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Living Lent: Passion Sunday Meets Spring Equinox

3/20/2016

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This year, for the first time in eleven years, Passion Sunday (more commonly known as Palm Sunday) falls on the same day as the Spring Equinox, the first day of spring.

Palm Sunday was one of the Sundays I most looked forward to growing up, because it meant receiving a palm frond, singing hosannahs, and processing around the church--ritual at its finest. Now I find that Palm Sunday, Passion Sunday, is too distinctly Christian for me to celebrate it the way I once did. It heralds the arrival of Jesus in Jerusalem, where he will be put to death. This, according to Christian teaching, is the culmination of his three-year ministry, the reason for which he was born, by most Christian estimations. The cross is the primary symbol of Christians--there is no Christianity without Jesus's murderous death (and resurrection).

For me as a Thean, the death of Jesus, the Messiah, is no longer central to me. In fact, the existence of a savior of the world isn't central to me, either. Several other things assume central importance for me: the creation of the world (for isn't it amazing that there is something rather nothing?); the incarnation of Thea, which is the universe; the inherent goodness of all things; the communal command to be reconciled to one another; the radical breaking down of barriers through the sharing of table fellowship; and the ability of all beings to be transformed, whether from death to life or from poor of heart to rich of heart.

Instead of looking for palm fronds to hail a redeemer, I cut branches from one of our orange trees, gave one to each of my girls, and led them on a procession through the deck and the house, that we might bless the spaces we share together. Then I invited them, in honor of the coming of spring, to plant three kinds of seeds in the earth with me. Then I took them to their room, gathered them close to me, and talked with them about what Thea is like, and how we are all of Thea, and how greatly Thea loves us and wants us to love one another.

Singing hosannahs around the house on Palm Sunday has always been comfortable, but today it jars me. I am aware of how much work I have yet to do in developing my thealogy--not only my beliefs, but stories, songs, and rituals. Thean faith and liturgy may look a lot like Christian faith and liturgy, but they are not the same. I have spent a great deal of time focusing on their similarities, but now, more than ever, is the time to focus on the differences. The differences don't make Theanism better or worse than Christianity, but they do make a difference in how and what I teach my daughters about God and our place in the universe. The fact is, I don't want them to grow up thinking that they had to be saved by a God-man. I want them to know that their Goddess, their Thea, is as near as their own bodies, and that they are holy, and that they have all the power they need to effect tremendous change in the world. They don't need Jesus to be their hero; they can be their own heroes, because they are daughters of Thea. And they can do that by planting seeds, whether in the ground, in other's hearts, or in their own hearts. ♥
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Living Lent: International Women's Day

3/8/2016

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Last year, for several months, I wrote a Thean prayer every day. In honor of International Women's Day, I'm copying the prayer I wrote a year ago today--it still strikes a holy chord with me.

Thea,
as I celebrate this day of women,
I celebrate you:
feminine, fierce,
bold, brave,
enveloping, animating,
generous, genuine, genius,
Goddess.
Amen.

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Living Lent: Psalm 68

2/14/2016

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One of my goals in rewriting the psalter is to diminish the culture of vengeance that permeates it. In this spirit, I have rewritten Psalm 68.

Psalm 68
 
Let all Creatures be glad and rejoice before Goddess;
   let them also be merry and joyful.
 
Sing to Goddess, sing praises to her Name;
exalt her who rides upon the oceans;
   Thea is her Name, rejoice before her!
 
Mother of orphans, defender of widows,
   Goddess in her holy habitation!
 
Goddess gives the solitary a home
   and brings forth prisoners into freedom.
 
You sent a gracious rain, O Goddess, upon your inheritance;
   you refreshed the land when it was weary.
 
Your Creatures found their home in it;
   in your goodness, O Goddess, you have made provision for the poor.
 
Though you lingered among the sheepfolds,
   you shall be like a dove whose wings are covered with silver,
   whose feathers are like green gold.
 
You have gone up on high and led captivity captive;
you have received gifts even from all your Creatures,
   that the Lady Goddess might dwell among them.
 
Blessed be Thea day by day,
   the Goddess of our salvation, who bears our burdens.
 
