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Hand to Hand, Mother to Daughter: Part 1 (Guest Post)

10/7/2017

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Keeley Bruner

Keeley Bruner is the mother of two daughters and a devoted, progressive member of the Disciples of Christ Church. In this three-part series, she writes of the challenge of handing on her faith in ways that mirror the best of her own religious upbringing while reflecting the ways in which her faith has matured and widened in adulthood.

Growing up in my home, faith was always a part of my life. It was woven into the fabric of our family through weekly worship services and prayer meetings, blessings before meals, bedtime stories and prayers, and frequent conversations with family members. As I got older, my involvement in church activities increased, and my own understanding of my faith and what was framed as my personal relationship with Jesus Christ grew. I remained cozy in evangelical Christianity throughout my college years, continuing to attend church, engage in daily personal Bible study and prayer, and serve through my college’s Campus Crusade for Christ ministry.

Whenever someone begins a spiritual autobiography this way, the implication is often that something then happened, that some shift occurred to change the trajectory of the expected path. And while these things did happen, I can’t trace it to a single event or even period of time. Maybe it was meeting my husband the summer before my senior year in college, a deeply intelligent and thoughtful man whose own faith had undergone significant dissembling and reassembling in the months before we met. Maybe it was traveling to Uzbekistan on a cultural exchange with my college ministry buddies and experiencing the love and hospitality of people of different, or no faith, there. Maybe it was moving to Cambridge, MA after getting married right out of college, where we experienced a definite cultural shift from our suburban Bible-Belt environment. Maybe it was hanging out with Jesuits, Franciscans, Benedictines, and other Catholics at my husband’s graduate school there, or experiencing the social activism of our Baptist church home in Cambridge. Maybe it was moving to Princeton, NJ and finding our spiritual home at a United Church of Christ congregation in the middle of that small, idyllic town, and witnessing the fire of older saints’ faith which had been forged through decades of practicing progressive Christianity. Maybe it was Obama, and the way he engaged people of all faiths to see the possibility and necessity of using government to care for the least of these. Maybe it was the work of Jim Wallis, of reading issue after issue of Sojourners and seeing the ways that Christians are jumping in and doing the real work of caring for the poor without keeping cost, without needing numbers and conversions to bolster their faith. Maybe it was experiencing pregnancy and giving birth, and realizing the magic of growing a person inside my body and nourishing a baby with my own milk, with my own life, twice. Maybe it was moving to Tempe, AZ and being pulled as if with a magnet to our faith community here, the most ragtag, loving, beautiful bunch of misfits I ever saw, with our hearts open wide to whatever, and whomever, may come through our doors.

It’s possible that the shift had something to do with the guilt of never doing enough in my previous Christian tradition, of always falling short but never fully being able to count on God to still love me or the grace of Jesus to fill the gap between who I was and who I should be. It’s possible it had to do with the bean-counting I found here and there, of how many testimonies shared and how many souls converted when the work of Christ encompassed so much more in my mind. It’s possible it had to do with the boiling down of the broad, deep, wide, incomprehensibly beautiful work of the Spirit into 4 sentences, each illustrated by pertinent cartoons. And most recently, it’s possible the final shift slipped into place with the realization that 82% of my former cohorts used their rights, and privilege, to catapult the coarse, vulgar, greedy celebrity we know as the leader of our land into power.

The fact is that it’s done, that the trajectory has been different than it might have been. While I have faith in God, love for Christ, and a kinship with the Spirit that are true, deep, and meaningful to me on a daily basis, how these are manifested departs significantly from what I might have expected based on my early life. But as I expressed above, I like to think of that conversion as a moving towards something, rather than away from something. I think of it as embracing a much larger God than I had imagined, with a much more expansive love than I had been told and a closer knowledge and presence with us than I had ever envisioned.

