Sarahbeth Caplin's Blog, page 59

There’s a fly in my soup; there is patriarchy in my religion

I am a fan of people who devote their lives to unpopular causes.

Some causes I understand, even if I don’t agree with them. But I will never understand patriarchy.

My head is spinning as I try to remember where in the Bible it states that all women must be stay-at-home mothers and let their husbands be the sole breadwinners. I don’t even recall where it states that all women HAVE to become mothers. As a soon-to-be-married woman who doesn’t want kids (for now), it troubles me to think of the reactions I might face when I try shopping for a new church where my fiancé lives. Any attitude suggesting women have to be this or that is an automatic dealbreaker.

I cannot understand how it’s “unbiblical” for marriages to be treated as partnerships, where each couple makes decisions that are best for them and their families; why it’s considered unreasonable in many conservative circles for men to help out with chores and child-rearing; why a woman choosing to have a career is accused of neglecting her children. I went to daycare as a kid while my mom worked; I think I turned out okay. When my dad got sick and had to retire, mom took over financially. Do ultra-conservatives somehow believe they are above that possibility?

But no matter which path you choose, there is disdain to be met at every turn. The disdain for women who choose to be stay-at-home mothers is also backlash in the face of feminism. It has to stop.

I can’t deny that these attitudes have a direct impact on my faith and the way I relate to Jesus. Even though I firmly believe Jesus valued women (he saved the life of one about to be stoned for adultery, per Old Testament law, after all), if other Christians who claim to represent him cannot allow for equality in their definition of womanhood, then the result is simple: the church will have no women. Maybe not all of us will leave in droves, but this particular woman will pack her bags if things do not change.

I know this wouldn’t happen on a large enough scale to wake people up. Sadly, there are plenty of women perpetuating anti-feminist viewpoints. They have never been taught what feminism is supposed to be: a radical notion that women are people; an idea that goes beyond politics, religion, and social status.

Ironically, I have met more women lately who actively promote patriarchy. They look at me like I’m holding a dead squirrel when I dare to admit I am a feminist.

That, too, must stop.

Spiritual Promiscuity

Some days I feel spiritually promiscuous: I can’t decide which faith is the right one. It’s akin to being in love with two different men, and not knowing which one to marry.

Most days I’m convinced it’s Christianity that’s true, but Jewish culture is just so much better. More history. Less cheese (I much prefer the flavor of expressions like “kvetching” and “Oy vey!” as opposed to, “The Lord laid it on my heart this morning…”)

Since starting and quitting seminary, I don’t think my theology has changed much; the Gospel message never changes. But my view of church has. More specifically, my view of Christian culture has done a complete 180. It went from being cool and glamorous (I never had a plethora of T-shirts, bumper stickers, and flashy key chains to choose from in Judaism) to tedious, exclusive, and sometimes even shallow.

Maybe I’m using the wrong words. I don’t know if “Christian culture” is what I should be criticizing, or rather, Christian stereotypes. Can one truly embrace a religion without its culture? The real issue may be that Christian culture is fine as it is; the flaws I find within it are a result of comparing it to the Jewish culture I grew up with, and miss dearly sometimes (I’ve been able to let go of my desire to be seen as “one of the club” by donning a matching T-shirt).

I keep forgetting that belief in the Gospel is what makes one a Christian. Nothing else. But the Christian culture thing is problematic: something I find myself rebelling against, because I realize how much pretending is involved on my part. I’m not and never have been the happy-clappy, hand-holding, Christian-ese speaking kind of Christian. I’ve endured awkwardness many times in church settings, telling myself it will get better as time goes on. It never occurred to me until recently that it may not be a sin after all to speak up and be honest, but polite, about things I’m not comfortable doing. Things like praying out loud that contradict my personality and the ways I relate to God. Doesn’t the beauty of community include diverse worship practices?

