so much shouting, so much laughter

the year of the gadfly {giveaway}

noreply@blogger.com (suzannah | the smitten word) — Tue, 22 May 2012 18:17:00 +0000

The Year of the Gadfly is author Jennifer Miller's first foray into fiction, and it captivates right from the start. Budding journalist Iris Dupont is fourteen and grieving. Her parents relocate the family after catching her

having a conference with my spiritual mentor, Edward R. Murrow. (And yes, I knew he'd been dead for forty-seven years, but why should a person limit here interlocutors to the living?) And because there was no "What To Do When Your Daughter Talks To Dead Journalists" chapter in the myriad self-help books my mom had been reading. she shipped me straight off to the good doctor...
I'd had a "very difficult year" (hardly breaking news to this reporter), and I needed a chance to heal. So off we went to my very own Magic Mountain.

Magic Mountain turns out to be a prep school with a storied past and plenty of secrets. Iris' science teacher, Mr. Kaplan, knows more than he lets on, and the house where the Duponts are staying harbors its own sad history. An underground newspaper and a secret society offer intrigue, danger, and a way for Iris to hone her investigative skills and find her footing.

Gadfly is a compelling mystery. It explores high school alienation themes quite capably and doesn't shy away from the uglier sides of exclusion and loss.

Iris is a smart and worthy protagonist. The poignant, funny, and true-to-life narrative kept me up all night on a transcontinental red-eye; mine was the only reading light lit for hours. I recommend it heartily.

Although the story centers around high school, it's worth mentioning that I wouldn't characterize it as YA fiction. It certainly could appeal to teens (and doesn't contain any "R-rated" elements that I can remember), but it's really just good fiction, period.

If you live in the US or Canada and would like to read The Year of the Gadfly, leave a comment with your own fiction recommendations, and random.org will choose a winner on Friday 5/25 at 11:59 PM. Good luck!

Author Jennifer Miller Website | Facebook | Twitter.

Thanks to TLC for providing review and giveaway copies.

Un-silencing Eve | Part 2

noreply@blogger.com (suzannah | the smitten word) — Thu, 17 May 2012 17:24:00 +0000

Read Part 1 here.

image by naked pastor on etsy

Months later found me perched atop a wooden bench, thighs sticking to paint in the thick August heat. Bibles open, we read through the Garden of Eden narrative, giggling over descriptions of being naked and unashamed. No body issues at all? Must be nice.

Sixteen years of Sundays meant I'd heard it all before: Creation, Fall, Redemption. I could teach this lesson in my sleep. Those first three chapters in Genesis were well-tread territory:

To the woman he said,    “I will greatly increase your pains in childbearing;
   with pain you will give birth to children.
Your desire will be for your husband,
   and he will rule over you.”

There it was: The Curse. But my camp counselor explained it in a way countless Sunday school teachers had not. She said that sin is the root of inequality between men and women. The Curse is not God's desire for how things should be but an explanation for how sin wrecks relationships in a post-Fall world.

A truth bomb exploded in my heart, right there in the dining hall.

*****

In Genesis 1, God creates Eve and Adam in his royal image, charging the couple to govern over the animals and tend the earth together. Their calling was shared, their authority equal, and it was very good.

Only two chapters later, they eat the forbidden fruit, and creation's order is compromised. Characterizing Eve's sin as disobedience misses an integral part of the story: her sin was also a failure of leadership.

The serpent was crafty, but Eve was in charge. When it began casting aspersions (Did God really say...?) and spinning lies (you will be like God), Eve could have expelled the serpent from the garden right then and there. God had, after all, given her authority over the animals. But Eve harbored the lie. She chose words of death over God's life-giving promise, trading paradise for exile, estrangement, and suffering.

The serpent is the first in a long line of liars peddling deception and bent on destroying our relationships with Creator, community, and self. A cursory glance at any screen or newsstand reveals that the Deceiver has been working overtime, fanning flames of jealousy, insecurity, and disorder.

Yet with one empty tomb, Jesus disarmed the powers of sin and death. Christ the Word speaks redemption over every battered heart, shattered relationship, and system rank with decay. He invites us into that same reconciling ministry. A post-Resurrection world calls the daughters of Eve to remember their identity as image-bearers of a God who makes all things new, to govern creation the way God intended.

Fashioned by the Creator of all goodness and beauty, Eve's value--and ours--is unchained to physical appearance or sexual desirability. Worth is not won through performance or achievement, despite the popular lie anchoring the mommy wars and shackling young girls to the hamster wheel of perfectionism. A woman's value is rooted firmly in the imago-dei, her heart uniquely crafted to reflect God's glory, creativity, and strength.

Bearing the image of One who fashioned life from word and clay, women create and nurture life, not just with our bodies but our voices, too. Speaking truth to power like the prophetesses of old, we expose and untangle lies, push back the effects of the Fall, and give birth to another Way.

Where Light shines, shadows flee. And Eve finds her voice.

shared with imperfect prose. join us, won't you?

Un-silencing Eve | part 1

noreply@blogger.com (suzannah | the smitten word) — Wed, 16 May 2012 19:24:00 +0000

image by naked pastor on etsy.

The florescent bulbs hummed and flickered atop the dim hallway. Shifting my weight, I nervously smoothed my hair.

"Red." Garish suit in hand, the girl hurried away without a sound. I took one cautious step into her vacancy at the line's head.

The fifty-something teacher sized up my adolescent frame, gaze penetrating. Rounding my shoulders, I crossed my arms protectively, willing my body to disappear. Embarrassment burst into full flare upon my cheeks.

He never looked me in the eye.

"Blue," he barked, shoving the navy swimsuit into my reluctant arms.

In the locker room, I struggled to pull the skirted relic over narrow hips. The stiff fabric suggested origin in a generation older than spandex, and I tried not to think of the dozens (hundreds?) of bodies made to squeeze into it before mine. Lack of stretch meant that it hung awkwardly in places that should certainly have been snug. I was almost grateful for its skirt.