While my faith surely remains simply a part of my identity, another reason it matters at this point in my life is my children. Having come from where I did (mark my husband’s beginning at roughly the same place on the spectrum) and having traveled to where I am now (repeat), how do I foster a life of faith in my family in a thoughtful, genuine way? The church we attend has a small and hardy children’s ministry but, as my own mother decided, I don’t want to depend on that alone to impart the beauty of Christian faith to my daughters. I may not want them to grow up in the cradle of Evangelicalism the way I did, but there are many facets of my upbringing I certainly wish to convey to them. So, what is a Progressive Christian to do?
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Mystagogy - Thean Evening Prayer

9/4/2016

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Last night was a turning point for me: for the first time, I brought my ministry as a Thean priestess out of the privacy of my family's house church and into the public realm, leading Thean Evening Prayer at Pathways of Grace in Phoenix.

My vision for Thean Evening Prayer was simple: it would be an intimate gathering for those who identify as women to pray together to God in their own (female) voices using feminine images for God and imagining God in relationship to Creation through a feminine, feminist lens.

When I arrived, my dear husband helped me arrange the space the way I wanted it, and then he departed so I could pray before others arrived. At 5:00, the time when prayer was set to begin, I was the only person in the room. I continued to pray, and as I prayed, I was surprised by the awareness that I actually wasn't alone--I was in the company of thousands of generations of women, women who had come before me, who had refused to be silenced or disempowered by oppressors, women who had imagined themselves and their God the way they chose, women who had loved, created, mentored and empowered girls and women within their influence. All their efforts, all their willingness to stand up for themselves, all their willingness to make a difference when they were told to shrink and be quiet--all of that energy had culminated in this moment, this hour, in which I was able to embrace my public ministry as a spiritual leader, a Thean priestess, a woman who wouldn't settle for the oppression that would seek to rein me in.

I knew going into the night that several women who wanted to pray with me were out of town. I knew also that several women who had wanted to pray with me had something come up at the last minute. I prepared to pray with my cloud of witnesses. I waited. Then a familiar face arrived, a woman who had prayed with me at our former Episcopal parish in Tempe, a woman who was preparing to lead her own spiritual circle for women. We hugged, we talked for a few minutes, I showed her around the rooms of Pathways of Grace, and eventually we settled into our seats to pray. I sounded the singing bowl four times. We stood, and I intoned a invitatory that I had learned years ago at my Roman Catholic parish in Cleveland, the same parish that ignited my love for liturgy: Let my prayer arise like incense in your sight, the lifting of my hands a sign of trust in you, O God. She joined with me in singing, and we sang it several times, letting the words soak into the space and ourselves.

We prayed the psalms next--Psalm 141, from which the invitatory came, and then a series of other psalms. Between each psalm there was a pregnant, full silence. At one point, I held my breath in between verses to keep my voice from breaking and tears from falling. Next time--next time I will let them break and fall.

At the conclusion of the psalms, we moved to the homily. I explained that in the Christian (and particularly Benedictine) tradition, Saturday night evening prayer was a big event, because it was the vigil for Sunday, the most important day of the Christian week. Saturday evening prayer was therefore when a homily was given, at least in communities that prayed together the liturgy of the hours every day. I noted that the homily would traditionally be given by the presider in top-down fashion, the presider imparting (his) reflections as seeds to be planted in the hearts of those around (him). Then I explained that in the case of Thean Evening Prayer, the homily was open to every person present, because a key Thean belief is that every (woman) has deep wisdom to share. So we shared the homily based on phrases from the psalms that had particularly resonated with us. Our homily was a mutual conversation in which we listened to one another and sounded/heard our own voices, recognizing that Thea's voice resounded through each of us.

I don't know how much time passed--time felt as though it was suspended, but I know from the content of the conversation that it must have taken a while. When the homily had reached an end, I turned to the next portion of evening prayer: the anointing. A bottle of oil stood on the little altar before us. I removed the glass stopper and poured a small portion of it into a glass bowl, inviting my praying partner to partake of it. I spoke of olive oil as an ancient healing balm, but I also spoke of it as the stuff with which royalty, priests, and prophets were anointed. To partake of scented oil is a sign not only of healing, but of empowerment and authority, specifically the power and authority to speak and act as one deems fit and wise. I said that it was particularly poignant to anoint the parts of ourselves for which we seek wise power and authority: the eyes, the ears, the mouth, the nose, the hands, the heart. My prayer partner and I dipped our fingers in the oil and rubbed the rose and clove scents into our skin, and then prayed Psalm 45 from the Thean Psalter, which included verses like, "You, a woman, are among the wise ones; grace flows from your lips," "Your leadership shall endure, for you love goodness and reject unkindness," and "Thea anoints you with the oil of gladness."

