Art by Keren Dibbens-Wyatt
International Women’s Day: Forging a Positive Sisterhood.
Today we celebrate the achievements of women everywhere, drawing out the amazing stories that have often been written out of history, and we also use the opportunity to talk about why we are still fighting for parity for one half of the world’s population.
Every year a few of my male friends trot out the same objection about this day. “Where’s our day?”, they ask, jokingly. Some of my female friends say we live in a post-feminist world and this kind of thing is unnecessary. Some of those same friends worship quite happily in churches where the women are not allowed to preach or minister, simply because of their gender, and don’t see the irony.
I sincerely hope we never have need of an International Men’s Day, because I don’t want men to ever be subjected to the cruel oppression women and girls still suffer. I sincerely hope International Women’s Day becomes solely about the celebration of women and not about our struggles across the globe. We can kid ourselves and distance our compassion, believing that the problems are only “over there” or in the so-called “developing” world, but this would be to turn a blind eye to the fact that one in three western women experience a sexual assault in their lives, and that inequality and disrespect are rife right under our noses. I constantly wonder that the stench doesn’t make our eyes water. I feel so strongly about the injustice of it all that a few years ago I decided to write a book about it.
Because until things improve, we need to keep forging a way forward into a real and lasting equality, where we recognise our own worth, the worth of our sisters and the work we do (both paid and unpaid) as well as that of our brothers and most fundamentally the humanity of us all. As renowned international speaker, writer and Benedictine nun Joan Chittister once clarified, the real question turning at the heart of feminism is whether we really believe women are in fact, human beings. If we are, we all need to fight against the casual sexualisation of women and girls in the media, the horrendous practices of FGM, child marriage, honour killings, sex slavery, selective abortion and exposure, and to work to narrow the enormous divide between the rights men enjoy and those of their female counterparts the world over.
We need to do this by challenging the wrong-doing, but also by living the truth, creating a positive sisterhood that shows our gentle strength and does not corset our God-given abilities, gifts and ministries. We need to do this together, as a body of women who value ourselves and one another.
We must set aside the temptation to compete and compare, to gossip and to judge, and instead encourage and uphold one another, recognising the beauty in each of our souls; inviting men as we do so into that respectful, agape-centred attitude, so that in unity we create a positive fellowship of believers.
Many people still believe that the social mores of first century Greece and Rome are to be adhered to, reading a literal, unbending harshness into St Paul’s epistles that has been fossilized under layers of patriarchal sediment. And we pass this on as wisdom whilst happily dismissing any scripture that appears to condone or accept slavery. Because that is obviously wrong and may be read with historical context in place and brains in gear. Thankfully there is a great deal of biblical scholarship, I hope my own included, that takes this selective power-base to task.
For in Christ there is “no male or female” and counter-cultural submission is work for every believer to do, as a careful reading of Ephesians makes clear. Such work belongs to the Kingdom of heaven, working like yeast to restore the Edenic ideal that God first set in place, male and female recognising in one another the ultimate helpmeet. Because it is only together, and only as equals, that the human race will heal and thrive, when we are all free to pursue our wholeness and our callings. As a race, and also as a church, we suppress the female at our peril. Anything but total equilibrium between genders frustrates us and has us working essentially as though we had one hand behind our back. Let us embrace parity finally as souls equally dear and capable in the Lord, and consequently in his church.
©Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2016
To read more about Christian feminism, and how Scripture works for and not against it, see Keren’s book, Positive Sisterhood: Restoring the Integrity and Purpose of Christian Women, available on Amazon and Lulu.
Joshua Tree by Lynn Domina
By Lynn Domina
I’ve been thinking lately about Jesus’ experience in the desert. You know the story—as he prepared for his years of ministry, Jesus entered the desert to fast and pray. Toward the end of his forty days when, Matthew says, he was “famished,” Satan arrived to tempt, even taunt, him. Jesus outwitted Satan, refusing to surrender to his offers. Satan departed, we’re told, for a time. In Luke’s version of this story, Jesus left the desert “filled with the power of the Spirit.”