I hope the answer is yes. If not, I have wondered if Church Culture and I need to go our separate ways, because I have not been growing. I have not been learning. Instead, I have sat in bible studies pretending to be just as moved as everyone else, but inside I’m wondering what is wrong with me. I can’t pretend to be something I’m not, simply because it’s what others expect. That’s not authenticity. That’s wasting my time. Furthermore, it doesn’t allow anyone else the chance of really getting to know me. It’s a disservice to the community of Christ, where every member is uniquely gifted.

I don’t know what the ideal solution to this dilemma should be. But, while everyone else is standing and holding up their arms as the worship band is playing, doing what comes naturally to them, I’m doing what comes naturally to me: sitting, and writing in my prayer journal. Because worship goes beyond the bounds of Christian culture stereotypes. Worship is authentic, or nothing.

I am either an authentic Christian, or no Christian at all.

I must learn to make some kind of peace with my heritage, like a divorced parent having to see her ex on weekends to drop off the kids.

I don’t claim to be a scholar or an expert in anything. I’m only a pilgrim looking to marry my past to my present in a peaceful way so they don’t bicker; a sojourner searching for middle ground between two profoundly different—and profoundly similar—faiths, without ending up so infuriated by the followers of both that I toss them both out.

On a scale of Virgin to Slut, who are you?

I just read two very different books by two very different women back to back: The Thrill of the Chaste by Dawn Eden and The Purity Myth by Jessica Valenti. As you can probably guess from the titles, the former is a conservative Christian blogger turned author’s take on how premarital sex and promiscuity is hurting women. The latter is a self-described sex-positive liberal who sees the emphasis on physical purity as being harmful to women.

I think they’re both right. I also think they’re both wrong.

Eden’s book serves as somewhat of a cautionary tale of what can happen to a woman’s sense of security and worth when she allows men to treat her body as a sexual buffet. Her identity becomes compromised the more she is viewed as an object, a slice of meat to salivate over, and worse: many women in her life influenced her to see this as empowerment.

Conversely, Valenti’s experience of being told she was “damaged goods” for having sex led to a distorted self-image. She was sick of being judged as a good or bad person based on her sexual activity, not her character and accomplishments.

While both of these women make valid points and are convincing, talented writers, the message I took from their books is that there is hardly any middle ground on the scale of Virgin to Slut: you either idolize virginity, so any kind of sexual blemish tarnishes your chance for a meaningful relationship, or you embrace sex as positive in any context, so long as it’s what you want, and to hell with anyone who tells you otherwise.

Someone please tell me, is there anything wrong with believing one’s virginity is important and valuable, so long as it doesn’t become an idol? Is it really so crazy to believe that sex, while not a quantifier of an individual’s worth or value by any means, is best reserved for committed relationships or marriage? You can’t tell me that promiscuity doesn’t have its drawbacks (unintended pregnancies, STDs, emotional fallouts), but it’s equally wrong to teach a generation of women that the “greatest gift” they can offer their partners is an intact hymen (what about trust? Compatibility? Can only virgins can offer those?).

I know “slut shaming” (an expression I personally despise) is real and damaging, but I’ve experienced more “virgin shaming” than anything else. I was called “unrealistic” and even had my sanity questioned in college for placing any kind of value on my virginity and wanting to save it for marriage (in some cases, my holier-than-thou tendencies got the better of me and some of the criticism was warranted. But not always).

There are many instances when it’s difficult for society to separate a woman’s character from her sexual activity. But make no mistake, our culture doesn’t make it easy for young people who choose to be abstinent, either. No matter what choices you make, you will never have it easy. You will never escape any kind of judgment or condemnation.

Placing some value on virginity does not automatically equal patriarchy. Being a feminist does not mean an adoration of promiscuity. But using sex to estimate anyone’s worth is always intolerant and damaging.

If I ever have children, I want them to be free to make decisions that are right for them. I also want to teach them that their bodies are valuable and to be treated with dignity. Is this possible? Is it “realistic”?

If you aren’t a “slut” or a member of the “purity police,” then who are you? According to the books I read, if you are not on one team, you are by default a member of the other.

