind, this won’t hurt.” I wanted him to know what it felt like when I realized he lied. And he wouldn’t stop.

I don’t wish for that anymore.

Now, I’d wager most folks on my News Feed consider themselves to be “good people,” and I’d agree with most of them. And I, for one, don’t think anyone deserves to be assaulted or the victim of violence whether they’re “good people” or not. Our hearts break for any victim of sexual assault — and when it’s a child, or children, we want to circle our wagons and do our best to protect them. But does advocating vigilante justice help or hurt children in the long run? In a public post on my Facebook page, and similar posts on friends walls, I explained my problems with this reaction. In short, we were countering one form of violence with another, and we were creating a warped profile of child predators.

Sarah has more than earned the right to speak with knowledge on this subject. She endured a parent’s worst nightmare when abuse happened to one of her own children.

I had, and still have, moments of indescribable grief, sadness, anger, and a myriad other awful emotions that creep in when you’re alone with your thoughts at 3:00 a.m. It will take years of coping, adjusting, and grieving for me and my children to come to grips with the magnitude of what had happened. I’m relieved that the truth is out. But it’s not easy, and I don’t know when, or even if, I will ever be able to manage forgiveness.

But I don’t have a “let’s love and respect the predator” attitude either. I don’t. Nor would I ask anyone to forgive their (or their children’s) abuser. I can’t. I won’t. We can embrace our emotions while simultaneously condemning violence as retribution. When we justify violence for the sake of catharsis, we are reacting on a level that is no different than the rationale of the abusers themselves: I couldn’t stop myself… I was overcome with emotion…

I reject the notion that reactionary violence is justified. I can be angry and I have every right to my feelings. Yet I am responsible for putting forth a rational approach to dealing with sex offenders. It’s not just for their sake. It’s for the sake of their victims — and potential victims in the future.

It’s taken years of therapy for me to arrive at this place myself. My personal research on the cycle of abuse has been quite eye-opening: many abusers have endured abuse themselves in some way. Was that the case with my abuser? I don’t know. But somewhere in the course of his life, he picked up the harmful idea that wearing a woman down with “Don’t you love me?” and “I bought you a nice dinner, you owe me” until she finally says “yes” counts as consent. Somehow, he bought into the lie that it’s okay to ignore her “no” if you’ve had consensual relations before.

Somewhere in the long journey of healing, I stopped hating Jason and started feeling sorry for him. I’m still upset with myself for never pressing charges when I had the chance, but ultimately I’m just sad about the whole thing. I don’t want to see him humiliated, tortured, or hurt in any other way. I want him held accountable. I want him to get the help he so desperately needs, so the cycle doesn’t repeat itself. I don’t want any more women to get hurt.

I still have bad days. I haven’t completely gotten over the anger, and don’t know if I ever will. But for me, redemptive justice looks like channeling that anger into activism, which is why I’m participating in a school production of “The ____ Monologues” (inspired by “The Vagina Monologues,” but it’s mostly original pieces by students).

Breaking an already broken person wouldn’t teach him anything. Using violence as justice satisfies a blood lust, and where does it end? How much suffering would have to happen in order for justice to be considered “served”? More to the point, what does suffering actually teach the perpetrator? Ideally, it would be empathy, but somehow I doubt that. At some point, the suffering becomes meaningless, and there’s no redemption in that.

If the punishment isn’t redemptive, then it isn’t justice.

Filed under: Rape Culture Tagged: Controversy, grief, rape culture, self-care, social justice

A day in the life of a person with OCD (Guest post)

I’m standing in front of my closet, contemplating which outfits to plan for the week. This saves me time in the morning when I inevitably spend an extra half hour snuggling the cat in bed after my snooze button goes off three times.

A sweatshirt would be ideal for today since it’s still in the 40s, except all the sweatshirts have been worn more times than the long-sleeved Gap shirts that pair with scarves, and have all the scarves been worn an equal amount of times before being put away for the season? Maybe I should wear one of those instead…

The average woman might stare at her full closet and feel excited by all her choices, but when it comes to wardrobe, too many options overwhelm me. I have to wear each item an equal number of times per season or I can’t keep it. The thought of holding on to things I don’t use is distressing. If months go by and it hasn’t been worn, it goes into the Goodwill pile.