Angry scars burned brightly over exposed shoulders and back, and I longed to hide behind familiar cotton and cover. Instead, locking away clothes in a locker, I fell into line barely dressed behind girls with clear skin and shy smiles.

Red and Green were smaller than Blue, which didn't look quite so grotesque on the blonde who filled it out better than I. Sucking in my stomach, I thanked God I wasn't Yellow. Or Purple.

A whistle pierced the thick, chlorinated air, declaring a ceasefire to the Body Olympics, if only for a moment.

"Quiet, girls!" the teacher growled. "Get on the ground and stretch."

In the swim version of a paper hospital gown.

"Twenty crunches. NOW."

The pool, the last place on earth I'd wanted to be, suddenly looked like a heavenly oasis.

We sat down carefully on the hard pool deck, gingerly tugging the misshapen suits and willing against hope for them to sprout elastic--or wings. The teacher ordered strangely gymnastic stretches and we mutely obeyed, bending our bodies according to his gruffly hollered whims.

Twice a week, between Honors English and lunch, we lined up at that pool office, subjecting ourselves anew to the teacher's predatory gaze. At no point did any of us, say, Screw this. You can make me swim, but I'll wear my own damn suit. One that covers my lady bits so middle-aged creepers can't catch glimpses during coerced sets of lunges on tile.

No, we remained silent and did what we were told.

I would not make that mistake again.

------
{Part 2 is cheerier, I promise.}

shared with imperfect prose. join us, won't you?

the smitten word | gay marriage! extreme mom! edition

noreply@blogger.com (suzannah | the smitten word) — Sat, 12 May 2012 11:01:00 +0000

{good reads, shared}

It's been quite a week, y'all.

I haven't posted links in a while, but as the internets exploded sometime between Obama's endorsement of same-sex marriage and TIME's mother-shaming magazine cover, it seemed a worthy week to bring it back. Shall we?

Kathy Escobar: unless we’re all free, none of us are free.

christians should be leading the way on equality in absolutely every area, yet we all know that on the whole, we are lagging behind, stuck in white privilege & imbalanced power & segregation and all kinds of things that are not reflective of the kingdom of God Jesus called us to create.

Fearless Formula Feeder: Hey TIME (and everyone else): There is a mommy war, but this isn't it.

The Mommy Wars are not about parenting styles. The Mommy Wars are about experts - and consequently the mothers who are looking to these experts for guidance during a fragile and intimidating time in their lives - attempting to validate parenting choices/philosophies by marginalizing or insulting others.

Washington Post: How the ‘war on women’ quashed feminist stereotypes

In Memoriam: Beastie Boy Adam Yauch [MCA’s Feminist Legacy] and beloved children's author Maurice Sendak.

Tell us, what are you reading lately--or what's happening at your site this week?

Did you enter to win The Nields new folk-rock album yet?

top image: MorBCN

Happy Mothers' Day from The Nields {Album Giveaway}

noreply@blogger.com (suzannah | the smitten word) — Fri, 11 May 2012 17:37:00 +0000

Friends, have I got a treat for you: Massachusetts sisters and songwriting duo The Nields are offering one reader a copy of their latest album, The Full Catastrophe. Their song structure and acoustic melodies remind me of Dar Williams or the Indigo Girls, and the album is a tribute to the sacred, ordinary rhythms of family life. It is tender, true, and sure to resonate with many.

Here is a video of Ten Year Tin, a stand-out song. Take a listen. (You may need to click through if reading via RSS.)

The title of the album comes from Zorba the Greek: "I'm a man, so I married. Wife, children, house, everything. The full catastrophe."

From their press release:

the Nields sisters have created a powerful, passionate, thoughtful, humorous work that explores the crazy ride that is this insane twenty-first century idea that in a post-feminist world it might somehow be possible for a woman to raise her children, maintain her relationship and career and contribution to her community while tending to her artistic soul at the same time.

Yes, please to all of that. The album is the duo's sixteenth, and its birth was a true labor of love, recorded in three hour chunks between carpool and spanning the course of many years. The oldest song was written in 2006, and the album released just last month.

I don’t need the good life
I just need life
The full catastrophe
If you’ll see me that way
With my feet covered in clay
I’ll meet you back at the fruit tree.

If you'd like to win your own disc of The Full Catastrophe, leave a thoughtful comment about music, mothering, or something related. What musicians are you listening to these days? [Giveaway closes at 11:59 PM, EST on 5/15/12. Random.org will choose a winner.]

Thanks to The Nields and Avital Nathman for hooking me up with a copy and introducing me to a beautiful band. I'm looking forward to hearing more--including their non-eardrum rupturing children's music:)

sing thy grace

noreply@blogger.com (suzannah | the smitten word) — Wed, 09 May 2012 15:54:00 +0000

It's been one of those weeks, rife with hand-wringing, tears, and What the hell am I doing?

"Gentle discipline" feels like neither, and I'm the one punished.

My love isn't strong; my patience spills like cereal and I'm poured out.

But valleys fill first. There is grace in hard things and sweetness in a boy who is not out to get me. He is learning and growing and finding his way.

And I'm finding His.

{video: Although speaking in sentences is new, James learned all three verses months ago.

We sing it, per his request, every night before bed.}

Come, thou Fount of every blessing, tune my heart to sing thy grace; streams of mercy, never ceasing, call for songs of loudest praise. Teach me some melodious sonnet, sung by flaming tongues above. Praise the mount! I'm fixed upon it, mount of thy redeeming love.

shared with the community at imperfect prose. join us, won't you?

chasing shadows

noreply@blogger.com (suzannah | the smitten word) — Fri, 04 May 2012 05:02:00 +0000

“It would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak.

We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.”

C.S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory

My girl is no half-hearted creature;
sweet Dylan of-the-sea, eyes to match,
wide with wonder.

Her child lens, expectant,
brims full with trust and whimsy.

But weary of wanting
and waiting...

