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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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Meeting Thea in Death

4/27/2017

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My daughters faced a great and difficult milestone today: they faced the death of their first pet.

Technically, she was my oldest daughter's first pet. She was a betta (a trans-betta, if you wish; although she was among the male bettas at the pet store, my daughter quickly informed us that her new fish had told her she was a girl, and her name was Princess Amanda). She was gorgeous, too, all shimmer and irridescence in her royal blues, green, and violets. She was also spunky, zooming around her new fish bowl, which was, among other things, a one-eyed pink monster with bat wings and fangs.

My older daughter was vigilant in feeding and caring for Princess Amanda, especially after we warned her not to over-feed her. When our younger daughter, attempting to be helpful late last week, fed Princess Amanda a handful of betta food pellets, my hubby ended up scooping out over a dozen of them, and he and I both knew immediately that Princess Amanda might not make it.

It took several days, and we wondered at moments if maybe she would pull through. But she stopped eating, and only moved around to break the surface now and then for a bubble of air.

When we got home today, I found her unmoving at the bottom of her fish bowl. She was lying sideways. That's the moment I knew. I told my hubby, but neither of us was ready to tell our daughtrs. I waited till he had departed for an evening engagement. I fed them mac and cheese, and I waited. When they were done eating, I told them Princess Amanda had died, looking directly at my eldest as I said it. Shock, then grief, clouded her face. She got up to look at her fish. She had to see for herself; how could she take my word for it?

The next few minutes were minutes filled with tears and sadness and anguish, for both my daughters. I walked with them to the couch, and I held them close to me as they sobbed. I felt their grief and held it close, sharing their bitter cup.

Then I invited them to honor Princess Amanda by burying her in the earth. We moved her from her fish bowl to a smaller bowl, one that my oldest daughter would be able to carry with ease. We dug a shallow hole in the earth on the perimeter of our back deck. My oldest carried Princess Amanda; my youngest carried seeds that she and her sister had chosen. I carried fertile soil. Anastasia poured Princess Amanda and the water that surrounded her onto the earth she had chosen. Then she and her sister poured soil over her, telling her as they offered the soil what they loved about her. Then my girls scattered tiny carrot and tomato seeds over her, and I added a tiny layer of soil over the seeds to protect them with dark, nourishing moisture. And then my oldest daughter placed one of her prized rocks on top of the burial mound we had created. As all this took place, we talked about the circle of life, of being born, of dying, and of new life emerging from death. We talked about Princess Amanda's life, and how her body would become part of the nourishing soil that would help our seeds grow. 

After the burial had concluded and some minutes had passed, I offered my Thea necklace to my oldest to wear as a comfort. She offered it to her sister a few minutes later, who's wearing it now for that same purpose. 

Thea is the one who envelops my family with understanding and tears in this shadowy quiet. She is the one who is mourned as my daughters and I mourn the one we love, and she's the one we anticipate as new life emerges from what we have planted. 

Blessed be the one we loved, we love, and we will forever love. ♥
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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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Easter: Day 35

5/24/2014

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Tonight I will ritualize the death of a friend of mine from highschool.

Ritualizing is proactive creating/shaping of and engaging in ritual. "Following the rubrics" isn't necessary--rubrics are a by-product, not a prerequisite, of ritualizing.

I invite you to consider the events or memories in your life that could benefit from the act of ritualizing them. What in your life needs healing? What needs reconciling? What needs forgiving? What needs to be laid to rest?

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

    ​Visit Patreon for my guided meditations, recipes inspired by my novels, Q&A video podcasts about my storytelling and creative process, and more!

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    Wisdom
    Witchcraft
    Withdraw
    Woman At The Well
    Womb
    Women
    Wonder
    Word
    Works
    World
    Worry
    Worthy
    Wound
    Wrath
    Wreath
    Writing
    Wrongdoing
    Year Of Prayer
    Yes
    Zechariah

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