My husband lightheartedly tolerates my Goodwill binges, but gets irritated if I contemplate giving something away without asking him. Those dress shirts in the back of the closet he hasn’t worn in all six years I’ve known him? “I might need them someday.” Someday?! That makes no sense to me at all.

In the last several weeks I’ve donated half a dozen grocery bags of clothes, because I’m a slave to Out of Print and buying a new item means giving away an old one. It’s the Rules. I can’t buy anything new without doing a full closet inventory first to see how a new item will fit.

Read the rest here.

Filed under: Other stuff Tagged: Author Sarahbeth Caplin, depression, grief, OCD, self-care

Living on the fringe of faith

If I look back on my life from a psychologist’s perspective, it makes sense why Christianity appealed to me so much. The person with OCD likes everything neatly arranged and in impeccable order (at least this person does). From the outside looking in, Christianity seemed to fit this bill with its clear definitions of right and wrong, moral and immoral, holy and unholy.

It’s not so much that I agreed with everything most denominations have in common, so much as I admired the organization of doctrines. Judaism by comparison (Reform Judaism, obviously) allowed far too much room for making up my own mind about things, and that, to me, was its fatal flaw.

Well, the joke is on me now, isn’t it? I had no idea that churches have split, and continue to split, over doctrinal disagreements. The black and white ideas I thought were so clear are actually anything but, depending on the subject. Needless to say, this is all very frustrating for someone who thought she was signing up for a religion of easy answers.

The most adamant teaching from my college ministry was the necessity of having an answer for what we believe and why, per the instructions of 1 Peter 3:15: “Always have an answer ready for the hope you have in Christ.” Because we never knew when a crazed gunman might come to campus and attempt to make us martyrs, like what supposedly happened at Columbine (what do you expect from a group that calls itself Campus Crusade, after all?).

Except no one got martyred while I was in college. Instead, students claimed to be asked from time to time, “Why are you always so happy? What’s your secret?” And that would be the platform for witnessing.

Well, few people would ever look at me and think, “Gosh, isn’t she happy!” so I don’t think that tactic works for me. I can’t remember a time I’ve ever had anyone randomly come up to me and ask about my “secret” for which Jesus would be the answer. Actually, the only people who have ever gotten in my face to ask about my beliefs were street preachers, the angry kind who just want an excuse to tell me why I’m wrong and that I’m going to hell. And then a radical thought occurred to me…

This pressure I feel to have answers, to know exactly which box represents my beliefs so I can put a check mark next to it, now mostly comes from me. Reality doesn’t actually work that way. I don’t owe anyone an explanation of my faith journey and the shaky place I find myself now. That story is much better explained with a friend over coffee, in which the goal is to share our struggles and understand each other, because that’s how relationships work. And I think this is why I’m able to have friendships with people who aren’t Christian, because admitting “I don’t know” comes much easier to me than “This is why I’m right.”

Still, the Bible itself continues to be a source of pressure for me. It claims you’re either “on fire” for God or “lukewarm” and will be spit right out. You’re either for Jesus, or against him. You’re a True Christian, or you’re lost. For all the narratives and parables about men and women who emulated the paradox of faith and doubt, there’s plenty more that keeps me up at night, praying for grace and humility for all the things I could be wrong about.

I’ve met Christians who are absolutely confident that hell is not a literal place; that Jesus is one of many paths to God. My own belief insecurities are too great for me to condemn anyone who strays from Orthodox teachings. More than that, deep down I hope those beliefs are right, even if I never confess them with confidence. Perhaps it would be easier to reject the things I don’t like, but I feel safer by living on the fringes, where grace and humility are clearer to me than ever before. For now, this is the safest place for me to be. It’s messy, it’s sloppy, it’s anything but organized, and drives my OCD crazy. But I’m learning to make it a home.

Filed under: Religion Tagged: Campus Crusade for Christ, Christian culture, Christianity, evangelicals, hell, Judaism

Anatomy of the naked selfie

I highly doubt that Kim Kardashian posts nude selfies on Instagram for the purpose of feminist discourse, but this person seems to think so. I can’t tell if it’s purposely tongue-in-cheek, or if it takes a nude selfie with the caption “I have nothing to wear, lol” a bit too seriously. My guess would be the latter, but it still got me thinking.