Forgiveness is not amnesia

The editors of Christianity Today have finally heeded the outcries of readers who were offended, enraged, and triggered by their article from a convicted sex offender. They published a rather sincere apology for their grave lapse of judgment, giving me hope that the Church is on its way to having a better understanding of sexual abuse: what it is, how it works.

I hate to say it, but I was expecting an apology more along the lines of “I’m sorry you got your feelings hurt”: something insincere and not truly from the heart. I expected this not because the Church has some kind of agenda to make life more hellish for sexual abuse victims, but because Christians in particular just can’t wrap their heads around this issue. I want to know why this is.

Perhaps part of why the Church mishandles (and continues to mishandle) sexual abuse is because the forgiveness piece of our faith is so highly valued. We Christians figure if Jesus can forgive the people who nailed him to a cross, rape victims can forgive their abusers. My personal journey of forgiveness has taught me that forgiveness isn’t the same as letting abusers off the hook, though: it’s a decision that frees myself from being enslaved by bitterness, which gives my abuser a hell of a lot more power than he deserves.

But why are perpetrators of abuse told to repent and submit to consequences in every available avenue except the law? This is where the Church continues screwing up. It’s not enough to come clean to an accountability partner. It’s not enough to resign from your position of leadership.

Maybe churches with abusers in their midst figure the negative publicity will hurt attendance, sponsorship, or the cause of Christ as a whole. I know I want to believe more than anything that the conviction of the holy spirit is enough to rectify damaging behavior, but sadly, this makes Christians rather naïve. Sexual abuse is a crime that thrives on secrecy: from the victim and everyone who knows the abuse is happening. This gives power to the abuser, making him (or her) believe he/she is invincible. The recidivism rate of sexual abusers increases when “turn the other cheek” becomes synonymous with hiding from the consequences of the law.

My distrust of churches as safe havens grows every time I hear forgiveness lauded as the only solution to “getting over” abuse. Not only is this completely underestimating the severity of trauma, but forgiveness doesn’t cause amnesia. Forgiveness doesn’t wipe the memory clean of PTSD and all the physical symptoms that go with it. Even years later, there’s not a day that goes by when I don’t still struggle with it.

This is what abuse survivors need from their churches: stop telling us that the joy of Christ conquers all wounds. We know that. Just tell us, instead, that you are listening and you want to understand.

For me, that is a good enough place to start.

Being famous is overrated

It’s that time again. I just clicked the “publish” button for a fifth time, and I’ll tell you: the rush never changes. It’s exciting. It’s empowering.

But it’s also a moment that calls for some self-evaluation. After all, it’s my fifth book. My fifth book at the age of 25, and I have yet to be named, let alone considered, a best-selling author in any notable book review journal. So am I doing okay? Am I doing anything right at all?

What’s the point of asking these questions, anyway?

I get to do something I love and am proud to put my name on. That’s what matters. The small circle of “fans” (that feels slightly pretentious) I’ve acquired are not part and parcel of this whole author experience: they are earned. And their reviews tell me that they appreciate my work not because I’m a hot new name in fiction, but because they connect with my stories. They recognize themselves in them.

That’s what matters.

But I’m someone who has wanted to be famous her entire life. There’s still a part of me that looks at my sales, my number of Twitter followers, compares them to those of other indie authors, and thinks I’m not doing enough. However, there’s a huge difference between putting work out there to be noticed, and putting work out there to say something real. If my only desire is to be noticed, to become some sort of household name, then I will always be disappointed. There will always be someone else topping new charts that didn’t exist yesterday, selling more copies, and gaining more Twitter followers.

It’s funny how you can find a high school-style hierarchy in just about any occupation or hobby. No matter what you do, you will always, at some point, feel like a geek while someone else is being crowned prom queen. Well, in book world, the latest New York Times best-seller is the prom queen. I guess that makes me a mathlete or something?