It’s interesting to me that Satan waited to appear until Jesus was so hungry. I’ve never fasted for long, but I’m told by people who have that your hunger does disappear for a while, and then it returns. I imagine what Jesus felt at that moment, trying to pray, thinking about roasted lamb, trying to pray, thinking about tabbouleh, grape leaves, grilled fish. And then Satan appears, offering power and wealth and food. But instead of changing stones into bread, Jesus, though he may acknowledge his hunger, also recognizes what fills him—the Spirit of God. He’s hungry, and he’s full.
During Lent, one of our Christian traditions is to empty ourselves so that we too may understand how we are filled with the love of God. We fast; we give up pleasurable foods—meat, chocolate, other sweets. In our modern era, many of us fast from behaviors that keep us from God—gossip, profanity, aggression. (I once tried to give up impatience for Lent, but I failed daily, often before I even got out of bed.) I resist certain foods or my own character flaws, but when I feel ravenous, my head throbbing, my hands shaking with hunger, I have to ask what I’m hungry for. Those times, I’m likely to say, “Anything. Give me anything.” If Satan appeared to me then, would I recognize him for who he is, or would I just grab whatever he held out to me? I can imagine filling myself with warm fresh bread before I understood what price I’d pay.
There’s another story in the Bible when someone does almost exactly that. One day Esau was also “famished,” and he met up with his brother Jacob, who was cooking lentil stew. The sibling rivalry between these two was nearly as profound as that between Cain and Abel. Jacob was willing to share his stew with Esau, but only in exchange for Esau’s birthright. So Esau traded the mark of who he was—the narrator says he “despised” his lineage—to alleviate a temporary discomfort. In a culture organized around family relationships, the price of Esau’s bowl of stew was pretty steep.
As we proceed through Lent, I want to think not only about what I’m hungry for, but also about what price I’d pay to satisfy that hunger. If all I’m hungry for is my daily bread, I sure hope I won’t exchange my birthright as a child of God, fully beloved by God, for a little round loaf. But if I’m hungry for justice, for inclusivity, for peace, I hope I will be willing to exchange every variety of literal bread, every fruit and vegetable, every ounce of beef or pork or fish.
In thinking about hunger, in reading the Bible, in considering the value of Lent year by year by year, I have realized that I will always be hungry. Which of my hungers is most devastating? And which emptiness will nourish me spiritually? I pray that my hunger will lead me to recognize my relationships, not only with my immediate family members who are actually cooking a lentil stew tonight, but with every person who hungers. Let me recognize the child who hasn’t eaten breakfast, the refugee whose foodsack is empty, the suburbanite whose soul is parched.
As Christians, we are not called to define ourselves only through our family or only according to our ethnicity. Although we are heirs of Jacob and Esau, we are not called to mimic them. We are called to reach out in relationship to everyone who hungers, to all who thirst. We are called to understand that our birthright is limitless, for we are also heirs of Jesus who knew what it meant to be filled.
FUNDAMENTAL differences exist between the life we want and the life we get to live, and the chasm between the two is the canyon of truth.
We want to follow Christ, yet, in doing our human best, we forfeit that task where we fall short of truth. Where we polarise into our truth and can’t perceive another’s truth we miss the truth, and the unknowable wisdom that only the Holy Spirit can help us discern remains ever elusive. Likewise, when we cannot perceive or accept our own truth — what God is telling us via our own lives — we stand adrift from this abundant life Jesus has won for us. It’s there but we cannot yet grasp it.
It is only the truth that will set us free!
We shrink back because of fear, cowardice, and ironically because we want to be nice Christians. But Jesus was not always nice.
Jesus was so committed to truth in his life, where he saw injustices against the multitudes, he stood against those injustices. We tend to tolerate them. Jesus would not shrink from the truth, and the religious elect of the time had him crucified. We fear the same result when we consider committing relentlessly to truth. Jesus knew that loving the people as a good shepherd should would mean speaking up for the truth against the powerbrokers. The powerbrokers in our lives hold the keys to our livelihoods; we fear upsetting the apple cart! Jesus told the truth even if he knew he would get into trouble. We tend to protect ourselves and we’ll omit truth to do it.
And still, with all this considered, Jesus understands the prevalence of our flesh; the fears and foibles we are interminably beset with. But of course there is faith!
