Ruth Everhart's Blog, page 14

Join Me at Baker Book House, Grand Rapids, MI!

Thursday, September 28, 7:00

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Can You Go Home Again?

I Will Be Discovering One Answer

Everyone has to leave home eventually (although I do know one fella who never did, he just outlived his parents!). Perhaps what differs is the manner in which we leave.

What was it like when you left home? Did you launch happily, feeling supported and connected, or did you burn rubber on your way out? In my case, an unfortunate event — or yes, a series of them — catapulted me into the ether and sent me into free-fall.

Perhaps some of you have a story similar to mine — you found yourself loving Jesus, but not the church that introduced you to him, and you had to escape.

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Congregations, Maximize Your ROI

if you love your pastor, send her away!

As I’m putting together a Holy land pilgrimage for next March, so many pastors have told me they would love to go but simply can’t afford it. I understand the reality of finances. Pastors are not highly paid (which is a huge understatement). Most of them do the work with a great deal of love and drive, but very little fiscal reward.

Unfortunately, when churches refuse to help their pastors go on pilgrimage, they are overlooking a great return on their investment. There are significant benefits when a church sends their pastor to the Holy Land. I wrote about my own pilgrimage experience for EerdWord in 2012, and the article is still timely: When a Pastor Becomes a Pilgrim.

In terms of investment, think of it this way —

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Reading the News Without Caffeine

When Heart Palpitations Make Sense

I come from a long line of coffee-drinkers. My parents drank it with every meal and frequently in between. At age 16 I started drinking it too, following my mother’s advice to forego sugar. Coffee-drinking is a lifetime activity so its best to fend off those spoons-full from the get-go.

For decades coffee’s earthy aroma and flavor has provided my life its smell-track and taste-track. The activity of brewing it and drinking it has provided a rhythm — as a waitress pouring at breakfast restaurants, as a pastor sipping at kitchen tables, as a writer with a cup perpetually cooling beside me.

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Thoughts on Longevity

Celebrating 33 Years of Marriage at a Gordon Lightfoot Concert

Doug and I had already made plans for our anniversary, but then I saw that Gordon Lightfoot was playing an intimate concert on our actual wedding date. Could we pass up that opportunity?

In my memoir I recount how Doug and I sang “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” as we paddled about on Lake Superior in a canoe on the weekend we met. Those two crooning young people still live in our memory, even if they have passed into middle age! And can you believe that Gordon Lightfoot is still singing at age 78, especially after life-threatening illnesses?

I cancelled our plans for a night in the Northern Neck and bought the tickets. The Birchmere is an unusual place, for true music fans. The seating is general admission so you have to arrive early to get a good seat. Once you’re in the venue, you’re seated at tables and can order food and drink, so there’s the conviviality of eating a meal together. I loved meeting the people around us.

One father was there with his 19 year old son, who was the Lightfoot fan — which seemed unlikely. Dad had taken the day off work to stand in line. What fun to see the two of them together, glowing in the light from the stage. Another man told me he came because he likes to be “in the presence of greatness.” Which is a great way to put it — to recognize the sheer staying power of a performer, and the astounding output of a lifetime of creativity.

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Influence: Do you have it? Do you want it?

"Influencers," the writing vocation, and a tipi

The radiating lines of the tipi remind me of ripples in a pond, a way to picture “influence.” My photo, taken at an exhibit about the Blackfeet nation near Glacier NP.

Perhaps you’ve run across this unlikely noun: Influencer.

I heard it often during my last book launch. My publisher asked me to create a list of people who were in a position to influence others to read my book — writers, bloggers, pastors, and Good-readers. At first it was excruciating. I hated the idea of asking others to use their influence on my behalf. But I also understood why I needed to ask. Social media makes it possible for well-positioned people to influence buying behavior.

The word Influencer still feels non-grammatical to me, but I’ve come to see that my problems with the word are not purely grammatical. My discomfort goes straight to the heart of my vocation as a writer — and whether my work deserves to be supported.