She is our Goddess, the Goddess of our salvation;
   Goddess is the Lady, by whom we escape death.
 
They see your procession, O Goddess,
   your procession into the sanctuary, my Goddess and my Queen.
 
The singers go before, musicians follow after,
   in the midst of maidens playing upon the hand-drums.
 
Bless Goddess in the gathering;
   bless Thea, you that are of the fountain of Creation.
 
Send forth your strength, O Goddess;
   establish, O Goddess, what you have wrought for us.
 
Queens shall bring gifts to you,
   for your temple’s sake.
 
Sing to Goddess, O queendoms of the earth;
   sing praises to Thea.
 
She rides in the heavens, the ancient heavens;
   she sends forth her voice, her mighty voice.
 
Ascribe power to Goddess;
   her majesty is through Creation;
   her strength is in the skies and the earth.
 
How wonderful is Goddess in her holy places!
   the Goddess of Creation giving strength and power to her Creatures!
   Blessed be Goddess!
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Characterizing God(dess)

9/21/2015

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In the BCP's prescribed psalms for today, God is depicted as a jealous and vengeful God. In Psalm 105, the Egyptians didn't listen to God's command to let the people of Israel go, so God unleashed plagues on them, including death upon their firstborns. Then, in Psalm 106, the people of Israel "intermingled with the heathen and learned their pagan ways," and thus "they were polluted by their actions and went whoring in their evil deeds." Consequently, "the wrath of the Lord was kindled against his (sic) people, and those who hated them ruled over them."

In other words, people didn't act in accordance with God's will, so God threw magnificent tantrums.

As I revise the Psalter into a Thean prayer book, I find I can't abide by this manner of characterizing God. When I imagine God, I imagine her acting like a compassionate, patient, wise, peaceful grown-up--not like a child or a cult leader.

I don't want a fickle God. I want a God who's bigger than that. I want a God who shows her might in her gentleness and care; I want a God who forgives without demanding punishment first. I want a God who gets righteously angry at oppression and enslavement--realities that any loving individual ought to be angry about--and at the same time, I want her primary motivation to be love for all her creatures, who are (in equal measure) her incarnation.

As I reweave the psalms for Thean use, justice for the poor and oppressed will appear, but I hope to eliminate tantrums--particularly death-dealing ones. My Goddess is a Goddess of life, and I want to convey that, one psalm at a time.
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Psalm 100

9/19/2015

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The psalms were a regular part of my prayer life when I was a Benedictine Canon (Novice). In the last year or so, I've limited my exposure to the psalms to my Sunday liturgies. Today, however, wanting to reintroduce the psalms into my prayer life, I prayed evening prayer with my copies of The Plainsong Psalter, the Book of Common Prayer, and Benedictine Daily Prayer, all of which I used to use to pray the liturgy of the hours when I was a novice. The rhythm of Benedictine prayer, which centers around prayer of the psalms, gives me life.

I adapted tonight's prescribed psalms for Thean use. This was my adaptation of Psalm 100:

Be joyful in Thea, all you lands;
serve Thea with gladness
and come before her presence with a song.

Know this: Thea herself is Goddess;
she herself has made us, and we are hers;
we are her people and the sheep of her pasture.

Enter her gates with thanksgiving;
go into her courts with praise;
give thanks to her and call upon her Name.

For Thea is good;
her mercy is everlasting;
and her faithfulness endures from age to age.


It is so beautiful and enriching to pray to Thea this way--to dare to use feminine pronouns when the prescribed pronouns are always masculine, and to call Thea by the Greek name for "Goddess." As I develop my Thean prayer resources, I think I shall leave the Psalter much as it is apart from pronouns and names. The riches of the Psalter are worth retaining.


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Dirty Word

6/12/2015

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I've always known that "power" is a dirty word. Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Power is not something that nice people seek. If you want to be holy, you seek humility, not power. I learned this from my Roman Catholic upbringing, and that lesson followed me in my theological training.

But these days, power gives me pause. As a woman, I've often lacked a sense of my own power, and consequently I've been drawn to the power of others. My own power, residing deep within me, has come across as a source of danger and sin, so I've ignored it, even denied it. I've let others take the lead; I've followed, allowing my power to trail behind, unattended.