Thus empowered, we prayed together for those all around us, and lifted up personal prayers of our own. Then we stood and prayed a modified version of the Lord's Prayer called "Our Mother," written by Miriam Therese Winter of herchurch in San Francisco. We concluded with a collect prayer and this blessing:

May Thea bless us with courage,
guide us with her unrelenting love,
and empower us to answer her sacred call. Amen.


Our time together was not over--we stood, moved to the other side of the room, and talked over a small spread of food and bubbly water I had brought to share. We talked about our experiences, our faith, our friends, our leadership, our children, and our lives. We talked and talked until suddenly it was nearly 7:00--between the two of us and the cloud of witnesses that surrounded us, we had spent the two hours for which I had reserved the space.

I feel full: full of gratitude, full of joy, full of wisdom, full of holy power. This gathering was and wasn't about me. It was about me as a woman who has been on a journey all her life to arrive at the moment of taking up her life's vocation. It was about every woman who has ever done the same or sought to do the same. It was about every young girl who is figuring out who she wants to be, and it is about countless generations of women still to come who will change and lead this world for the better, overcoming oppressions and embracing who they see in the mirror as living icons of the Holy One.

For a free e-copy of the Thean Psalter, send me a note with your e-mail address. If you'd like a print copy, you can send $10 and your name and address via PayPal to me at lifeloveliturgy at gmail dot com. If you self-identify as a woman and would like to take part in future gatherings of Thean Evening Prayer at Pathways of Grace, we meet every first Saturday of the month at 5:00, and you can RSVP on the Pathways of Grace meetup.com page.
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Praying with the Thean Book of Psalms

8/24/2016

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This morning, my older daughter and I cleared our dining room table. I invited her to bring out my lidded white candle and my sparkling, pale purple quartz. "What are you doing?" she asked as I opened the lid of the candle. I said nothing, setting the lid next to the candle, placing the quartz chunk inside it, and lighting the candle with a match. I opened my Thean Psalter to the section marked "Twenty-fourth Day: Morning Prayer." I asked my daughter if she was ready, and she said yes. I proceeded to pray the appointed psalms, 116-118, in a lively, lilting voice, making eye contact with her and slowing my words at important phrases. At the end of the final psalm, I said, "Amen," and she repeated it after me. I invited her to blow out the candle, and we collapsed in giggles as she blew and blew at the flame, to no avail. Thean light is not easily extinguished, she discovered.

After I walked my older daughter to school and drove my husband to work, my younger daughter and I met with a friend of mine who's heading off for rabbinical studies this fall. She wanted a copy of the print version of the Thean Psalter. As soon as I gave it to her, she began adding thin plastic tabs to it; she also oohed and aahed over the purple cardstock title page, the color of which was her favorite. Her excitement as she explored the Psalter's words mirrored my own, and I couldn't help grinning as I watched her. She asked which of the psalms were my favorites, and I pointed out Psalm 23, which reimagines the relationship between G-d and psalmist, moving from shepherd/sheep to mutually curious, passionate lovers who are, among other things, equals.

This Psalter represents Thean thealogical thought, which is feminist and feminine, egalitarian, pacifist, and creation-centric. Patriarchal structures/images as well as themes of violence and vengeance are challenged, eliminated, or transformed.

The e-copy of this finalized Thean Psalter is available for free to all who request it. The hard copy, which is laser-printed on high quality white paper and purple cardstock and comb-bound with a black spine in clear plastic front and back covers, is available for $10USD, payable via PayPal, with free shipping anywhere in the continental United States. I plan to make hard copies of the Thean Psalter available each first Saturday of the month at Thean Evening Prayer, where all who identify as women are welcome to pray.