I trade down:
buzz for breathtaking,
false for real.

Chasing shadows,
Results Guaranteed.

shared with the gypsy mama.

a church disarmed | struggling toward love

noreply@blogger.com (suzannah | the smitten word) — Thu, 03 May 2012 01:46:00 +0000

Source: huffingtonpost.ca via suzannah {the smitten word} on Pinterest

"You're overreacting."

I'm guilty of this, blaming someone for being "too sensitive" instead of taking responsibility for my own hurtful behavior.

Perhaps invalidating others' experience and feelings is to be expected of a callous world, but what happened to Christians lighting the darkness and standing up for the vulnerable? We of all people should do better.

When hurting people share their stories, if our first instinct is to dismiss their perspective and defend the powerful or status quo, something is terribly wrong.

Men tell women to stop complaining. Sexism only exists in your mind, crazy woman. You're blowing this out of proportion.
White people tell black people that this is "post-racial America." We have a black president now, so your experiences of discrimination or systemic racism can't possible be true. Liar.
A Christian magazine tells abuse survivors that publishing a repentant predator is what forgiveness looks like. Be a good Christian, and stop persecuting this poor guy already.
Straight people tell LGBT kids that bullying isn't that bad, coward, or you deserve it, sinner.

Such responses do not resemble a gospel that releases captives or lifts the humble. Silencing the voices of people who are hurting does not honor Jesus.

People do not share painful stories to provoke disunity or wage gender/race/culture war, as critics in positions of privilege often claim, but maintaining that is a surefire way to shut down conversation.

Admittedly, war rhetoric is overused and largely unhelpful in such a polarizing climate, but nevertheless, a battle is raging:

For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.

Blind insistence from the powerful that "Everything's fine!" does not make it so. This struggle is real, and the question is, will we side with worldly power or battle-bruised hearts?

In the passion drama of Christ the principalities of political, economic, and religious power were on full display...Pilate, Herod, and Caiaphus perceived in Jesus of Nazareth a threat to the existing arrangement, a challenge to the status quo of a world organized around an axis of political, economic, and religious power....The principalities and powers opposed the one who claimed to be the anointed Messiah--by murdering him!--because they had a correct instinct that Israel's Messiah posed a real threat to the way the world had always been arranged. Jesus himself had said that in the kingdom he was bringing, "many who are first will be last and the last will be first." So all of these men, representing the principalities and powers of the age, conspired in the execution of Jesus of Nazareth because he posed a threat to "the system." (Beauty Will Save the World)

The forces at work in the world found themselves at odds with the redemptive mission of Jesus, so they put him to death. The same systemic sin is still at play, but one major thing has changed:

And having disarmed the powers and authorities, he made a public spectacle of them, triumphing over them by the cross.

Source: inspiredbythisfeeling.tumblr.com via suzannah {the smitten word} on Pinterest

The grave could not swallow God's Anointed One. Jesus proved himself--and his way--to be stronger than sin and every kind of oppression.

Seen through the lens of resurrection, the cross is no longer the shameful public humiliation of Christ, but the shameful public humiliation of the principalities and powers! In the light of the death and resurrection of Christ, principalities and powers arranged around an axis of power can no longer claim to be good and just--their claim has been invalidated by the cross...In the new world order arranged around an axis of love, the government of Messiah's peace begins to take hold...

When the church actually lives as a peaceable kingdom of Christ, it is a demonstration of the wisdom of God to the principalities and powers. Furthermore, it's the ultimate demonstration that Jesus is Lord and Caesar is not! This is why peace and unity within the body of Christ must be regarded as absolutely sacred. If we are not a peaceable people, we impugn the credibility of the gospel of peace. (Beauty Will Save the World)

Peace is not found on the altar of power but the way the cross.

Christians like to tell others to deny themselves, submit, and be humble, but don't we throw fits at the mildest religious slight? We're quick to claim that our rights are being trampled while ignoring injustice suffered by others, even those in our midst.

Here's the thing: millions of people in this world face truly evil persecution, and Christians in America do not number among them. Can we please stop grasping at worldly power long enough to love those who are hurting?

We don't have to agree to begin listening to each other's stories. The empty tomb proved that we can experience reconciliation this side of eternity. The world's broken ways are not inevitable, love is stronger than death, and it never fails.

If we imagined another way, could we set our hearts toward it? Could a Church divorced from power become that city on a hill, which lights the darkness and draws new worshipers to God?

A skeptical world might find a disarmed Church to be...disarming.

sharing with emily and the imperfect prose community. join us:)

when i was a child i read books

noreply@blogger.com (suzannah | the smitten word) — Fri, 27 Apr 2012 19:56:00 +0000

"You're having coffee with someone you meet on the internet?" Jim's father was incredulous.

His mom defended my strange online community (It's like pen-pals!), but my father-in-law--and his eyebrows--remained unconvinced.

So yes, I met Leigh at a coffee shop outside of Nashville just before Easter. Sitting there at the sidewalk table was like catching up with an old friend and not remotely like a creeper or serial killer. We talked about the important stuff--family, church, writing, Jordan Catalano--over drinks and matching giant sunglasses.

I hesitate to post the photo because my wind tunnel bangs are truly abhorrent, but we're all friends here, right?

They say when it rains, it pours, and April has been a shower of these sorts of connections. Last week, I was able to attend the Festival of Faith and Writing, a biennial literary conference hosted by Calvin College in Grand Rapids, MI. It was three full days of writerly goodness and two more of travel, and I cannot express how grateful I am to Jim who encouraged me to go and sorted out family life without me.

The FFW challenged and encouraged me, spiritually, intellectually, and professionally. Being among writers, creators, and other lovers of words refreshed my spirit in a way I wasn't even conscious of needing.

I rode out with a generous local-ish friend without whom I would have never ventured all the way to Michigan. I shared a room with Kristin and relished time together. I looked forward to meeting Steph, Micha, Ed, and Addie, too, and conversations over drinks were a great highlight. I connected with a number of new-to-me writers and authors and left feeling inspired in this craft of writing and storytelling.