The Adjuncts to Truth: 1) Wisdom of Awareness and 2) Faith to Act
Awareness is the wisdom of discerning truth. Action is the faith of applying truth.
If we’re prepared to wade out into the waters of our faith, whilst being wise enough to watch for the current and the rips, we can make something of our awareness. We can take our awareness into the realm of action. But first comes the awareness of discerned wisdom. Only when we’ve deduced the right course of action are we well placed to take the step of faith.
The adjuncts to truth are the wisdom of truth-filled awareness, which is discerned, and faith that acts in accord with that truth.
Regarding our living for truth, our prayers should be filled with seeking God for the awareness to act — which can just as importantly be inaction.
***
Where truth fills our gaze, our faith has purpose, our hope has meaning, and our love has effect.
Where truth is in our sights, our faith gives us courage, our hope gives us strength, and our love enables patience, compassion and justice.
When we live by truth, accepting the consequences, we honour the Lord. Yet, we’ll also understand that truth can never betray love, and love speaks loudest for justice.
Hence, truth is intrinsically allied to justice.
Commit to truth and we commit to justice; over the long haul.
Mosaic by Keren Dibbens-Wyatt
Celebrating: A Testimony about not being healed.
The day before Valentine’s, I was celebrating 20 years of what God has done through my disabling illness. Did I say celebrating? I did. I’m coming back to that. On that day it was exactly two decades since I last managed to struggle into work. Afterwards I had a doctor’s appointment to find out why I could barely walk, barely breathe, barely anything. I was hoping to be signed off for a fortnight so I could have a rest, and get back to normal. But even in that hope I knew deep down I was kidding myself and there was something horribly, desperately wrong.
Strangely, one of the things about having M.E. (the eventual diagnosis) is that nobody treats it like something that is horribly or desperately wrong. Not even (sometimes especially not) doctors. Because they can’t see it, because the worst of the symptoms come after exertion (after you examined me, after you visited, after that short trip to the post office, after that 2-minute walk or that 10-minute phone conversation) to the outside world it doesn’t look so bad. Maybe she’s “just” depressed, they say, maybe she needs more fresh air, or vitamins, or maybe, she should just sort herself out and get back in the fray, like we all have to.
I know, I’ve had it all, heard it all, from people who supposedly loved me or worked with me, or were long-term friends. The disbelief – the inability to understand just how bad it is – leads to betrayals, unkind comments and many disappearing acts.
So one way I’m using this anniversary is to spell it out. Because one of the things I’m celebrating is the honesty I’m no longer afraid of. I have been brought to a point where although unkind, unfeeling comments and mistrust will always hurt, the experience of what I have to face every day needs no validation or shoring up, it’s right there with me. I am the one who wakes late in the morning (after a disturbed night whatever time I went to bed) feeling like I’ve been pummelled all over, struggling to open my aching eyes, my brain taking an age to come into a place of even basic functioning. I’m the one who often can’t muster from anywhere (because it isn’t there) the energy to dress, bathe or make it out into the garden, let alone out into the world. I’m the one who hurts everywhere, feels fluey poison in all her muscles and has to miss the birthday party (including my own) or not go to church for months or even years, and who has to deal with the heartbreak of not being able to go for a walk, not being able, most days, to stand the motion of a car, nor cope with the stimuli of television, music, radio, nor the local supermarket, with its busy people, lights and noise.
I’m the one coping with the paralysing exhaustion. So when someone tells me to pull myself together, when a doctor says if I need a wheelchair I should check the Yellow Pages, when an Occupational Health advisor says if I can open a packet of crisps I can certainly cook for myself, when a friend stops answering my phone calls; when these things happen, they hurt, but I am no longer surprised, and I know that they say far more about the other person than they do about me or my chronic illness.
The people who love me, see me, not the things I can’t do. They live with those too, but together we find ways around and ways through. My husband is one of the bravest souls I know. He is not afraid to go into Mothercare and buy me a toddler’s cup, if it is what I need because my arms are so weak, or if I am so uncoordinated that I need a lid on my drink to avoid spillages. He is not afraid to laugh at the inconveniences and the stupid, damnable difficulties the illness brings. Why? Because he loves me. My parents, brothers, closest friends are the same. If it helps me, they do it, however daft it might seem. They know the illness isn’t me.