Most of us have seen these before: the anti fat shaming selfie of a woman in a dressing room posing in a bikini; the “no makeup” selfie trend. I don’t think there’s anything inherently wrong with these, especially if the purpose is to inspire other women to be comfortable in their skin and make peace with so-called “body flaws.” At the same time, if the confidence is truly genuine, I wonder why there’s a need to share these photos at all…especially the naked ones.

I shake my head at some of these “pride selfies” for the same reason I shake my head at the posts bragging about how incredible one’s spouse or boyfriend is, how happy and perfect and #blessed the marriage/relationship is. Yes, sometimes the reason I want to hide these posts is out of jealousy. But seriously, consider this: is it possible that the truly happy, satisfied, confident people don’t need to post about it? I might believe this more if the ‘like’ and comment features were turned off, cancelling all expectations of compliment showers.

Keep in mind this is pure speculation, not a judgment against every woman who has shared provocative images on social media. Only she can know her true motives. I think the real target of my increased jadedness is the society so obsessed with body criticism that makes these photos necessary. That, and the sad fact that naked or barely-dressed women sell more beer, clothes, cars, music, you name it than clothed women do.

There were many comments on the aforementioned xoJane piece shaming women in general for “attention-whoring” themselves by exposing their nudity, but I have to say that this particular comment sums up my feelings on the matter:

I just want to know how come the primary way women seem to get popular/known/etc is by getting naked. I’d like to see a world where a woman who prefers to keep her clothes on can be as successful. I don’t fault her for owning her body and her sexuality, I don’t care about her sex tape, and I don’t care how many nude selfies she wants to post. However, there comes a point where I think female celebrities who make these choices also need to start calling out the fact that objectification is bullshit, and women shouldn’t have to take their clothes off to get attention.

I think the operative words there are “She shouldn’t have to.” But if she wants to, then it’s not my business. And there are plenty of ways to politely disagree with this kind of exhibitionism without resorting to slut shaming.

If you look at my social media accounts, this is the typical selfie you’ll see. Catniss is quite photogenic, don’t you think?

Filed under: Feminism, Other stuff Tagged: Controversy, Facebook, Feminism, Kim Kardashian, self-care

Rape trauma and the evangelicals who still don’t get it

You might find this surprising, but I sometimes read Focus on the Family’s entertainment blog. I started reading it years ago when I had more in common with their target audience, and I actually find it somewhat addicting. But, the movie reviews can be unexpectedly snarky, and I’m very much in agreement with the writers that sexuality is exploited by Hollywood far too often.

I realize I’m more left of center than the target audience now, but I’m responding to this blog post by Juli Slattery, founder of the women’s ministry “Authentic Intimacy,” because it represents an attitude seen far too often in Christian circles regarding the healing process of sexual abuse survivors.

The aforementioned post is a response to Lady Gaga’s gut-wrenching Oscar performance of “Till it Happens to You,” a song that rightly calls out those who judge and victim-blame by saying “You don’t know how it feels.” Before I heard that song, I wouldn’t have called myself a Gaga fan. For the most part, I still don’t. Her songs are a bit too dance-poppy for me, but if she produced more ballads like this, I’d definitely jump on her bandwagon.

As a survivor herself, Gaga performed this song with such moving intensity and emotion, making it difficult to criticize, but still Slattery did. The reason? It was too depressing. It lacked hope. More to the point, it didn’t mention Jesus as the ultimate healer at the end. But before she mentions that, she says this at the beginning, which comes across to me as a bit victim-blamey – quite unbecoming for someone in the counseling profession:

The tidal wave of sexual exploitation in our world will not subside until we recognize sexuality as a great spiritual battlefield. It is sadly ironic that the same people decrying sexual abuse create countless films that objectify women and present sexual pleasure as a commodity traded as freely as baseball cards. This cavalier and humanistic attitude toward sexuality, pornography, and the “hook up” culture are clearly propagating the tragedy highlighted in last night’s Oscars.