I'm still processing the threads and themes, and I'm thankful. Attending the conference was a gift. I feel energized by time among artists and friends.

It's good now to be home sharing space and words with these little monkeys:

And this handsome man:

Happy weekend, friends.

the word enfleshed

noreply@blogger.com (suzannah | the smitten word) — Tue, 24 Apr 2012 20:35:00 +0000

The heart of the gospel is the Word-made-flesh:
the Logos of God hovered over the water.
Speaking life, he called order from chaos,
Beauty emerged out of formless void.

I AM and it is,
ever-present and so very good

He pitched his tent and dwelt among us;
the Word moves into our neighborhood.
Sharing stories and suffering and casseroles,
we lack for nothing.

A scripture God-breathed whispers truth,
birthing another way. Warm and intimate,
she reads us naked, a lover whose touch is home.
Faithfully unfixed after all these years.

The heart of the gospel is the Word-made-flesh:
bread broken, the people fed
the sick healed, the humbled lifted
the powers disarmed
the tomb emptied, the dead raised
the beloved called

Behold, I make all things new.
And he said unto me, Write:

lady business and lady bloggers

noreply@blogger.com (suzannah | the smitten word) — Wed, 18 Apr 2012 11:47:00 +0000

The "mommy wars" reignited last week--or so we're told. Politicians and pundits bandy words like weapons, fueling fires, but women aren't pawns to be sacrificed in a game.

I've written about being a conscientious objector, but I'm hardly alone. We dissidents are legion. Everyday, our lives tell a different story than the women-at-each-others'-throats narrative spun for ratings and political points.

Our differences are many, but one thread connects: it is damn hard to be a woman. Every choice comes with compromise, criticism, and pressure, and none of us is exempt from public or private scrutiny. Young, old, married, single, at work and at home, with kids or without: we know how it feels for our bodies, voices, and choices to be devalued.

Part of me thinks that the politicians and media frame the "mommy wars" like they do to intentionally distract from the work of addressing complicated issues or tackling real solutions together.

Doing the work is always the narrow path.

Someone who knows this is Sarah Bessey. Her consistently good writing (seriously, how does she maintain such prolific quality?) bears witness to a Kingdom fragrant with another Way.

She's compiled a list of "50 Church and Faith Lady Bloggers," and it's a great example of critique through creation and telling a better story. Many of my favorite sites are there (and others are listed in my community page.)

I am off to Michigan today for the Festival of Faith and Writing at Calvin College. I'm not quite sure how this all fell into place, but Jim encouraged me to go, and I am thrilled for the opportunity. Tell ya all about it soon:)

grace like legalism, peace like fighting well

noreply@blogger.com (suzannah | the smitten word) — Tue, 17 Apr 2012 20:12:00 +0000

My mother loved the 700 Club, but she's always been a hippie at heart.

I suspect that's partly how I was raised within conservative Christianity but escaped its frequently associated legalism. Faith in Christ was never about rules in the communities I grew up in or the ministries we've served in as adults. Christianity was as simple--and as difficult--as following after Jesus.

It wasn't until I started writing about faith on the internet that I began to realize how rare that experience can be. I dodged a bullet and am tremendously grateful to my family and church communities for modeling something better.

We all know how damaging works-based religion can be. We've seen with our eyes and felt in our bodies the havoc it can wreck. Legalism creates fearful perfectionists. It punishes questioners and specific sinners more than others. It drives some into rebellion, never to return to a faith so small and sharp. Others come back bearing wounds and shame that rules alone can never heal.

Legalism is the antithesis of grace, bearing little resemblance to Jesus' ministry or the path he calls us to follow him down. It is an idol and a chain, and it should be struck dead. Recovering fundamentalists and progressive-leaning folks, for what (little) those labels are worth, have been voices of love and correction to a gospel that is less than Good News.

But I'm noticing something strange from my insider/outsider perspective: the anti-legalism crowd can be just as prone to rigid rules. I'm sure there are more that my own blinders can't yet recognize, but recently, these two have become plain:

1.) Favor Unflinching Support for the Guilty/Penitent over Healthy Community Boundaries

2.) Insist that All Criticism is UnGrace or Hate

Neither of these "rules" makes much sense--or looks like the ministry of Jesus, as I understand it.

Relevant Magazine, a well-read Christian website among twenty-somethings and beyond, recently published an article about gender and sexuality by a man with an admitted history of predatory behavior and violence against women (and a current writing resume that would disgust most Christians). They did this without disclosure or apology. Complaints were raised and a conversation introduced about how to demonstrate grace to abusers without re-victimizing people or silencing dissent.

Christians know that God's grace cannot be earned and is given freely. We should proclaim from the rooftops and by the lives that we lead that all are loved and made in his image, and that we can find forgiveness, freedom, and purpose in Christ. This is the gospel, and it is good news indeed.

But grace does not eliminate consequences for sin--or abuse. Sometimes love looks like accountability, especially for people who hold positions of leadership or authority. Love looks like protecting vulnerable people from harm.

Grace doesn't mean that everyone is entitled to a mic, a platform, or a public ministry.

A Christian community may offer forgiveness and still withhold positions of authority from certain members. Grace and accountability are not mutually exclusive. The privilege and responsibility of public leadership is not a birthright. Grace is free, but trust is earned.

Grace is the opposite of entitlement. It's illogical to use grace to claim privilege or to favor the powerful over the hurting.

Criticism can be handled with grace. Some battles are not worth choosing, certainly, but there is space to wrestle through hard things within Christian community. Accountability is necessary and preferable to faux peace or abuse enabling.

Speaking truth-in-love is a delicate, difficult balance to strike--and I do it wrong again and again. Favoring one over the other is an easy trap, but Jesus is Truth, God is Love, and there is no other way.

What if peace isn't the absence of conflict? Disagreement is, after all, inevitable.