So what on earth is there to celebrate, then, if everyday life is so hard? So much. I have learnt so very much. I know a lot about illness, about disability, about suffering, about poverty, about thinking outside the usual boxes.
I know how to struggle, how to hold on, when to push through, when to lie still. I have learnt to live with limits, with frustrations, with other people’s fears and ignorance. I have made peace with my ailing body and learnt to love it despite all the things it can’t do. Because the poor thing is so ill, and I hold space around that truth for it, because it’s part of me. I have learnt self-compassion and strategizing, pacing and acceptance. I have learnt what love is and what it isn’t. I have learnt the immense value of genuine hearts and know who loves me.
But the greatest gift this illness has brought me is a deep relationship with the living God. Forced into the stillness and the quiet, I now relish silence and contemplation. Before I met Rowan, I found solace in the company of the Lord. Eventually (don’t imagine this didn’t happen without a great struggle, my ego cracking into pieces like compacted snow falling from a grizzly bear’s waking back) I have begun to find my true self in him.
After learning the hard way that I am of myself, nothing, I am now, remade in God’s hands; and in those small precious pieces of the day when there is energy, I am a writer and a painter. God’s doing, as for many years I struggled to read more than two sentences at once, my cognition was so impaired. Now I journal and write and think whenever I possibly can. And the art has taken no-one more by surprise than me! My creative soul, given to God, guided by him, has made me anew.
Yes, I’m still horribly ill. If anything, more exhausted, stressed and struggling with physical tasks now than five years ago, when I had improved slightly and was often able to go to church. That is beyond me at the moment. But although this is upsetting and I often have a good cry and down days, I know I must accept this too as a stage, a season, and give it to God, and let him use it. And yes, there are opportunities that have passed by. I never got to have children, though I have a lovely stepson now who is a real boon to my maternal heart, but I do get to see everyone I meet as one of God’s children. Someone called me “Amma Keren” recently. My heart swelled.
I am not celebrating having been ill and disabled for twenty years. It has been, and still is, horrendous. I know that behind writing this piece lies the desire to pre-empt the huge sadness that has been building in me as I lurched towards this huge anniversary, this now giant swathe of my life that seems to have been cut out. I’m not pretending the pain isn’t there, I am choosing to celebrate what God has done with me in those long years. Where he’s brought me, how he’s guided me, what he’s coaxed out of me, what he’s broken and refined in me, what I am now compared to what I might have been. Against all the odds, I’m still here, and I have met some wonderful friends along the way, mostly online, to whom and for whom I am deeply grateful.
I am free now, to know what really matters, to take pleasure in the smallest, everyday things, to enjoy what is before me, not hanker after what may never come. I have been taught to listen, to receive and share beauty and truth, and I hope, wisdom. I have been taught to pray, to intercede, to relate, to live for Christ. All this is precious beyond reckoning. And I am so thankful. Yes, I still pray for healing, in a spirit of persevering faith – if and when it comes I shall celebrate then too, you bet!
There is nothing now that the world can offer me that I would swap for where I am with the Lord. Even though each day is a struggle, even though there are worries aplenty, I know who I am. I am the Lord’s mystic creative contemplative. I am a writer and a pray-er and a painter and a poet. My heart bursts with love, and my inner eyes are wide with wonder. May it never end, whether the burden of illness and lack is lifted or not. May each season be utterly his. May blessings flow through me and may the living, healing God be praised.
© Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2016
By Andy Wade
Right in the middle of Lent, super Tuesday amped up the political rhetoric assaulting our senses. But it’s not just politics stirring up fear and anxiety. We know the world is in turmoil and the more that turmoil swirls around us, the more our own souls get sucked into the vortex as we find our attitudes and thoughts shift toward despair.
In response to one friend’s post about being verbally assaulted on facebook, the prayer below poured out of my mouth. It was a moment of spiritual lucidity.
As I reflect back I wonder how often I allow shallowness, rather than shalom, to influence my life. Then I realized that, to the extent that I allow shallowness to rule, I bring that same shallowness into my interactions with others throughout the day. How different the day is when I search for glimpses of God’s shalom! How different my interactions with other when shalom is my guide.