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Daughters

9/24/2015

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I was brushing my teeth tonight when my husband came in to say that the girls had requested a lullaby. I used to sing them a lullaby every night, but it's been a long while since I've sung to them in bed. I went in quietly and sang "La la loo" from Lady and the Tramp.

La la loo, la la loo, oh my little star sweeper,
I'll sweep the stardust for you.
La la loo, la la loo, little soft fluffy sleeper,
here comes a pink cloud for you.
La la loo, la la loo, little wandering angel,
fold up your wings, close your eyes.
La la loo, la la loo, and may love be your keeper.
La la loo, la la loo, la la loo.

I turned to make a quiet exit, but my two year old grinned up at me and said, "Mommy, seen! One, two, free!"

So I sang again, and both of my girls smiled at me from their beds, and my cup overflowed.
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108

4/18/2015

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Thea,
in the glow of firelight I see the silhouette of my husband
and I am quietly grateful for the fullness of his presence.
Continue to bless our life together, and give our marriage strength.
Amen.
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79

3/21/2015

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Thea,
five years ago today,
as spring burst into bloom,
I married the best man I have ever known.
Continue to inspire our marriage
and beckon us to new adventures.
Amen.
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Living Lent: Bringing Joy

3/18/2015

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This past Sunday was the fourth Sunday of Lent, Laetare Sunday--the day when Lent takes a turn toward joyous hope. The liturgical color is rose, just as it is on Gaudete Sunday (the third Sunday of Advent). "Laetare" is a Latin command to rejoice, and in this Laetare week, I am gathering up my joys:

~spending time with my husband
~teaching and playing with and reading to my daughters
~writing (prayers, stories, poems, blog posts, letters)
~playing softball (both at practice and on game nights)
~singing with my daughters
~celebrating Eucharist each Sunday at home
~gardening
~walking
~dancing with my daughters
~playing the keyboard
~painting
~praying
~talking with people I love

My life spills over with joy this Lent. Am I doing Lent wrong? Probably, according to someone's definition. But not according to mine. This Lent I am aware of the brevity of life and the utter preciousness of each moment. I'm learning to let go of all that does not give life and to embrace all that does.

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Living Lent: Ash Wednesday

2/18/2015

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This is the first Lent shared by the Allen House Church. Instead of driving to a church building or chapel for the administration of ashes, I administered ash from a black block of charcoal left in our firepit. "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return," I said, as I smudged my daughters' foreheads with the sign of the cross.


Later I asked my older daughter, Anastasia, if she knew what the black dust was called. "Ash," I told her.

"What does ash do?" she asked, alight with curiosity.

"Well, ash reminds us that we came from the dust, and we'll become dust again when we die."

Her eyes widened. "No, I don't want to die."

"You won't die today, honey. Or tomorrow or the day after that. You won't die till you're old and gray and wrinkly." She smiled at the word wrinkly, but then she frowned again. "But I don't want to die."

"Everyone dies, honey. That's the way it works."

"But I don't want you or Daddy or Miriam or me to die."

"We won't die today. But we'll die someday. Everyone does."

One of the striking facets of leading a house church is that questions and answers become part of the liturgy, rather than an interruption to it. I no longer hush my daughter when she asks what's going on. I weave her question into the ritual. Anastasia feels comfortable asking me about everything we're doing and using for our liturgies. No subject is off-limits--not even death.

As a result, my daughter, at age four, has a clearer grasp of Ash Wednesday than I had throughout my childhood. I knew what death was at age four, but Anastasia knows that she will die someday, even though she doesn't want to.

Her resistance to death mirrors my own--I perceive my resistance more clearly through her fear. Having been reminded that my death and the death of those I love is inevitable, in what ways am I willing to become more fully alive in the time I am given?

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Spirit Whispers: Bear one another's burdens... (Guest Post)

8/12/2014

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Rebecca Longbow is a writer of poetry, short fiction, and creative non-fiction. Her name has been changed to protect her privacy.


She said it was seven years ago. She said she never told me, but she never forgot how helpless I seemed.