But imagine with me for a moment that power isn't a dirty word. Imagine a woman like me letting go of her attachment to the power of others and taking up her own power instead. Does my power render me dangerous?  Does my power strip me of holiness?

Maybe my power exerts itself whether I acknowledge it or not. So what happens if I look deep within myself and intentionally draw my power out?

The trouble is, if I harness my own power, I place myself at the center of my actions, rather than at the margins. If I follow someone else, I can always redirect attention to her or him if something goes wrong. I can't blame others for how I use my own power, however; I alone am responsible for it. Acknowledging one's own power, using one's power, means accepting the consequences of one's power. If power corrupts, why would I ever want to accept my power and its consequences?

I can pretend it's not there, hope it does nothing, and take no responsibility for it if it does. Alternatively, I can claim it, learn to use it as I see fit, and take responsibility for it when I do wrong--and right.

I get the sense that the good and holy way to approach power isn't what I've always thought. Maybe my power is a source of goodness, rather than evil. Maybe it is a good and holy thing to take up the power that Goddess places deep within me; maybe the sin is in squelching it.

Do I dare take up my own power?
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67

3/8/2015

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In honor of International Women's Day

Thea,
as I celebrate this day of women,
I celebrate you:
feminine, fierce,
bold, brave,
enveloping, animating,
generous, genuine, genius,
Goddess.
Amen.

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26

1/26/2015

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Thea,
Goddess who dwells in all creation,
holy be your name.
Your queendom come:
your will be done
throughout all the earth.
Give us today our daily bread
and forgive us our debts
as we forgive our debtors;
and lead us not into temptation
but deliver us from evil.
For yours is the queendom,
the power, and the glory,
forever and ever.
Amen.

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Spirit Whispers: Listen

6/18/2014

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How does one listen anyway?

Take a deep breath.

Let silence envelop your entire awareness.


Be still.

How long is it before your thoughts quiet?

How long is it before you stop tracking how long it's been?

What is it like to sit, to wait, to let God play midwife to your pregnant silence?


How does this midwife move around you? Does she move at all? Does she clasp your hand? Does she sit back in a seat next to you and murmur words of encouragement? Does she simply wait with you, occasionally placing a hand on your swollen belly for signs of what is to come?

What needs to be tended at this moment? What needs to be waited on? What needs the midwife's gentle, firm, skillful assurance?


What will you bear forth from your listening?

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Spirit Whispers: Speak up

6/17/2014

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If you've never had the experience of participating in a spiritual discernment committee, I invite you to consider it.

After my fifth (and final) meeting with my discernment committee for priesthood yesterday evening, my committee confirmed that they heard my call to priesthood. And that's not even the extraordinary part.

The extraordinary part is that, as I prayed yesterday before my meeting, I prayed for total surrender to God's will, and for the faithfulness not to run if that will was something my ego didn't like. My total surrender granted me total, deep, quieting peace.

The extraordinary part is that, having let go of my attachment to the outcome of my discernment process, I happened to read (during evening prayer) the story in Matthew about the disciples who wanted to know why they couldn't heal the sick on their own when Jesus so easily could. Jesus told them it was because they lacked faith, and that if they had faith even the size of a mustard seed, mountains would move for them. And I realized at that moment that my mustard seed faith was what had moved the mountain of my ego in order to make a straight path for Spirit to enter and dwell deep within my heart.

The extraordinary part is that, despite having a clear sense of call when I walked into the process, my sense of call widened and deepened and became more rooted as the dialogue went on.

The extraordinary part is that, especially in the final two meetings, as I listened to the challenging questions of my committee members, I perceived Spirit doing the asking. And as I offered my vulnerable, open-hearted answers, I perceived Spirit speaking through me. (It's fair to say that I've never experienced God's voice speaking to me so powerfully as I have in my discernment committee meetings, and for a Benedictine who hears God speaking to her through liturgy and scripture and encounters with others all the time, that's saying a lot.)

The extraordinary part is that, despite my Enneagram-three-personality-type's desire to manage a situation in such a way that the outcome is "positive," I was required to relinquish my ability to do that in order to speak plainly and truthfully. I was painfully aware that my deep honesty could at any moment result in the humiliation of my ego, and I spoke anyway. In that total risk of my ego, I realized it was not my ego that spoke, but Spirit.