Can shalom be found in the fight? Reconciliation is hard work, and I suspect that love requires digging in as much as letting go. We must do it with grace, yes. But perhaps our concepts of grace are both too broad and too narrow.

So we look to Jesus. We bind up the brokenhearted and push back the darkness. Together.

shared with the community at imperfect prose. join us?

i left my heart in san francisco

noreply@blogger.com (suzannah | the smitten word) — Sat, 14 Apr 2012 19:07:00 +0000

i'm wondering if i tucked my ability to concentrate into the seat pocket of the red-eye back to nashville. (we drove to cleveland to fly to nashville with jim's family before we ever made our way to the west coast, clocking a dizzying number of hours traveling.)

i want to tell you about the trip, our first away just the two of us. i want to tell you about the hills and the quiet, the wine and the coast, and the many unexpected blessings along the way.

but i'm mulling it all over, and re-entry has been hard. i'll unravel some of the stories tucked away, but for now, here's my hello and a few photos.

happy saturday, friends. may yours be nourishing, restful, and filled with much joy.

we belong to each other

noreply@blogger.com (suzannah | the smitten word) — Wed, 11 Apr 2012 03:11:00 +0000

Thanks to The Bully Project for sponsoring my writing. Visit their website to join the movement and learn more.

It's an impression more than a memory. Our gym class class met outside that day, probably to run the dreaded mile. Navy tees and grey shorts were the uniform, but matching jersey can't erase social distinctions. Those are carved in stone.

Or flesh.

One boy was slower, his smile kinder than most. The others taunted, and he laughed, believing himself to be part of their fun instead of its cruel target.

I barely remember. Not his name or any of their faces. There was a dare, and he obeyed, wanting to play, to belong. Not understanding that some kids cannot be trusted.

Innocence trusts, but age and experience prove many unreliable.

They made him expose himself. Their laughter was ugly, exposing their callous, careless hearts.

Our silence exposed our own, we who saw and did nothing.

****

Inaction is itself a choice, a vote for the status quo. Human kindness requires more than merely not joining the cruelty. Bystanders' hands are stained, too.

Aren't we all our brothers' keepers?

I've written about our responsibility in the bullying of LGBT kids, but there are many ways to be different. Race, gender, religion, size, speech, intellect, appearance, ability, economic status, and anything else that distinguishes people turns some into targets. Adults may like to talk to kids about being special and becoming leaders, but playgrounds (and classrooms) reward conformity richly. This world can be exceedingly punishing to any who fall out of step from the herd.

I want so much more for my children than for them to blend in, fearful of rocking the boat, expressing passion or personality, standing up to injustice, or holding an unpopular opinion. That's no way to live, and certainly no way to be faithful to a God who calls us to be not conformed.

I want my kids--and all kids--to feel safe in this world. To believe that adults have their backs.

We do, don't we? Not just our kids but all kids?

We belong to one another. Our burdens weren't meant to be born alone.

Shared with the Imperfect Prose community.

I was selected for this sponsorship by the Clever Girls Collective. Find showings in your area for The Bully Project and buy tickets here.

flowers in your hair

noreply@blogger.com (suzannah | the smitten word) — Wed, 04 Apr 2012 16:07:00 +0000

Jim and I are in California celebrating our upcoming tenth anniversary with wine and much appreciated time together.

It will likely be quiet here a little longer. Have a blessed Holy Week, friends.

when race is the elephant in the room

noreply@blogger.com (suzannah | the smitten word) — Tue, 27 Mar 2012 11:00:00 +0000

Source: teachingdigitalhistory.ning.com via Camilla on Pinterest

White people don't really like to talk about race, do we?

Some wax poetic about colorblindness and a "post-racial America," as if talking like that will make it so, but remaining oblivious to race is a luxury enjoyed only by those who've not been on the receiving end of racism.

"White folks are sometimes looking for the slur; this is a pattern of institutional neglect," said @timjacobwise. #TrayvonMartin #nerdland
— Melissa @ MSNBC (@MHPshow) March 25, 2012

White people get to laugh at their mistakes. Dust themselves off and move on. Black kids don't get those chances. But y'all knew that.
— Kimberly N. Foster (@KimberlyNFoster) March 26, 2012

There's a section of the White community that hates when race is mentioned. Ever. To not HAVE to deal w/ race? That's called PRIVILEGE.
— Elon James White (@elonjames) March 26, 2012

White privilege is an invisible knapsack, conferring benefits to some that are denied to others. We take for granted many of the privileges we enjoy that are conferred by race and not merit.

Black people have been afraid of white people wearing hoods much longer than white people have feared black people wearing hoodies.
— David Walker (@badazzmofo) March 23, 2012

thnx @GeraldoRivera! i FORGOT what it was like to be a POC before you reminded me how to dress to avoid being murdered #TrayvonMartin
— Franchesca Ramsey (@chescaleigh) March 23, 2012

Black parents should teach their children not to wear hoodies. But white people don't need to have any such conversation.
— Basseyworld (@BasseyworldLive) March 23, 2012

Some white people do notice: we see injustice and inequality, and our hearts are heavy, but we still are reluctant to talk about race.

Our silence does not go unnoticed.

sigh. still observing silence about #TrayvonMartin from a lot "progressive Christian social justice-oriented" bloggers.
— laura(@lolaelizabeth) March 22, 2012

progressive Christians who write post after post calling for lawmakers and churches to fight poverty, climate change, and other injustices
— laura(@lolaelizabeth) March 22, 2012

but cases of blatant racial bias? *crickets*
— laura(@lolaelizabeth) March 22, 2012

Also struck by Xians who talk about internat'l justice to show the love of Jesus etc and ignore black Xians RIGHT HERE.
— Grace (@graceishuman) March 23, 2012

So, y'know, white Christians. Don't be surprised that there are so few people of color in your communities when you act like this.
— Grace (@graceishuman) March 23, 2012

Coming on the heels of the Invisible Children/KONY2012, a viral justice campaign which occupied a tremendous amount of conversation, especially among young white Christians, the lack of attention to Trayvon Martin's death was especially glaring.