I’m going through a divorce right now. When I told a lady I’ve recently gotten to know again, she recounted seeing me struggle in my marriage. I never knew anyone noticed. No one said a word. I always felt so alone in this struggle.

When she told me, I was touched that she remembered. I was touched she cared back then.

She told me that one day it was raining heavily. She said my family drove up in a car. My then husband quickly ran in from the rain, leaving me to struggle with an infant in a car seat, a toddler, and a son with sensory issues all alone. She said she couldn’t believe my husband would be so insensitive.

When she first told me, I was touched that she remembered that it happened. I was touched that she cared. Later that night though, my emotions changed to sadness tinged with anger. She saw. She was mad at my husband. She couldn’t believe he would let me struggle alone.

And then she also let me struggle alone. She did not come over and offer to help carry the diaper bag or hold an umbrella.

In 7 years, she never told me that she noticed I was struggling. She never said, “I thought of you today and I wanted you to know I care about you.” A smile and helping hand would have meant the world to me that day.

I’ve found that is the silence of most in churches that I know. They say, “I can’t believe you waited this long to leave him.”

Yes, I waited. You know why? Because I assumed people either couldn’t see me or all or could see but agreed with how he treated me. No one spoke up. No one told me I didn’t have to live like this. No one told me I was worthwhile. They just watched as he tore me down.

They told me that I didn’t smile enough. They made comments about how I ought to volunteer more. I’m sure there were good intentions like, “not meddling in a marriage.” But there is a broad path between “not meddling” and being that person to help me in the rain.

I wasn’t worth getting wet for. My children were not worth it to her.

Sometimes I don’t know if I embrace a god. But when I think of what I believe, I believe in grace. I believe in forgiveness. I believe in my struggle to forgive all those who turned their heads. I believe in helping hands. I believe in smiles. I believe in extending grace to parents and others, in grocery stores and parking lots and on airplanes.

I’ve learned to be the helper this lady was not to me for those seven years. And I always will. I can never forget her story. And for all the people like me in the world, I want to be there even if just with a sympathetic smile and a kind word.

I think that is part of what draws me to the students I teach in an alternative school. They are the ones others turn from, the teens who show up on the news and in the jail. If I have a religion, it’s the religion of “do not turn away.” I will not turn my face and choose silence over love. My love may not change a life. But even if I’m just the little thought that “someone seems to care about me,” I will have lived a life of meaning.

For me, for now, that is my religion. To care beyond limits. If I ever learn how to do that completely, then I may pursue exactly who I should address if I pray. For now, I try to live prayers of kindness out loud. That feels more real than the many petitions I used to utter. I’m not against the saying of prayers. I’m just trying to find more balance in my life, more living on intentions than praying them.

And, as hurt as I was at first, I’m really glad my friend told me about how she noticed my plight that day in the rain. I’ve learned from her experience in ways I might not have if she had simply helped me that day, instead of telling me years later. The lesson to help others is now firmly cemented in my mind.
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Easter

4/20/2014

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Resurrection Icon (Courtesy of oca.org)

This is the day the Lord has made!
Let us rejoice and be glad!

Christ is risen from the dead,
trampling down death by death,
and upon those in the tombs
bestowing life!

Christ is risen indeed!
Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!

Furthermore,

My toddler Easters when she wakes up crying and seeks my early-morning arms.
My infant daughter Easters when she utters "Ma-Ma" as her greeting for the first time.
I Easter when I behold my sleeping beloved and smile.

The world Easters every time it loves without fetter.

Easter!

Alleluia!
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Living Lent: Divorce

3/31/2014

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Now that the second half of Lent has arrived, I've tacked on a new morning practice of before-the-kids-wake-up running. As I was running this morning, tumbles of thoughts bounced through my consciousness, and one of the things that stuck and lingered afterward had to do with divorce and religious identity.