When I walked out of my meeting last night, I had no idea what my committee members had heard. I didn't know what they would say. My three-ish ability to anticipate the outcome of the process failed me spectacularly. And I perceived in my failure the possibility of God's success--success in finding a way to make use of the quirky instrument that I am.

My committee is passing me on to the next steps of the discernment process, steps that will be challenging in their own ways. What my committee heard may not be confirmed by the next folks I encounter in the discernment process. But what happens next is not my concern.

The most important piece to emerge for me from this discernment process is the profound recognition that my heart--my whole heart--belongs to the one I call God. Whatever comes, I know that I will be faithful to the path God has prepared for me. I won't turn away. This is God's gig, and I am God's beautiful, imperfect instrument.

What song(s) will God choose to play through me for the uplifting, healing, and reconciling of her creation?
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Living Lent: Testing Intention

3/7/2014

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Lent is more than just a season of obligatory self-sacrifice. It is a time for a profound change of heart.

Yesterday I recognized how I had failed (and continued to fail) at keeping my Lenten penance. The deeper issue that keeps confronting me is my intention--or attitude--this Lent. What sort of posture do I bear as I go about my day? If someone were to catch me in a moment in which I thought I was unobserved, what would they see? Would they see me in deep, contemplative prayer, or rushed, distracted prayer? Would they see me extending extra gentleness to my children, or would they see me snapping at them? Would they see me going about my day mindfully, or would they see me moving from one thing to the next with nothing but the force of habit to steer me?

Christians are called during Lent to bear the burden of mindfulness, self-awareness, and self-emptying to the extent that they are able. What does this mean for me, an enthusiastic novice of the Benedictine Canons? Does it mean, for example, that if I'm sending my daughter to her room because she's interrupting my midday prayer, I'm doing my prayer wrong? Does it mean that if I'm puttering through my day without setting any particular goal or intention, that I'll end up casting about with nothing to show for it? 

Lent is a season of obligatory self-sacrifice, but the self-sacrifice isn't the goal. The change of heart, made possible by a mutual meeting between ourselves and the Divine One, is the goal. What will I need to do today, this hour, or this moment, to raise my awareness enough to realize God's been waiting for me this whole time?
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Life. Love. Liturgy.: The Book

2/27/2014

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Picture
What sort of God do you get when the images you have don't look a thing like the person you see in the mirror? What do you get when they do?

What does sacred encounter look like when a person no longer practices religiosity or believes in God?

When religion's beliefs or dogmas are inadequate or unjust, what might keep a prophetic person or community rooted in religiosity?