I’m shocked that the irony of this sailed right past Slattery. I’m not a fan of the “hook up” culture either, but what separates casual sex from rape should be rather obvious: consent. There is a world of difference between songs that celebrate sex between (let’s assume) consenting strangers and songs that encourage or make light of rape (I’m looking at you, Robin Thicke). A person who willingly has sex with one stranger is always within her right to refuse sex with another. I don’t understand why that’s so difficult to understand.

Now, back to the passage about Gaga’s song lacking hope:

While Lady Gaga’s song was bold and purposeful, it offered no hope. In fact, the message was that victims of sexual abuse suffer alone because no one can quite reach into their despair and brokenness.

Yes, that’s quite true. Again, to quote Gaga, “Till it happens to you, you don’t know how it feels.” That’s relevant to any tragedy. It’s not right, it’s not wrong; it’s just the way it is.

You know, I don’t need every song, book, or blog post about trauma to encourage me. I know where to look when I need that. Sometimes it’s nice to listen to someone who’s been where you are; who knows the pain you’re experiencing, and despite it all, ended up pretty damn successful.

We want to tell you clearly; you are not alone. Jesus is the God, who sees your pain, who hears your cries in the night, the God of all comfort, and the One who can bind up your broken heart. He can release you from the prison of your sin and the darkness of your shame.

Okay, back up. Really Slattery, you could have stopped after “bind up your broken heart.” As a Christian myself, I have no issue with this (I still believe that Jesus + therapy + anti-depressants is the best medicine, though). But what was the point of mentioning “prison of your sin”? Don’t you mean “the rapist’s sin”?

This is why, though I’ve had two great Christian counselors in the past, I am generally skeptical of “Christian counseling” as its own separate field. I’ve heard too many stories of Christian “counselors” who don’t seem willing to do the hard work of letting a client really feel and parse through their anger, because forgiveness is treated like a magic antidote that makes the pain disappear. And those who struggle with forgiveness, or perhaps aren’t ready to make that step, are accused of being “bitter,” a sin that’s just as bad as the rape itself.

Frankly, if anyone deserves grace for being bitter, it’s rape victims. That doesn’t mean it’s healthy. That doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be dealt with. For all her training, it doesn’t sound like Slattery is all too familiar with the psychology of abuse and its lasting effect on survivors, or else she’d show more sympathy for the fact that letting go of abuse takes WORK. Prayer, yes, but also a lot of work.

And even then, sometimes the best you can do is learn to manage the pain. Isn’t part of the Christian life about learning how to carry a cross? For some people, rape trauma and PTSD is that cross.

Lady Gaga, He has “been there.” Why did the God of the universe suffer abuse, ridicule and torture at the hands of human beings? So that He would be the “man of sorrows, acquainted with our grief,” identifying with us in our deepest pain.

This is like saying, “But not all Christians are like that!” when someone shares how Christians hurt them. The statement is technically true, but it’s condescending in its attempt to minimize the pain of the person speaking.

Let’s get one thing clear: Jesus suffered, yes, but he was never raped. That’s a whole different level of suffering.

Unfortunately, many Christians do not acknowledge God as the Healer of our sexual brokenness. The unspoken lie we believe is that sexuality is beyond God’s ability to heal, to redeem and to restore.

I think God sometimes doesn’t heal abuse survivors for the same reason he doesn’t heal some people of cancer. Well, actually, I don’t know the reason. But not all things can be healed, and we may never understand why until we meet God face to face. That’s not a “lie”; that’s reality. It’s flat out cruel to tell an abuse survivor that the validity of their faith depends on whether or not they make a full recovery from the trauma of rape. Would you dare say that to someone who survived a car accident? This is an act of violence that was forced on someone, and yet the burden of recovery falls on the victim? What the hell kind of psychology is that?

Good intentions aside, a “counselor” like Slattery has no business being in this field. Her “advice” is the very picture of spiritual abuse masked by a facade of holiness.

Filed under: Rape Culture, Religion Tagged: Christian culture, Christianity, depression, evangelicals, grief, Lady Gaga, rape culture, self-care, Spiritual Abuse