I find myself grateful for my husband, who has no personal stake in my religious identity except inasmuch as it gives my life meaning and joy. If he had been religious like me when I met him, I'm not sure there would have been enough spaciousness in my own religious identity, once wedded with his, for me to move out of my former religious tradition and into my current one. I'm not even sure I would have been able to voice my concerns about my former tradition as boldly as I have in these last few years. My husband's non-religiosity opened my eyes in a profound way, inviting me--gently--to examine what it was that I found compelling about life as a religious person. As I heard him ask me again and again why I stayed in my tradition when I spent more and more time bitterly murmuring about it, I had to ask myself the same.

Leaving the Roman Catholic Church was a bit like getting a divorce, and you just don't get a divorce when you're Roman Catholic--not unless you want to be ostracized by a whole lot of people. If you've loved it once, you're expected to love it always, no matter what it might cost you. Further, in an abusive marriage (the kind where one partner's life and calling is deemed to be to less important or not important in comparison with that of the more powerful partner), if the one being abused has no promise of support from those she loves when she leaves that marriage, how can she draw from within herself the courage and strength to leave it anyway?

I am fortunate, in a way. Because my marriage with my husband is so healthy and loving and strong, it was able to illuminate the increasingly toxic character of my relationship with my former religious tradition. Because my husband had no personal stake in my religious identity, I was able to give myself permission to transform it.

Divorce is a rending of identity, and it is, from every story I hear, profoundly painful. And yet, in cases of abuse, there may be redemption in it. I am grateful not to have daily cause for murmuring anymore. I'm grateful to be in a tradition that, though imperfect, fuels rather than diminishes my hope, diminishes rather than fuels my anger, and honors rather than silences my voice. And I am grateful for my hubby, whose greatest expectation for my life is that I daily pursue my deepest joy. I find myself steeped in blessing, having let go of that which diminished my life and embraced that which resurrects it.

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Living Lent: Touches of Spring

3/21/2014

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Although I am weary from my Lenten penances, my senses are sharper. When my daughter touches my arm in the early morning so she can crawl under the covers next to me, I notice and make way, helping her settle into the crook of my arm. When my hubby rolls closer to me in the stirrings before the morning alarm, I move my chilly feet closer to his feet, and he offers wordless warmth. When my 9-month old sits up in her crib next to my bed and begins to play with quiet joy, I'm grateful that no one will need to shush anyone this morning, and I slide out of bed, pick her up, and hold her close as we walk out to begin the rest of the day.

This Lenten emptiness has transformed into the spaciousness I crave so often. By letting go, I have embraced something unexpected: ample, uncluttered room in which to attend to the graces of my daily life.
What further graces will I encounter this Lent from the effects of my Lenten penances?


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Living Lent: Happy Spring!

3/20/2014

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Four years ago, my husband and I got married in the presence of my best friend, Hubby's best friend, and a few of our family members.

That day marked my ritual transition from a dark winter of my life to a fragrant, vivid spring. I have been happier these last four years than in any other four years of my life, and I trust that we will continue to be happy all the rest of our days.

Here is the scripture lesson from our wedding:

Solomon 2:10-13


My lover spoke and said to me,       
"Arise, my darling,       
my beautiful one, and come with me.

See! The winter is past;       
the rains are over and gone.
Flowers appear on the earth;       
the season of singing has come,       
the cooing of doves       
is heard in our land.

The fig tree forms its early fruit;       
the blossoming vines spread their fragrance.       
Arise, come, my darling;       
my beautiful one, come with me."


Yet again, Easter bursts forth in the midst of Lent. Thanks be to Goddess.
♥

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Living Lent: Containing Joy

3/11/2014

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Yesterday I found myself with too much joy to bear alone.

When I saw the UPS truck drive by the back of my house, I knew the driver was coming for me. I went out to greet him, and I chirped, "This is my first book!"

He eyed the thirteen pound box incredulously and said, "This is a book?"

"Well, it's about twenty copies of it." I grinned.

He grinned back and wished me a good day. I skipped back in the house and set the box on my dining room table so I could take a picture to send my hubby.