Asking for a boost may be outside my comfort zone, but is it an unreasonable thing to do? I have often been zealous about utilizing some program or resource that I understood to be a form of ministry. I have been happy to advance the gospel, or build the church.

Yet I know that my books have been helpful to many, spiritually speaking. So why does the idea of seeking Influence give me the urge to shudder? Pardon me while I clutch my shawl around my Puritan shoulders. Prithee, I am not self-serving!

I have had to press myself to think more deeply about this matter of influence. If my vocation is one of words in the service of the Word, is the divide between various forms of writing really so neat? I write because God gave me the desire to write. Sometimes the words I produce are sermons, but — increasingly — the writing takes other forms. Don’t those words still have value and deserve support? Don’t they have the potential to be good news about the Good News? As a product of my calling, are they a form of ministry?

One of the reasons I wrote my first book was because my congregation encouraged me to seek a wider audience. One of my elders said: “We love you, but there are only 57 of us, and more people should hear what you have to say.” Those words ring in my memory as the most affirming words I have ever heard.

At the time my church was podcasting sermons — we were early adapters. But that change felt like a tiny beginning. The questions were both deeply personal to me — vocational — but also societal. The ways people come to belief, and live out their beliefs, is undergoing a reformation. Just as the invention of the Gutenberg press changed the religious landscape 500 years ago, the internet is changing everything and the church is too slow in response.

Living in this new world — living out my particular vocation — raises certain questions for me. Maybe you share some of them:

Who do I intend/desire to influence?
Who has God set in my path — perhaps people to whom I am a bit blind?
What word or message is the burden on my heart and who might need to hear it?
Who would I seek to influence if I weren’t afraid?

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A Few Pics from Our Trip to Glacier NP

what a privilege to travel with my husband & my mother!

Mom, in her tiny sleeper car on Amtrak’s “Empire Builder”

Myself, my husband, and my mother at a windy Amtrak stop in Havre, MT.

An accessible hike to Running Eagle Falls in Glacier NP.

A strenuous hike to Iceberg Lake, in Glacier NP.

The “Weeping Wall” on Going-to-the-Sun Road which opened our last day in the park!

Mom and I are twins with our matching “Glacier NP” tees.

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In the Dental Hygienist Chair

body memories of grief

Do you sometimes have body memories — that is, memories triggered by bodily experiences?

Today I sat down in a dentist chair, opened my mouth for Abby, my dental hygienist, and just like that, felt a piercing sense of grief. The emotion was triggered by a teeth cleaning exactly one year previous. The timing isn’t surprising — I get my teeth cleaned every six months — but the renewal of grief caught me unaware.

The events a year previous came back to me. The night before, a Sunday, I got word that my father’s health was declining rapidly. It was nebulous information, but I had a strong foreboding. I was already planning to drive to Michigan in about ten days, but I decided not to wait. I had a dental appointment scheduled for early Monday morning so I decided to take care of that, then drive the 650 miles. I even arranged for a friend to cover a pulpit supply appointment I had for the following Sunday, because I suspected I would be gone for some time. And I was.

What strikes me is that I forgot that whole sequence of events until I sat down in the chair and Abby clipped the bib around my neck. Then it all came rushing back.

I said: “Do you remember my appointment a year ago, when I cried because I thought my dad might be dying?”

She said, “I surely do. Tears ran down your face while I worked on you. And you had a lot more bleeding points than usual.”

The body stores pain in unexpected ways.

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Sometimes Topics Choose Us. Period.

bleeding women & menstrual hygiene

Ever since I was a little girl I wanted to be a writer. I just never imagined I would write about rape. Instead, I imagined traveling the world to research “The 25 Most Adventurous Vacations,” or maybe I’d create a brightly colored board book about baby hippos who wear polkadot tutus. I thought writing would be full of excitement, fun and whimsy!

But sometimes our life’s journey makes other choices for us. Choosing to be happy means choosing to embrace the unchosen topics that come our way. So here’s another unchosen topic that has grabbed ahold of me recently: menstrual hygiene in Africa.