I'm pleased to present Life. Love. Liturgy., my newly released collection of short stories and poetry, available online for purchase. In it I explore the processes of crashing against, opening up, dismissing, and broadening prescriptions of God and religion.

~~~

This book spent twenty months in gestation after being crowdfunded by many generous donors on Kickstarter. Over those nearly two years, I unexpectedly ventured away from the Roman Catholic Church and eventually found myself in the Episcopal Church (as a member of a Benedictine Canon community), with many stops in between. The order in which the pieces are presented is the order in which they were written, in order to honor the ways in which my own journey shaped this collection.

Each piece in this book is written in honor of someone. The first piece, Emmaus, is written in honor of my friend, Rev. Cody Unterseher, who died unexpectedly in April 2012. His theological courage, his pastoral compassion, and his untimely death compelled me to shake off my fears and take up my vocation as a writer about matters of ultimate concern. I owe a debt of gratitude to many people, but especially to Cody.

If you are interested in interviewing me about Life. Love. Liturgy. for your blog or other communication outlet, please contact me.


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Retreat and return

2/11/2014

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PicturePhoto by M. Kate Allen
My dreams this week concern me.

I've dreamed about killing someone I didn't know; I wasn't convicted in court for lack of evidence, even though I knew I was at fault.  I've dreamed about others I did know dying of natural causes, leaving me to pick up the pieces.  Last night I dreamed about an elderly friend of mine asking me to help pack up two houses: the one in which he used to live and the one in which he currently lived.  He was preparing to move elsewhere, though I didn't know where.  Everything I touched in his current house was laden with memory, whereas everything in the other house was strange, rich, and unlike him as far as I knew him.

I'm no expert on Jung or Freud, but I do know that dreams can point dreamers to insights about themselves and their lives.

What is with all the death, hiding, and transition? 

I woke in the middle of the night last night to get my baby daughter a bottle.  When I returned, I flashed back to a conversation from my last Benedictine Canon chapter meeting.  Br. Philip talked about preparing for his final profession as a Canon next month, in particular about the placing of the pall over his prostrated body.  Like Br. Chad and Br. Rawleigh, Br. Philip will lay down his body at the service of God, the community, and the world.  He'll be covered with a pall, the pale garment of baptism and death.

I realized in the chill of the night that if I make my full profession as a Benedictine Canon, I will be committing myself to die.

I crawled back into bed and closed my eyes, but words rose up, and I ended up texting myself with the words of a haiku so they wouldn't be swallowed by sleep.

A funeral pall
veils the diff'rence
between old
and new. Ego die.


My dreams point me to an unexpected revelation: my old self is dying.  I am being put to the test.  My identity as a religious person has long been plagued with fear, self-absorption, doubt, and horded treasures, all carefully saved so I would have something to cling to in case God ever failed me.  Now, step by step, I am moving forward into the intensely uncomfortable unknown: a place of overflowing trust. 

Father, I put my life in your hands.
 

I'm dying--and it's okay.  I'm letting the precious treasure of my life go.  And what a relief.


Mother, I put my life in your hands.

My life will be whatever it is meant to be.  The particular outcome of my life is no longer my concern
.  Living from moment to moment at the service of God and God's magnificent, multi-faceted creation is enough.  Being able to turn again and again from my selfish fears toward God, the holy Fire who burns within me, is enough.

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Praying with Icons: Miriam

1/5/2014

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PicturePhoto by M. Kate Allen
While on retreat with St. Augustine's Church this weekend, adults were invited to pray with an icon.  One of the mothers there had just commented that my daughter, Miriam, certainly qualified as an icon.  So I prayed with Miriam, allowing God to behold me through her.  I gave voice to my encounter in this way:



We are Godparents.
We are God's parents.
God is our child.

On the seventh day she rested because she was exhausted. She needed rest.

God needs the safety of our arms. God needs our vigilant care and protection.

God would die without us.
God grows up in our midst.

We have a critical role to play in God's destiny.

God is a child and we are her parents. Without our constant attention, she suffers.
We are her caregiver. She needs us to survive.

We are the parents of God, and she loves us implicitly.
May we never betray her love.
Our excuses not to care for her will burst like old wineskins.

She trusts that we will give her all she needs. She trusts that we will be there when she awakes. She trusts that if we put her in the arms of another, that that other will care for her just as well.

We are God's parents and we would die for her.

Her radiant smile stops time in an eternal, brilliant moment.

We feed her with good things.

We love God, for she is our own daughter, wonderfully made in our image.
Her voice causes us to laugh, dance, and run.
Her smile melts our chill anger.
Her cries alert us.

We listen when she calls.

Listen, o mother, give ear to My words.

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Forging a path