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I don't know how to describe what it's like. The disbelief and excitement I feel are akin to the feelings I had when I gave birth to each of my daughters. It isn't just that I've written something I'm deeply proud of, and it isn't just that this represents the accomplishment of a dream I've dreamed since I was thirteen. Holding this book in my hand represents a breaking free from the bonds of self-doubt and the grip of those who have ceaselessly tried to silence me. My voice is free. A burst of Easter arrives in the midst of Lent.

And I feel just like this:
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Preparing for the Lenten Fast

3/3/2014

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PicturePhoto by Anastasia Allen
Tomorrow is Shrove Tuesday/Fat Tuesday/Mardis Gras in the Christian tradition. Time to use up whatever remains in the larder, because pretty soon we'll be fasting....

Well, actually, I don't have a larder. I don't even have lard.

But I am Christian, and Lent starts on Wednesday, and I will be fasting.

This will be my first Lent as a member of my Benedictine Canon community. My daily prayers in this community have brought me to a profound awareness of my sisters and brothers who suffer. There are countless people in the world at this very moment who are oppressed, in danger, starving, naked, or enslaved.

I find myself asking what I can do to be in solidarity with all my sisters and brothers who suffer. I'm not in a position to save the world; nor am I in a position to save even one person. I'm no savior. But the one I acclaim as savior is someone whose behavior I can emulate. I can, in my twenty-first-century middle-class American context, step away from my everyday life and take on a journey that isn't surrounded by easy comfort.

It seems silly to do this, mainly because it is my choice to do so. What does it mean to choose to make a sacrifice if I can always choose at any moment to turn back to the way things were? I'm always operating from the privilege of my ability to choose, and in that sense my sacrifice is folly. Nevertheless, I choose to let go of my normal life during Lent with the hope that I might be transformed for the sake of the common good--and transformation will not necessarily be my choice, my doing, my accomplishment.

During this Lent, my penance will involve giving up three things: 1) sweets, 2) meat, and 3) my favorite go-to social network, Facebook. (When my darling husband reads this, he won't believe it. He knows me. These are three of my favorite things.)

I don't know what I or anyone else will get out of my Lenten penance, but I suspect I will feel a great emptiness almost immediately--and in the difficult-to-me facing of that emptiness over the coming six weeks, my heart may break. If it does, what wisdom then will my heart be finally ready to receive?
What good will I be empowered and inspired to do? What injustice will I realize I can no longer overlook, thanks to my recognition of my personal ability to make a tangible difference in reversing that injustice?

This Lent, I will seek to empty myself of what is desirable but not important, so there might be enough spaciousness within me to bear something difficult and radically important: Bear one another's burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ. -Galatians 6:2

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Words with friends

1/10/2014

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While sipping a hot cup of Ten Ren King's tea and chatting with a dear friend from the San Francisco Bay Area on Facebook, my friend wrote this to me:

"kate, I am so happy for you - it seems your life is developing in amazing ways"

(NB: The editor in me would like to capitalize and punctuate that sentence, but the friend in me knows better.)

My friend is right, you know.  I'm struck by how very much my life has changed in a very, very short period of time.

I started this blog/site two years ago today.  I wrote this:

Hurrah!  Thanks to the inspiration of a dear friend of mine, Noach, I have planted the seed of this blog (and broader website).  I hope it will yield many vibrant, lush, delicious fruits, and perhaps yield some long-lasting connections in the process. 
Is it any surprise that the same friend who helped me plant this seed of a website and blog is now bursting with joy for me at what has risen up from the dark, fertile soil of my dreams and yearning?

I look back at the woman I was in 2012--a first time mom; an office manager at a small synagogue; a frustrated, well-educated, sad, and increasingly jaded Roman Catholic--and I see someone who knew that 2012 was a beginning rather than an end.  I had no real idea of where the road would lead, but I knew I would be creating the road for myself as I went along, and that I would visit some unusual and unfamiliar places along the way.