My involvement came about because of my memoir. One of the biblical texts that helped me recover from rape was the story of Jesus healing the woman with an issue of blood (Mark 5:21-43). I wrote a devotional about this passage for Christianity Today in April. Then, a couple of weeks ago I preached on this text at Westminster Presbyterian Church in Albany, NY. During the sermon I mentioned that bleeding women (i.e. menstruating women) still suffer stigma in many parts of the world, especially Africa. This is the reason girls so often quit school at puberty. It’s not just that they can’t attend class the five or so days of their flow — the fear of bleeding, and lack of products to manage the bleeding, creates intense shame.

Yes, I have developed a sensitive Shame thermometer! But I want to be more than a thermometer, measuring the temperature that our culture sets for women. I want to become a thermostat. I want to lower the temperature of Shame.

Fortunately, there are a number of organizations working to make a difference in Africa. Most often they help villagers sew reusable menstrual products. They often involve the whole community, including the men, which greatly reduces the shame and stigma of menstruation. This is important work.

Here are two organizations I am becoming acquainted with:

The MoonCatcher Project based in Schenectady, NY. This organization makes and teachers others to make MoonCatchers — reusable, durable menstrual pads with highly absorbent inserts. The Project delivers the pads to poor communities throughout the world, often along with health and hygiene classes.

Days for Girls I love their slogan: “Every Girl. Everywhere. Period.?” They are working around the globe to provide sustainable feminine hygiene solutions and health education, because when girls and women have health, education, and opportunity,

communities and our world are stronger.

Have you been involved with these projects or others? The women at Westminster in Albany NY are extending their web through Presbyterian Women. This is exactly how women change the world!

I would love to hear from you. Let’s network.

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“Raped Perfectly”

the response to victims complicates matters, even from the church

We live at a time when sexual violence is commonplace and even sanctioned in subtle ways. The downfall of Fox News’ Bill O’Reilly — followed immediately by his receiving a $25 million severance and new podcast — shows how slick and impenetrable a powerful man can be. Perhaps certain parts of a woman really are up for grabs in America. At the very least, her skin is much more vulnerable than the Teflon suit a high-profile abuser wears.

How does religion fit in? People of faith might hope that churches would respond to victims with compassion, but that is often not the case. Religious leaders tend to focus on the issue of purity — especially sexual purity. Their questions add pain to an already traumatized victim. What were you wearing? How much did you drink? Did you know him? Did you fight him? The underlying message is this: You were in some way culpable.

“People want you to have been raped perfectly.” That’s how Amy Schumer summed it up last summer while she was on book tour with her memoir, “The Girl with the Lower Back Tattoo.” She told Howard Stern: “I think it’s important to talk about because it’s made me feel less alone when other women have come forward about being sexually assaulted. And also because it’s not this perfect rape. People want you to be a perfect victim.”

I was grateful that a high-profile woman was speaking openly about sexual assault. Like Amy, I published a memoir about rape last summer, but here’s the difference between us (OK, beside the fact that she’s a best-selling comic speaking to sold-out audiences): I was raped perfectly. And it was still horrific.

The crime could have been ripped from urban folklore: I lived in a house with college roommates. Two strangers broke into our home in the dead of night. They wore ski masks and carried guns. They held us hostage, threatened our lives, robbed us, and raped us. The fact that we victims were white, and the rapists were African-American, simply pushed the story further into the land of cultural myth.

But while I was a perfectly innocent victim (wearing a flannel nightgown, asleep in my own bed on a Sunday night after attending church) the story is not a fable. And it turns out that being a “perfect victim” does not protect a person from shame, guilt, and recrimination. Not only was I consumed by shame, but I was also furious at God, who allowed this to happen. The church heaped on coals, assuring me that everything happened according to God’s will.

I was largely alone on the spiritual journey that followed. It was my faith in God, not my connection to a church, that helped me find my voice and discover my sense of agency. Eventually God was not only the place I lodged my fury, but also where I found my comfort. I came to realize that we are all more than what happens to us.

Sexual violence happens too often, and is too often treated with complacence. It is time for the church to change its response and to be of real help to victims.

I wrote this essay for “Voices of Faith” column in the Albany Times Union on May 19, 2017.

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