12/26/2013

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PicturePhoto by M. Kate Allen
My baby crawled for the first time today.  Her dad and sister and I cheered her on wildly as if she had just hit a grand slam.  (The first object she went for was a crinkly package of baby wipes; the second was a major league baseball.  Yes, a little music and a little baseball confirm that she is our child.)

I feel like her--inching forward, reaching for that which I behold, struggling little by little with every bit of my strength to get where I'm going. 

With her, it's a down-on-the-ground, whole-bodied struggle.  With me, it's a battle raging within me over a single, burning question: whether or not I qualify as a leader. 

(Weird inner battles, I'm good at them.)

I'm not an alpha female.  I know women--amazing women--who are alpha types.  I admire them, but I'm not one of them, nor do I have any desire to be one.  This obviously precludes me from assuming any role of religious (ordained) leadership.

I still hear this call to leadership, though, which makes my eyes cross.  Come on, Goddess.  Non-alpha types don't make leaders.  The whole notion is absurd.  How can I be a leader when I'm the one who's always been in the background, observing more often than herding?  When I've been told to my face that I'm not a leader?  Leadership roles in my case seem (as my medically trained hubby would say) contraindicated.

Conveniently, I've never had to grapple with this before, because I've always belonged to a tradition in which I would never have to take seriously (or be taken seriously regarding) my call to religious (i.e. ordained) leadership.  Now I'm about to be received in a tradition that does, and I'm flailing like my infant daughter. How am I supposed to get where I'm going if I don't have the juice to do it?

For fun, I decided to humor my Lady Goddess and google "characteristics of a leader."  I found this list.

​
I am/do all of those things when it comes to something I care about and am deeply invested in. So...

Moi?  Leader?

I'm not an alpha leader. 

I'm a servant leader. 

I lead by example.  I'm dazzling and inspiring in a different way.  Folks don't generally want to be me--they want to be around me.  When I live out my (rather awesome) ideals, I am at the service of others, rather than in charge of them.  That's how my leadership manifests.
 

I've just never formally thought of leadership, especially religious leadership, like that.  Now that I see it at work at St. Augustine's, however--a context which has become my context, rather than remaining someone else's--it makes a surprising amount of sense.

Tune in again soon for more from the M. Kate Meets Her Vocation show!


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Voca-tion: Advent, Week 2, Saturday

12/14/2013

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The Prior of St. Mary's of the Annunciation Benedictine Canon community has invited me into a conversation about how I'm hearing God's call to become a Benedictine Canon, and I find myself spilling over with words.  When this happens (and it happens rather often, when I have something important on the brain), my best shot at organizing my thoughts is in writing. 

First, a note about vocation: to hear your life's call is to discern your vocation.  Consider the Latin root of vocation: voca-tion, voca, vox, voice.  To hear a call is to hear someone's voice.  But how do I hear God's voice? 

What makes this a great question is that there is no straight or literal answer in my case.  "God's voice" is a metaphor for the human voice.  When God calls me, God isn't picking up a telephone in the heavens.  When God calls me (or you, or Jesus, or anyone) God's doing something else.  And since God's not doing the same kind of calling that I do, I'm listening to God in a different way than I would listen to someone else. 

I shared with the Prior my confidence that the Canon life is one to which I'm hearing God's call.  So if God didn't call me on the phone or text me or leave a note on my Facebook timeline or tweet me or comment on one of my blog posts, what did God do to inspire this confidence?

Fact is, it's not just about what God does--it's about what God does in relationship with me.  Below I've identified four ways (though not the only ways) in which God "calls" me:

1) Through scripture.  The life of a Benedictine Canon is one of prayer with scripture, especially prayer with the psalms.  One of the ways I know God speaks through my prayer is that I change.  My pace slows.  Familiar words and phrases tingle in my skin and subconscious.  The words both resonate with me and challenge me, but I am always safe in them, safe to risk opening my heart to them.  This safety isn't related to the words of scripture alone, though--they're related to the way I join this community in praying them.  Which leads me to the next three ways in which God "calls" me.

2) Through the rhythm of daily life.  Benedictines pray a lot.  When the bell sounds for prayer several times a day, Benedictines cease all else to pray together.  In this regularity, it would be possible to feel trapped or shackled.  When I pray during the regular prayer times of this community, however, I feel like I've entered the rhythm of a familiar household.  Because all members of this community are held to the same expectation, it becomes a ritual as close to me as changing diapers, preparing formula, or playing with my daughters.  It's necessary, it's beautiful, and even when it interrupts, it is a comfort.