{Several white bloggers did offer comments this week: Jen Hatmaker, Momastery, Kristen with "required reading", and Natalie with this piece on race and faith.}

I don't know how we choose what to speak out about--or not. For many, racial injustice is off our radar, especially if we only interact with white people. Perhaps we prefer to keep hard stories at arms' length.

I used to want to simply turn away from the news because "it was so depressing." And it IS depressing, but ignorance ain't an option.
— Saeed Jones (@theferocity) March 25, 2012

Instead of turning away from depressing news, I keep watching, but also surround myself with solution-oriented/loving people.
— Saeed Jones (@theferocity) March 25, 2012

"If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor." ~ Archbishop Desmond Tutu
— Whitney (@arieswym) March 25, 2012

Sometimes, we are afraid. We don't know what to say or how to say it, and don't want to step on toes. We fear doing it wrong, so we don't say anything.

how to express solidarity across lines of privilege can be tough. it has to be determined by ppl being supported.
— Grace (@graceishuman) March 25, 2012

Talking about race is not easy. Relinquishing privilege won't be, either.

We will get it wrong. We may look foolish or ignorant, and it will certainly be uncomfortable--a small price to pay compared to the racial injustice suffered historically and presently in this country.

Learning is a process. But we don't need to be experts or have answers in order to listen, reflect, demonstrate compassion, or amplify the voices of people of color.

It's a start.

Trayvon Martin was murdered one month ago to this day. And on the anniversary of this tragedy, the media has converted him into a criminal.
— LEFT (@LeftSentThis) March 26, 2012

vagina is not a dirty word

noreply@blogger.com (suzannah | the smitten word) — Fri, 23 Mar 2012 18:10:00 +0000

In Rachel Held Evans' forthcoming book, A Year of Biblical Womanhood, she investigates what it looks like to live out Christian faith as a woman today.

Her publisher, Thomas Nelson, told her she had to change the word "vagina" in her text to "privates" to accommodate the delicate sensibilities of Christian markets.

WHAT.

Teaching toddlers to use the right words for their anatomy prevents body shame and lays the framework for honest conversations, unblurred by silliness and giggles. My pre-schoolers use the words penis and vagina matter-of-factly, and they know their bodies are created by God.

If Thomas Nelson thinks Christian bookstores can't handle reading the word "vagina," the problem isn't really Rachel's book, is it?

There is a petition on Amazon to keep the word vagina in Rachel's book. Yes, this is a ridiculous conversation to be having in 2012. But I believe that it is symptomatic of a fear within the church of bodies and sexuality--especially female sexuality.

Are we not a people who worship an Incarnate God and believe that our own bodies are fearfully and wonderfully made?

Let's remind Thomas Nelson.

Edited: Rachel herself clarifies the situation in a post. Apparently, keeping "vagina" is up to her, but she's been warned that the bookstores are likely to refuse to carry her book. An appeal then would be better directed at the stores. Thomas Nelson is not so much laying the hammer as making suggestions based upon the market.

the youth exodus & consumer christianity

noreply@blogger.com (suzannah | the smitten word) — Thu, 22 Mar 2012 20:56:00 +0000

Much has been made in the media lately about a supposed exodus of young people away from churches and/or Christianity. Rick Santorum blames university education, but if faith cannot withstand learning, questions, and life beyond Sunday school, there's something far deeper at play.

Rachel Held Evans lists 15 reasons she left the Church and 15 that caused her to return, but I'm still not sure how one commits to the "big C Church" independent of a local, worshiping body of believers.

Tim King at CNN argues that hypocrisy and "political spectacles are driving a generation away from faith." I'd agree that actual and implied Christian voting guidelines are a huge turn-off to young Christians caring more about justice and poverty than tax cuts, but politicization may be as tenuous a boogeyman as higher ed. Plenty of Christians don't vote Republican and still manage to worship alongside, love, and be loved by those who do. The votes any of us cast in November have little to do with how we practice faith together daily.

An article at Sojourners says that hurt drives young people away, and that is a truth I won't argue with. Spiritual abuse is a real and terrible thing, and the Church is often better known for its judgment, masks, and unforgiveness than compassion or grace.

"I like your Christ," Gandhi famously said. "I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ." We have much work to do if we truly want to be a people that welcomes, heals, and loves like Jesus.

But the article's six other reasons [we're distracted, we're exhausted, mememememe] seemed a lot more like excuses to me.

It's kind of sexy to harp on the Church, isn't it? It's so backwards and nerdy and uptight! They're so this and that, and they just don't get me at all!

I know how it goes. I really do.

My nose hoop and Jimmy's jeans will never--not in a million years--fit in with the white hair and designer handbags peppering the pews at our church.

And it's lonely. Our generation is patently absent from our local church.

But I'm not sure it's "Their" fault. I mean, I'm the disciple maker, too, right? If the pews aren't full, what am I doing to enact a change?

I don't know where we go from here. Many days I feel like Peter telling Jesus he's sticking around because really, what else is there? But I know we can't approach the problems with the same consumer mindset that [in part] created them.

Consumers want, take, and expect everything to be catered to their perceived needs.

But worshipers worship. Disciples serve, give, and love. Christians practice self-denial, pick up crosses, and follow Jesus into suffering.

People desire to be known and loved--not targeted, marketed, boxed or sold. The Church is the naked emperor and our gimmicks are showing.

If our churches are unsustainable and shrinking, should they be resuscitated? Our attractional ministry models are inherently flawed. What if our money, passion, and energies were directed toward something bigger than than building campaigns and filling seats? What if our worship and practice transcended four walls and one hour each Sunday?

Martin Luther King Jr.'s words* were eerily prescient:

Unless the early sacrificial spirit is recaptured, I am very much afraid that today’s Christian church will lose its authenticity, forfeit the loyalty of millions, and we will see the Christian church dismissed as a social club with no meaning or effectiveness for our time, as a form without substance, as salt without savor.