I’m in the process of re-evaluating the real reasons I want to be famous. Not can’t-buy-toilet-paper-without-paparazzi-snapping-my-picture famous, but…famous. Significant. No, more like an important historic figure. Someone to be read about in history books, not People magazine.

And the more I think about it, the more I understand that my reasons for desiring fame are kind of stupid. I’m not “that special” of a person. I’m just a woman with something to say. So I write it down, publish it, and am blessed by the handful of reviews from people who tell me that they see their own stories in my work. I’ve made a few new friends out of this journey into publishing; friends I wouldn’t have met any other way, because they are as close as Philadelphia and as far away as England. They aren’t established critics, but they are people whose voices matter just as much as my own. And when they tell me that something I wrote resonated with them, it means the world.

And that is why I continue to write. Fame or no fame, I think I’m doing okay for myself.

Where There’s Smoke is now available on Amazon.

On choosing your battles wisely

This is one of the most obvious understatements in the world: human beings are complex and often downright frustrating creatures.

Defining your place in the world is hard enough without having to deal with unsolicited and misguided opinions thrown in your direction. As multifaceted people, our internal battles are all over the place. I am far from the only person to suffer from a condition known as Multiple Soapbox Syndrome. Symptoms include (but are not limited to): caring about multiple issues, getting passionately angry when people dismiss them, wishing the rest of society could care about these things as much as you do.

This is a brief, non-exhaustive list of issues that have made me want to hit my head against a wall on several occasions:

The idea that Jewish background + Christian beliefs automatically = Messianic Jew (it doesn’t. It’s a bit more complicated than that).

That being a Christian, period = hating gays, believing atheists have no morals, forcing beliefs on the nation by turning them into laws.

That social custom allows for people to shorten my first name without asking permission, for their own convenience (that’s just rude. Never assume what someone wants to be called. At any rate, I feel more like a Beth these days than a Sarahbeth, so there you go).

That feminism = bra-burning, man-hating, always pro-choice, anti-shaving extremist (I’ve had the privilege of meeting a handful of married, stay-at-home, religious, self-described feminists. They are real. I promise. And we all generally want the same thing: to be treated like human beings).

That English degree = future English teacher (nope, not me).

That author = famous and made of money (HA…not even close).

That self-published author = not a ‘legitimate’ author (self-published books are on Amazon like all other “legitimately published” books. If it’s made of paper or downloadable via Kindle and you bought it from a major distributor, it’s a book, dangit).

That being raped or assaulted always = brutally attacked by a stranger hiding in the bushes, because it can never happen in a relationship with someone you actually know (more on that here)

Your own list may look similar, or completely different. It’s easy for me to lose patience and want to write off the people who misunderstand me as ignorant or even stupid. There are battles, and then there is the battle to pick your battles, because you simply can’t afford to lose it every time someone misunderstands something important to you.

I’ve decided to pick three of the above “battles” as educational fields: defending Christianity, because that’s who I am; rape culture awareness/feminist issues, because those have affected me personally; and misconceptions about being an indie author, because that is my chosen profession. Even one of those issues results in a fully loaded plate, and I wish I didn’t have such a random lot to choose from. I felt like a freak for a while, until one day I realized that no one’s life is lived completely in a vacuum. It’s okay to stand for multiple things, and the best way to stand for something is to be an effective teacher of it.

I’m always curious to learn more about how people deal with ignorance regarding who they are, or what they’ve been through. Now is your chance to educate me: what are your battle fields?

Is it selfish? Or is it rape culture?

Leaving work one day, I heard a voice call out “Hey Sarahbeth! Can I borrow a dollar?”

I looked up to see a somewhat disheveled man standing in front of me; possibly homeless but hard to tell. At first I was confused how he knew my name, but he probably read it off my custom-printed bag. In that bag was a hefty chunk of cash from my four babysitting jobs that I planned to take directly to the grocery store, in addition to a very expensive Macbook.

The man was only asking for a dollar; not a huge expense on my part. I could and should have given one to him. Yet all I could think was, I can’t let my guard down and risk having my stuff stolen.