If I desire to sow seeds of justice, hope, and mercy I must first collect those seeds from the seed vault of shalom. But even more, I must allow Christ to sow those seeds within the soil of my own heart. These are seeds which need to be sown abundantly, crowding out the weeds with shallow roots as shalom takes hold, flourishes, and brings forth fruit.
On Saturday the Mustard Seed House community was out in the garden planting the first seeds of spring. But as we planted we did not imagine a field of hidden seeds, we dreamt of beds full of lettuce, spinach, Chinese greens and arugula. I found myself imagining far more than the small beds we were planting transformed. I looked over the whole of my garden and dreamt of what it could look like in a couple of months – a diversity of healthy flourishing plants alive with splashes of red and yellow and purple flowers. I imagined the bees flitting from flower to flower laden with pollen. And in the vegetable garden not just greens but broccoli and cabbages, tomatoes and zucchini, potatoes and onions and an abundance of berries and fruit forming on the fruit trees.
If I don’t dream about what the garden could become I will never work towards that goal and the mess of weeds and unkempt plants will never be transformed.
The garden of God’s world is the same. Lent is a season (at least in the northern hemisphere) to plant seeds but dream of gardens. If we don’t dream of what a world made new could look like we will never see it transformed. And God has an amazing vision for the future: a vision of Shalom and Wholeness.
- Dream big and infuse others with the dream. I love to share my garden dreams, recruit helpers to work alongside me and then share generously of the abundant harvest. Working alone in the garden or in God’s broken world is backbreaking and often discouraging. We need a clear vision of what God is wanting to accomplish – a vision of flourishing and justice and freedom; a vision where all God’s creatures are provided for and live together in unity and harmony. Then I need to share that vision and work towards it. We are created for community not just for fun and fellowship but also for work. We need friends and colleagues to share our part of God’s vision and help us fulfill it.
- Plan well. There are two stages to planning a flourishing garden. In the dead of winter, when the earth is still too cold and hard to till I get out my seed catalogues and think about what I want to grow. I remind myself of what flourished last year and what didn’t. I try to work out why and do some reorganizing based on my results. When I can finally get out into the garden there is still more planning to do. I figure out what has died and why, what needs pruning or moving and what needs to be fertilized to thrive. If I want to harvest abundant fruit in God’s garden I must do the same type of preparation. How do I plan for justice and generosity and freedom? What hindered my efforts in the past and how do I need to change my plans to be more successful in the future?
- Plant lots of seeds. I always plant far more seeds than can possibly fit in my garden space. Some of them I give away, some of them get eaten by slugs, others get thinned out later in the season so that the remaining plants can flourish. Sometimes our efforts in God’s garden don’t produce a harvest because we have sown too sparsely, or the wrong kinds of seeds, or in the wrong places. Paul reminds us in 2 Corinthians 9:6 that: Whoever sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and whoever sows generously will also reap generously. Sometimes we don’t spread our seed that can produce justice and freedom far enough. Or perhaps we limit our sowing to one kind of seed, a type that is not thrive in the soil. At other times we have not prepared the soil adequately and weeds outstrip our seedlings, choking them and limiting the harvest.
- Fertilize well, water appropriately. The number one rule of organic gardening, as I shared in this post is “build up the soil”. All seed has the potential for a good harvest if we build up the soil properly. And what is the best fertilizer – compost – garbage that can be transformed to gold. Sometimes I wonder if we don’t see the harvests of freedom, compassion and abundance God intends, because we fail to build up the soil or because we build it up with the wrong fertilizer. What is the garbage in our lives that God wants to use as fertilizer for a rich harvest of justice and righteousness?
- When the garden doesn’t produce a harvest know how to give it a second chance. Our God is a God of second chances. I was made very aware of that at church on Sunday as our preacher spoke about Jesus parable of the unproductive fig tree in Luke 13:1-9. I had never noticed before that this story is part of a sermon on repentance. Something is wrong with the tree. There is no fruit. But the solution is not to get rid of it. The gardener gives it a second chance. He works on the soil around it, tilling it, pruning it and fertilizing it. Jesus gives us second chances too every time every time we fail to act justly and lovingly. He raises our awareness of the wrongness within us and our society, calls us to repentance and fertilizes the “soil” around us so that we can be changed and learn to respond in a way that will once more produce abundant fruit. What are the places in your life that are no longer fruitful? How is Jesus working to fertilize you so that these may once more produce abundant fruit?