The Church doesn't need better coffee or cooler music to retain young people. But a sacrificial spirit and love that lays down its own life--those are the markings of our Savior and a people called by his name.

Let's be about that.

*His words, of course, were not about disaffected white youth, and they are worthy of reading in context. Reading them today, especially as we talk about Trayvon Martin and the silence of white "beyond evangelicals" puts another spin on the youth exodus narrative. Would a vibrant Church engaged in justice work and racial reconciliation be bemoaning the same loss of young people?

{image source}

trayvon martin: a black child is murdered

noreply@blogger.com (suzannah | the smitten word) — Thu, 22 Mar 2012 11:00:00 +0000

That if we're just "good" we'll be safe. If your son doesn't listen to hip hop, goes to the church camp, gets A's and Bs in school, is polite, says "sir" and "ma'am," if he's a good kid, he'll be safe. That's the bargain black parents make with their children.

If you are "good" the gangs and the violence and the racism won't get you. You will be safe. You will live to see 25. You will have a great life. Opportunity will abound for you. We will be proud of you. The community will be proud of you. You will be Barack Obama and Michelle Obama and life will be beautiful if you just want it enough.

Just be "good." Be good, Trayvon Martin. Stay in school. Listen to your parents. And you'll be safe.

But that's a lie. No one can make you safe. No one can save you for that day some sick person just decides you're the bad guy because you're black and carrying a bottle of ice tea and some Skittles and he self-appointed himself neighborhood watch and some black teenage boys aren't good, therefore ALL BLACK PEOPLE ARE NOT GOOD. And you are a black person. And you're a boy. And you had on a "hooded sweatshirt." So, you're dead now.

Please go read the rest of this powerful post, No Apologies: On The Killing Of Trayvon Martin And Being "Good" by Black Snob.

Read up on the story. Be heartbroken. Listen. Get angry. Ask questions. Speak out until justice rolls down.

witness to the arc towards the sun

noreply@blogger.com (suzannah | the smitten word) — Tue, 20 Mar 2012 03:59:00 +0000

my birthday has a theme song this year.

and i've decided that 32 is the year i wear scarves. look out, world.

So raise a glass to turnings of the season
And watch it as it arcs towards the sun
And you must bear your neighbor's burden within reason
And your labors will be born when all is done

And nobody, nobody knows
Let the yoke fall from our shoulders
Don't carry it all, don't carry it all
We are all our hands and holders
Beneath this bold and brilliant sun

zan

of resurrection & cobwebs

noreply@blogger.com (suzannah | the smitten word) — Fri, 16 Mar 2012 01:31:00 +0000

hope bursts green through untended earth, and sun beckons dirty windows open. we plan a family ride, but my bike is somewhere in new jersey.

resurrection's in the air and cobwebs, too.

ten chicks, all black feathers and down, pile together in a basin in the bathroom. their cheeps melt hearts and betray uncertainty all the same.

the insurance company covered the theft, but the money went to groceries, pre-school, and life. we'll replace it yet. spring only just begins.

a heavy heart finds solace in the liturgical year. this penitent season, the now-and-not-yet, mirrors stirrings unmatched by the beauty out-of-doors.

there's beauty in hard places, too, She whispers.

i lean in and breathe deep.

shared with Just Write.

Ministry, Mentors, & Holy Imagination

noreply@blogger.com (suzannah | the smitten word) — Fri, 09 Mar 2012 11:30:00 +0000

Presence is powerful. So is absence. Seeing women in leadership matters to girls and equally to women still longing to have their passions, talents, and personhood affirmed by the Body of Christ. The void of women's leadership in the Church is painful and palpable, and the spectrum of God's image will never be fully visible so long as any are silenced, diminished, or excluded.

It's difficult to dream what we haven't glimpsed. Christ's Bride suffers for lack of holy imagination.

Ed Cyzewski is hosting a powerful series on women in ministry, and I am privileged to share part of my story there today. Ed is a peacemaker who writes with the kind of grace and restraint that is as refreshing as it is rare, especially in a climate that seems to reward polarizing and hostile voices. If you haven't visited his site, remedy that!

Read the rest of my post over there, and consider contributing your own to the series.

empty limbs

noreply@blogger.com (suzannah | the smitten word) — Fri, 09 Mar 2012 05:31:00 +0000

Now is the barren season, and it's lasted many winters.

Spring nears. I hear her whisper; her breath warms the earth. The sap flows fast, and we tap trees for syrup.

But I've been disappointed before.

There is a tree on the horizon, its stark beauty unmistakable. The cold silhouette haunts; empty limbs won't ever blossom.

Winter is terrible company, casting shadows and aspersions, daring to hang on as long as death.

Remember spring swaps snow for leaves

Tonight, I will believe.

shared with five minute friday (although it took a bit longer to nail down). prompt: empty

worship, activism, & the roots of womanist theology

noreply@blogger.com (suzannah | the smitten word) — Thu, 08 Mar 2012 18:37:00 +0000

Once a school nerd, always a school nerd. In honor of International Women's Day, I give you an excerpt from a paper I wrote what feels like a lifetime ago: "Black Women Church Leaders at the Turn-of-the-Century as Early Womanist Theologians." The fact that women are still being punished for raising voices in public spaces makes me even more grateful to the trail blazers who boldly fought for women's respect and equality in a time when neither was even imaginable to so many.

Source: store.barackobama.com via suzannah {the smitten word} on Pinterest

For a number of years, there has been a righteous discontent, a burning zeal to go forward in His name among the Baptist women of our churches and it will be the dynamic force in the religious campaign at the opening of the 20th century.

At twenty-one, Nannie Helen Burroughs was already a dynamic force on the intellectual and religious scenes. In 1900, at the first meeting of the Women's Convention, Auxiliary to the National Baptist Convention, she delivered a fiery address entitled "How the Sisters are Hindered from Helping."