I offered him some of my Ramen noodle stash instead, which he politely declined. Getting into my car, I felt like a failure as both a Christian and a human being. I could have done more, and I chastised myself for living in a world where concern for one’s personal safety trumps compassion; where being a single woman alone in a city means automatically fearing any man that approaches, even if his intentions aren’t malicious.

But is it really about safety? Or is there underlying prejudice that prompts us to say “no” when asked to give? Or when we notice people whose lives are radically different from our own?

I don’t always remember to lock my doors when I get in my car, but I lock them when I pass a cluster of teenagers in downtown Denver, always thinking It would be so easy to unlock the passenger door at a stoplight and grab my laptop/purse/whatever. Once, during a discussion group at church, a student was talking about how selfish we can be when there’s an opportunity for outreach: did Jesus not call us to serve others, no matter the personal risk to ourselves? My instinct was to protest, “You don’t understand! You are not a woman who looks ten years younger than she actually is; the world is not as dangerous a place for you, of course it’s easy for you to say that.”

Thankfully I wasn’t the only one thinking this, and the discussion turned into a battle of the sexes: the men kept insisting we (the females) were more concerned about ourselves than others in need, while the women kept insisting that Jesus would never advocate purposefully putting ourselves in danger if we didn’t absolutely have to.

On the drive home I stopped to allow more cars into my lane than usual, as if trying to atone for my selfishness before; once again deceiving myself into looking at salvation as some kind of points-based system. In the end, I am just one person with good intentions who often falls short. I can only do so much. But I feel guilty just the same.

Finding hope in the Church of Twitter

A new friend of mine recently said, “For this particular week, my experience with church is through conversations on Twitter. And that’s okay.”

At first glance that sounds a little crazy, but I completely understand what she means.

I used to want to denounce the entire World Wide Web as a threat to meaningful face-to-face relationships. For now, I’m embracing it as the one thing keeping me from giving up on them entirely.

From the #YesAllWomen campaign to conversing with other “spiritual orphans” via Twitter, I felt more validated sitting in front of my computer at Scribbles Coffee this week than in any pew over the last few months. While the Internet can’t be a permanent substitute for a tangible community, it’s far better than nothing as I struggle to regain the faith I once had and my confidence in the church as a whole. It’s more convenient, for now, to click into a forum or utilize a trending hashtag and connect to people who understand the difficulties of a specific journey than keep up small talk during coffee hour.

But I don’t want this to be an excuse to become a hermit. This is a temporary solution for now while I regain my bearings. I have become cynical and jaded, but not to the point where all churches are stereotypical and shallow. My real reason for avoiding a brick-and-mortar church is I’m afraid. The journey from “Nice to meet you” to “I know I can count on you in a personal crisis” is long, sometimes tedious, and terrifying. More than that, it’s time-consuming and requires some effort. When God and I argue, I tell him I’m more than willing to make that effort myself, but I don’t trust others to put in the same amount.

Lately I feel God’s response to that is, That’s no excuse not to keep trying, Beth.

And he’s right.

It’s all about making baby steps. Community doesn’t just happen overnight.

Baby Step #1: Stop believing all people are assholes (check. Kinda).

Baby Step #2: Stop assuming all Christians have a shallow understanding of grief, depression, and loneliness. Stop assuming that all Christians will treat the symptoms and not the problem by throwing bumper-sticker theology at me (Working on that check).

Baby Step #3: Understand that grace doesn’t have to be a huge demonstration of something. Grace can also be not punching people in the face when they do throw bumper-sticker theology at me (“Everything happens for a reason!”). Grace understands that most people mean well when they say these things. They want to help, but don’t know how (read this way more articulate blog post that summarizes my feelings perfectly).

Baby Step #4: Get back into the church. You need it, and it needs you.

Again, still working on that “check.”