My mantra lately, when folks ask me how I like Arizona, is, "I never thought I'd like living in the desert."  But I do. 
My family is happy here.  My husband has a job in which he thrives.  I'm able to be at home with my girls for now, do fun-to-me gigs, and write to my heart's content.  And finally, at long last, I get to be a both-feet-all-the-way-in member of a religious community in which I am valued, period--no strings attached, no hidden agendas, no glass ceiling.  I love this community so much that my heart aches, as if it might burst.  It's like being home again, but it's more than that.  I'm not just part of the beauty that is my new community; I'm becoming a leader in bringing forth that beauty.  Me.  A woman.  A thirty-something from Ohio who very early on learned to shut up and take it when something or someone wasn't good enough, even when what was good enough was within my reach, and even when what wasn't good enough was sanctioned by my religious leaders.

Two years later, in 2014, I find myself in the midst of imperfect, beautiful people, and just by being my own imperfect self, I am amazing.  I am vibrant.  I am what I was searching for two years ago.  It just took being planted in a fertile garden, free of choking weeds, for me to see myself stretched up tall and completely radiant for the first time.
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Forging a path

12/26/2013

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Picture
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.

Proactive vs. Reactive
The exceptional leader is always thinking three steps ahead. Working to master his/her own environment with the goal of avoiding problems before they arise.

Flexible/Adaptable
How do you handle yourself in unexpected or uncomfortable situations?  An effective leader will adapt to new surroundings and situations, doing his/her best to adjust.

A Good Communicator
As a leader, one must listen...a lot!  You must be willing to work to understand the needs and desires of others. A good leader asks many questions, considers all options, and leads in the right direction.

Respectful
Treating others with respect will ultimately earn respect.

Quiet Confidence
Be sure of yourself with humble intentions.

Enthusiastic
Excitement is contagious. When a leader is motivated and excited about the cause people will be more inclined to follow.

Open-Minded
Work to consider all options when making decisions. A strong leader will evaluate the input from all interested parties and work for the betterment of the whole.

Resourceful

Utilize the resources available to you. If you don't know the answer to something find out by asking questions. A leader must create access to information.

Rewarding

An exceptional leader will recognize the efforts of others and reinforce those actions. We all enjoy being recognized for our actions!

Well Educated

Knowledge is power. Work to be well educated on community policies, procedures, organizational norms, etc. Further, your knowledge of issues and information will only increase your success in leading others.

Open to Change
A leader will take into account all points of view and will be willing to change a policy, program, cultural tradition that is out-dated, or no longer beneficial to the group as a whole.

Interested in Feedback
How do people feel about your leadership skill set?  How can you improve?  These are important questions that a leader needs to constantly ask the chapter. View feedback as a gift to improve.

Evaluative
Evaluation of events and programs is essential for an organization/group to improve and progress. An exceptional leader will constantly evaluate and change programs and policies that are not working.

Organized
Are you prepared for meetings, presentations, events and confident that people around you are prepared and organized as well? 

Consistent
Confidence and respect cannot be attained without your leadership being consistent. People must have confidence that their opinions and thoughts will be heard and taken into consideration.

Delegator

An exceptional leader realizes that he/she cannot accomplish everything on his own. A leader will know the talents and interests of people around him/her, thus delegating tasks accordingly.

Initiative
A leader should work to be the motivator, an initiator. He/she must be a key element in the planning and implementing of new ideas, programs, policies, events, etc.

But... 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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O Rex Gentium: Advent, Week 4, Sunday

12/22/2013

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December 22

O Rex gentium, et desideratus earum, lapisque angularis, qui facis utraque unum: veni, et salva hominem, quem de limo formasti.

O King of the gentiles and their desired One, the cornerstone that makes both one: come, and deliver humankind, whom you formed out of the dust of the earth.
Picture
Advent has been longer this year for me than in any other year past.  After all this anticipation, I find myself grateful that this year's Christmas will be quiet for my family.  My desire for light is not the desire for commercial, clanging, self-absorbed brightness.  My desire for light is one for something gentler--the sparkle in the eyes of my daughters and the joy in the eyes of my husband.

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    Picture

    Rev. M. Kate Allen

    Thean. House church priest. Published author. Mother and wife. Vocal feminist. Faith-filled dissenter in the face of the status quo.

    I address G-d as Thea more often than not.


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