3) Through the voice(s) of the community. This may be the biggest piece for me at this point in my life.  It is clear that to be part of this community is to be equal to each member in dignity and respect.  I am not regarded as lesser because I am a woman.  I am not regarded as lesser because I am a lay person.  I am not regarded as lesser because I am married.  Each member brings her or his own gifts to the community, and those gifts are habitually lifted up, rather than quashed.  The way each community member interacts with me demonstrates to me that I stand eye to eye with each one--not the same as any other, but loved and embraced in the same way as every other.  God's presence manifests in these beautifully broken people.

4) Through my very body.
Over thirty-one years, I have developed a keen sense of when I am safe and at home, and when I am threatened and in danger of harm.  As a deeply sensitive body, when I enter a new religious situation or context, my entire self attends to whether my situation is harmful or loving.  In this community my guard rests.  Last night, when we were physically gathered together as a community, I prayed to the Lord instead of the Lady for the sake of unifying our voices in prayer.  That unity did not threaten my devotion to God as Lady, but rather left an open door for that devotion.  I trust that in this context that door will not be closed or locked, as it has been in most of my previous religious contexts.  In this community, I am able to hold the diversity of the community close to my heart, without fear of it swallowing me into anonymity and dignity-destroying submission.

God doesn't call me the way others usually call me, but God makes her call known.  I perceive God calling me to this community inasmuch as this community, like God, challenges me to transcend myself without losing my sense of safety or integrity.  This community, also like God, accepts me as I am without first rendering me or others inferior.  Finally, the rhythm of this community, like God's rhythm in my life, is familiar, persistent, and rich--like coming home.
  The call to enter the Canon novitiate is as audible and clear to me as the bell that sounds each prayer hour into being.
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Advent 1, Tuesday

12/3/2013

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PicturePhoto by M. Kate Allen
Tonight I began my evening prayer by lighting the candles of my family's menorah while chanting

O God,
come to my assistance.
Lady,
make haste to help me.
Glory to the Mother,
and to the Daughter,
and to the Holy Spirit,
as it was in the beginning,
is now,
and will be forever.
Amen.


I read the reflection of the day from St. Augustine's Advent devotional booklet, and then I turned to the light of the Chanukah candles.  The rest of my prayer took the form of awe in that gentle light.

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Thealogical: erring on the side of the feminine

11/11/2013

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A few weeks ago, a woman who had visited my Facebook page sent me a private note saying that she couldn't conscientiously support my page (where I advertise myself as a writer and editor, among other things) since I had misspelled a word within my Facebook username.  The offending word?  "Thealogical."

I wrote back to her: "
'Thealogical' is an intentional spelling, not an error.  'Thea' is the Greek word for 'goddess,' and as a feminist, I choose to regard God as 'Thea' rather than 'Theo.'"

And yes, though I studied theology, I now consider myself a thealogian.  Though it looks like a misspelling, anyone who knows me knows, firstly, that I'm an outstanding speller; secondly, that I am a student of ancient Greek; and thirdly, that I am in favor of subverting patriarchal assumptions.  "Theological" may be the normative spelling, but it does not represent my "normal."  "Thealogy" may not be considered a proper subject of study, but it is precisely the study I engage in daily.  I am a thealogian.  For me, that means not that I reject male images of God, but that I embrace male and female images of God.  In my prayer, I am more comfortable addressing God as Goddess, as Mother, as Daughter, as Womb, as She and Her and Hers.  As I look at my two children I see living icons of a young Goddess.  The Christ child, in my experience, isn't a son--she is a brilliant daughter.  The Christ engaged in ministry is not a thirty-something man, in my experience, but a woman--a woman who looks surprisingly like the person in my mirror, a woman who has known the pains of childbirth and the joys of motherhood and the pleasures and comforts and struggles of an unwaveringly committed relationship.

It amazes me to look back on my Roman Catholic upbringing and see how contrary my thealogical views are to Roman Catholic teaching.  In the past, I've hidden or downplayed my feminist and inclusive inclinations, lest someone in power (or with connections to power) discover me and blow the whistle on my waywardness.

I am grateful to be moving into a Catholic tradition in which my thealogy can be treated with seriousness rather than mere suspicion.  Perhaps this seriousness is possible because the Anglo-Catholic tradition was made a people's tradition by a woman--Queen Elizabeth, specifically.  Perhaps it's possible because the current presiding Anglo-Catholic bishop of the United States is a woman--Most Rev. Dr. Katharine Jefferts Schori
.  Perhaps it's possible simply because I'm a woman who has chosen, at long last, to speak up rather than maintain the theological status quo with her fearful silence.

In any case, I am a thealogian.  Take my spelling as a misspelling if you wish, but please don't mistake it as an unintentional one.

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    M. Kate Allen
    Weaver of words. Spinner of spirals. Midwife of the One whom I call Thea.

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