Where There’s Smoke: Prologue

So my last few posts were quite angsty…how about an excerpt from my upcoming novella? Where There’s Smoke is coming June 10th!

Click to add to Goodreads

As wisps of smoke curled under Hannah’s nose, she wondered if it had finally happened: she’d woken up to find herself in hell.

I had it coming, she thought, defeated and unwilling to move from the darkness of the church basement. She felt no fear; apathy did not allow for much feeling of anything. It’s all a dream anyway.

Until alarm bells starting screeching, and then it became reality.

Suddenly alert, Hannah felt panic settle in as the air thickened and her eyes watered. Hannah never considered hell to be a place of literal fire. She placed more faith in Dante’s idea of it than the Bible’s. But this–this literal choking agony–it couldn’t be what she deserved, could it? She was sorry–desperately sorry. For everything.

As a wall of smoke started to close in on the last she’d know of the world, fighting back seemed like a futile option. She’d been running too long. This ending was inevitable. It was deserved.

She closed her eyes, ready to meet whoever or whatever might be waiting. A sturdy pair of arms lifted her from the searing floor, but she didn’t bother opening her eyes, realizing there was nothing she could do now that the devil had caught up with her.

This is not a ‘love’ scene

I have something to say. Fair warning: you may not like it, but it’s important to me, so it needs to be said.

Consider it a public service announcement.

I am aware that sex sells: cars, beer, magazines, and yes, books. I have felt pressure to up the ante with my own books, since I’m intent on making a career out of writing. I’m aware that even marketing my work as “YA” may disappoint some readers, because many young adult books are steamier now than they were when I was in high school (good grief, do I sound old).

That’s not the route I’m choosing to take with my books, but I respect the right of other authors to do so.

What I can never respect is the trend of many New Adult and erotica novels romanticizing rape. The reason I’ve become more aware of this is because I’m a member of several book promotional groups in which authors can share teasers of their work – usually a picture captioned with a line of dialogue, and these advertisements end up on my newsfeed.

Why stay involved in these groups, you ask? On the one hand, I treat them as marketing tools (which they are), and since marketing is a part of my job, this aspect is an occupational hazard for me. It’s flattering when someone is willing to help promote your work, and as a courtesy, I’ll do the same for him or her. I don’t want to be selfish and accept help without “paying it forward.”

But lately, it’s been difficult. Some very friendly women have supported me and my work, but I cannot do the same for them because their excerpts, their teasers, the snippets of dialogue from their characters’ mouths are triggering to me.

I don’t intend to criticize these authors, but the idea of romanticized rape in general. “Romanticized rape” sounds like an oxymoron, I know, but it’s so prevalent and normalized today that I’m sure most people don’t see it that way. And who can blame them? “No means yes” or “No means try harder to convince her otherwise” is so mainstream that I didn’t recognize it as rape when it happened to me. You may be wondering, what kind of person doesn’t know she’s being raped?

Someone who grew up in a culture that doesn’t understand the meaning of consent. This isn’t a case of agreeing to sexual activity that is regretted later, then calling it rape. I knew something wasn’t right, the entire time. I knew something was wrong the moment I first said “no” and was promptly told, “It will be fun, I promise.”

I’ve heard so many similar stories from other women since, I decided to write a book about it. Believe me, this struggle is real.

This post may end up getting lost in the void of pissy internet rants, but with all due respect and sincerity, I ask you to consider why a woman’s “no” and a man’s “Come on, you’ll like it!” is considered sexy. I ask you to consider how much the scene will change if instead both partners are equally into each other and what they are doing.

I’m not trying to take anyone’s first amendment rights away. Just know that by continuing to perpetuate these rape-y “love scenes,” what you are really doing is making it that much harder for people like me to share their stories, and be taken seriously.

Anyone who says they were raped deserves to be taken seriously, whether their experience involved emotional coercion or being held at gunpoint. Changing your mind about having sex is fine, so long as that decision is made OF YOUR OWN ACCORD AND NO ONE ELSE’S.

And now, back to your regular lives.