Burrough's description of black churchwomen's "righteous discontent" is a fitting characterization of their resistance to exclusion and injustice. African American women were not content to remain at home in the manner prescribed by white culture's cult of domesticity, and they continued to envision themselves as fully answering God's call through public service.

Having observed the celebration of Women's Day in congregations across the country, Burroughs called for the national observance of such a Sunday at the National Baptist Convention in 1906. She marveled at what might happen on the day that women across the country would take the lead in worship:

A million women praying? A million women singing? A million women desiring? A million women laboring for the coming of the Kingdom in the hearts of all men, would be a power that would move God on his throne to immediately answer the petitions. It would mean spiritual dynamite that would blast Satan's greatest stronghold and drive sin into its native health.

Burrough's image is one of feminine strength. Discontent with society claiming that women belong at home and church leaders relegating them to Sunday school classrooms, Burroughs longed to see more women take the pulpit.

Anna Julia Cooper was another activist who fought her way into the public sphere to champion the rights of African American women. In 1882 she published A Voice from the South, the first book-length black feminist text, recounting her experiences and arguing for women to embrace their role as moral reformers. Cooper charged the community "to recognize this force to make the most of it--not the boys less, but the girls more."

The way that she portrays women as a force emphasizes strength much like Alice Walker's description of a womanist as "Responsible. In charge. Serious." Earlier, Cooper argues "'I am my Sister's keeper!' should be the hearty response of every man and woman of the race," highlighting the role that community plays in promoting the advancement and education of women. This kind of community solidarity is reflected in contemporary womanist theology. Anna Julia Cooper was a womanist theologian before they had names.

An important way that women rose to prominence was through the black church-sponsored press that grew as black literacy rose from 5 percent in 1860 to 70 percent in 1910. The black Baptists alone published forty newspapers and magazines in 1887, and they became a forum for disseminating feminist ideas. Because there were no widely distributed national black newspapers, and white papers never gave fair representation to blacks, "the role of the church cannot be overstated" (Higginbotham). In the period between 1883 and 1905, forty-six black women were journalists, eleven were editors, and three were owner/managers. These women used education and the church to forge a way into the public space and change the discourse.

Though many looked to the bible to justify women's subordination, these women looked to the "Bible as an instrument of liberation," reclaiming texts as support for their place in ministry (Townes). Black feminist theologians like Mary Cook, Virginia Broughton, and Lucy Wilmot Smith were firm believers in women's power to influence men and community in positive ways for the gospel and looked to biblical mothers as examples. They were not theologians in the strictest sense of the word, but as Gordon Kaufman argues, "Every attempt to discover and reflect upon the real meaning of the Gospel...is theologizing," and these women, as well as regular members of women's clubs and organizations, did just that (Higginbotham). Their Christian activism was theologically-derived praxis--their way of building community and the Kingdom of God.

If contemporary womanist theologians are heirs to the ideas and work of Cook, Cooper, and others, they are also indebted to women who first paved the way, like Julia A.J. Foote. Foote became the first ordained woman deacon in 1895, and the second deaconess of the A.M.E. Church in 1899, but her ministry began decades before. In 1900, when Nannie Helen Burroughs was speaking at the Baptist Convention, Foote was completing her last of fifty years as an itinerant evangelist. She was reclaiming scripture on behalf of women in ministry long before she had peers to the struggle.

Her confident determination is womanist through and through:

We are sometimes told that if a woman pretends to a Divine call, and thereon grounds the right to plead the cause of the crucified Redeemer in public, she will be believed when she shows credentials from heaven; that is when she works a miracle. If it be necessary to prove one's right to preach the Gospel, I ask of my brethren to show me their credentials, or I cannot believe in the propriety of their ministry. But the Bible puts an end to this strife when it says: "There is neither male nor female in Christ Jesus."

Contemporary womanist theology has deep roots. It grows from a rich tradition of struggle, activism, and celebration of the strength and capability of black women to shape their identity and community in powerful ways. At the end of the nineteenth and beginning of the twentieth centuries, African American churchwomen created womanist theology with the lives they led as orators, activists, mothers, sisters, journalist, teachers, preachers, and community leaders. They did not draw their identity as women from from their husbands or white feminine ideals but from one another and the scriptures. They build a legacy of loving themselves, their God, and their communities. Regardless.

Reading:

A Brand Plucked from the fire. An Autobiographical Sketch

African American Women and Christian Activism: New York's Black YWCA, 1905-1945

A Voice from the South (Schomburg Library of 19th Century Black Women Writers)

Daughters of Thunder: Black Women Preachers and Their Sermons, 1850-1979

If It Wasn't for the Women...: Black Women's Experience and Womanist Culture in Church and Community

In a Blaze of Glory: Womanist Spirituality as Social Witness

In Search of Our Mothers' Gardens: Womanist Prose

Righteous Discontent: The Women's Movement in the Black Baptist Church, 1880-1920

Under Their Own Vine and Fig Tree: The African-American Church in the South 1865-1900

Words of Fire: An Anthology of African-American Feminist Thought

words like weapons (forget not your name)

noreply@blogger.com (suzannah | the smitten word) — Wed, 07 Mar 2012 12:00:00 +0000

I'm weary of words like weapons:

Slut
Whore
Emotional
Crazy
Ugly
Bitch

Be quiet
Settle down
S i l e n c e
[isn't golden]

Big girls cry hot tears
(and we're women, thankyoumuch).
We bear on our bodies the
wounds of un-winnable wars.

A porn-soaked culture values
sexy, submissive, and available;
a bar set canyon low and
unreachable all the same.

He hated her more than he loved her

Women aren't goods to trade,
degrade or dismiss.
Labels are lies
ten sizes too small.

Dear one,

Man looks at appearances, but the LORD looks at the heart

Yours is brave and generous,
passion-fueled and wild.
You remind me of a King,
a daughter with her Daddy's eyes.

Beloved, forget not your name;
it's engraved on the Artist's own hands.