In Hungering for Life, this week’s prompt HOPE/EXPECTATION/PROMISE, contains the scripture:
I am planting seeds of peace and prosperity among you. The grapevines will be heavy with fruit. The earth will produce its crops, and the heavens will release the dew. Once more I will cause the remnant in Judah and Israel to inherit these blessings. (Zechariah 8:12 NLT)
This is God’s vision for the future. What seeds of peace and prosperity have you planted in the lives of others or in our broken world that you long to see bear fruit? How could you nurture these seeds so that they produce an abundant harvest?
![512px-Looking_out_from_Redeemer_Church,_JerusalemBy DiggerDina (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons](https://godspacelight.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/512px-Looking_out_from_Redeemer_Church_Jerusalem.jpeg)
Looking out from Redeemer Church, Jerusalem By DiggerDina
Two springs ago, I fasted from church, for lent. I suppose this raises a lot of questions including, “what do you mean?”
I mean, I stopped going to buildings on Sundays during the one-hour block which is broken into thirds, of music, expository teaching and community announcements. What I do not mean is that I decreased the importance of my relationship with God or people.
You see, I had developed an allergy. Most of us have at least one. I do not mean we get the sniffles when pollen shows up or our throat itches when we have shellfish. I mean, there are things in our lives that we just cannot be around without reacting to with a strong fight or flight response. We react in a way, over and above what seems reasonable, against the stimulus. For some, it is looking at snakes. For others, it is taking a test. For others, it might be the mere suggestion of asking someone out. For people with PTSD it is more serious and reminders of a season of trauma can put them right back in the middle of it.
One trigger, for me, is a specific phrase. When I am in a church building, and someone says “the Word of the Lord”, after reading from the bible, my anxiety goes through the roof and I have trouble making small talk after the service.
In “church” settings, I had been told that there are some people going to hell and some heaven, that there are clear requirements for this life if only you will take the bible seriously, read it and find them. Having doubt or anxiety was evidence that you may be on the “hell track”. Lack of confidence was evidence of uncertain security in death.
In light of this worldview, on one occasion, as an adult, I read the entire bible in a week and a half trying desperately to find the requirements for heaven’s access. I lost sleep and developed an acute anxiety response. When someone says “The Word of the Lord” I wonder again, “Have I missed the detail that gets me in?” “Am I likely going to hell since I already feel scared of death and doubt my security?” “Which instruction about being right with God is the important one that gets me safety?” This is not a phrase that comforts me. It feels like a threat.
There are other triggers besides this one, for me. Certain music, certain verses, a pastor’s tone of voice and even the expectation to bow one’s head.
When I have little defense against these fears and since selective numbing is rarely successful, I numb completely and none of the potential joy of a church service permeates my defense. Depressed and internally shut off from feelings, I want to stand and shout “Don’t say that!” but fear the rejection of having a dissenting view. Burdened with conflict, little healing or joy comes through during time in church. Church often feels lonely.
Like allergies to proteins, there are various strategies to deal with allergies to social stimulus. For pollens, Benadryl limits allergic reactions. For anxiety, there are medications too. However, depending on the reaction severity you may need to avoid the stimulus entirely. Think of this like anaphylaxis. If you are shutting down emotionally due to your anxiety response in a situation, it may be that you would benefit from just not being around that stimulus. Give your emotional immune system a rest.
This may be disruptive to the idea that conventional faith expression is always helpful. Sometimes people, like me, have become allergic to an aspect of a faith culture. In those cases, a fast might be helpful. It does not need to be permanent. You might consider it a “cleanse” to give your body and mind a rest. Reduce the reaction intensity and perhaps try returning with small doses of the given stimulus. That is, if you want to return.
I have gone to church a handful of times since that spring: usually to see a friend or participate in a small group discussion. I do not react like I used to and my defenses are slowly relaxing.
Does your emotional immune system need a rest? Is there a thing that triggers your anxiety so much that you shut down? Is there anything you can set aside to allow healing to take place? What would that look like?
Thoughts and feedback are welcome.
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