Tag Archives: tradition

On the Celebration This Friday

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Women of the LPTS Class of 2009 are invited to a celebration in their honor on Friday, May 8, 2009 in the Women's Center

Women of the LPTS Class of 2009 are invited to a celebration in their honor on Friday, May 8, 2009 in the Women's Center

Yesterday, staff and volunteers at the Women’s Center busied themselves with preparations for Friday’s celebration of women graduates in the Louisville Seminary Class of 2009. On Friday, May 8, 4:00 – 6:00 p.m., in the Women’s Center, we will celebrate the achievement of staying the seminary course and attaining the prize of the upward call to a diploma. The agenda includes food, flowers, music, and a few (very brief) speeches, as well as, we hope, lots of conversation, congratulations, preparatory reminiscences — “Do you remember when . . .”, “What about . . .” — and elated “I can’t believe it’s!”

In fact, it seems we designed this celebration with the “I can’t believe it!”‘s in mind. People need celebrations like this precisely because of the “I can’t believe it!”‘s that accompany the achievements they celebrate.

It takes awhile for the meaning of big events to sink in, take root. We can use some time, some space, to ponder and appreciate the fact of having accomplished something, before rushing out to do the work of living with it . . . and with everything it means.

It takes awhile to come to terms with what a big accomplishment means about us. If we don’t take the time to notice, we can miss the revelations summed up and transformed into an accomplishment: revelations of persistence, determination, intelligence, creativity, depth, thoughtfulness, wit, humor . . . We may not always recognize these things in ourselves; others may not always remark them in us. Women, in particular, have not always been led to expect to see these qualities in ourselves. We can use an occasion that calls us to pay attention to the revelations embedded in what we’ve achieved — and to make them something to remember. Because at least half the value in revelation lies in remembering it in the times when we don’t have the same clarity and confidence, and need it.

We think women, in particular, can use a special celebration in their honor. Women often have had the role of organizing celebrations: baby showers, birthday parties, receptions, fellowship times. Food, flowers, and getting people together — according to Thomas C. Foster1, all earth-motherly motifs. Women less often have had the role of being celebrated, at least historically. Pericles articulated the sentiment, that persists even today in some quarters: “. . . and greatest [glory] will be hers who is least talked of among the men whether for good or for bad.”2 In that scheme, the best official memory of women is none at all.

The mission of the Women’s Center, insofar as it includes “celebrating the gifts and achievements of women in the church and the world,” expressly challenges that sentiment. Instead, we insist that women’s achievements, half of humanity’s achievements, ought not to go unnoticed, un- or undervalued, and unsung. And since they have gone precisely this way for too long, they demand extra attention from those who have made it their task to redress the imbalance.

It takes awhile to redress imbalances that have become a deeply imbedded part of our culture, that have had the sanction of every facet of our tradition for centuries, that have generated adaptive attitudes and behaviors that people have inculcated generation after generation, and that we ourselves have cultivated in ourselves, mistakenly thinking them virtues. The attitude that people shouldn’t make a big fuss over us. The idea that taking time out from work to rejoice makes us frivolous and maybe even a bit despicable. The practice of minimizing our own achievements — to the point of making them invisible, even to ourselves.

So we can all use some time, some space, that weighs in on the other side of the balance. We can all benefit from some food, flowers, and getting women together, in the spirit of celebrating these women’s real-life-historic achievement, in the church and in the world that church serves.

References
1 Thomas C. Foster, How to Read Literature Like A Professor (New York: HarperCollins, 2003), p. 271, 274.
2 Thucydides, The Peloponnesian War, trans. Benjamin Jowett, in The Bedford Anthology of World Literature Vol. 1, The Ancient World, Beginnings-100 C.E. ed. Paul Davis et al. (Boston/New York: Bedford/St. Martin’s, 2004) p. 1141.

Worship in the Words of the Tradition II

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The tradition has many words. As we noted here yesterday, and in Caldwell Chapel on Thursday, February 12, some of those words are beloved of many, sanctified by long use in the church, and at the same time words that make Christian worship damaging.

This is about language. Language that is, perhaps, easy to use. Language that, perhaps, most of us barely even notice, barely even think about. Language that, if we do think about it — if it is, for instance, brought to our attention by someone’s complaint or lament — we might barely be able to take seriously. (“Oh, that? But that’s just . . .” or “Seriously, it’s no big deal!”) Language that comes to our minds and mouths quickly, almost without having to think about it, because we have used this language so long, and have thought the thoughts that travel with this language so long.

Words (and thoughts) like:

Kyrie eleison

    (“Oh, come on! It’s just THE KYRIE, for Jesus Christ’s — or Pete’s — sake. You can’t seriously have a problem with that. Try not to think of it as “Lord,” as if it had all kinds of hierarchical, kyriarchical, patriarchal baggage, just think of it as “God”. Don’t make a big deal out of this.)

. . . All to Him I freely give;
I will ever love and trust Him,
in His presence daily live.

    (It’s just a song. Lots of people love this song. It’s about surrender — what, you don’t want to surrender everything to Jesus? Nobody means self-esteem, desire for freedom, the dignity owing to a human being that someone in an abusive relationship might be trying to convince you to deny you even have a right to. Surrender bad things, selfish things . . . bad selfish things . . . OK, it says “Him”, but it doesn’t mean your husband or your father, it means Jesus, just try not think of Jesus in the same way as that husbandfatherpastor . . . Jesus is different, Jesus is better than that . . . you can do it! Don’t make a big deal out of this!)

. . . our Lord Jesus Christ . . .

    (Yes, “Lord” is male language, master of slaves, leader of armies, “husband” — in olden days — but look, here it’s just a formula, it doesn’t mean that, no one means anything by it, it’s just language, you have to call Jesus something, come on, don’t make a big deal out of this!)

Riches I heed not, nor man’s empty praise . . .

    (Down, girl! Whoever put this liturgy together probably couldn’t find a copy of the current Presbyterian Hymnal, where this allegedly ‘generic’ use of ‘man’ to designate ‘humanity’, obscuring or perhaps even denying the presence of women in that humanity, has been changed to the inclusive “vain, empty praise”. Why can’t you just cut him — or her! — some slack? What ever happened to forgiveness? Grace? This is such a little thing — don’t make a big deal out of it . . .)

. . . my sister death . . .
how not hear her wise advice?

    (See, there’s some feminine language in here, too. Yes, “death,” but in context this is positive, see, wise . . . plus, it’s from a traditional prayer. By St. Francis. Saint Francis. You don’t seriously have a problem with Saint Francis, do you? It’s not really linking women with death, deadliness, bringing death into the world . . . Eve . . . cut it out, don’t make a big deal out of this.)

“Turn to the Lord your God again.” . . .
Turn to us, Lord God, . . .

    (Almost done now. You know the drill. Swallow, suck it up, say “amen,” just, you know, what were you thinking, you know, you did basically ask for it, coming to church, and on Ash Wednesday, of all days, what were you expecting . . . you can’t really make a big deal out of this, you know that, right? Because you are SO missing the big picture, the main point, and all the GOOD PARTS of the service, why don’t you pay attention to that, why do you have to be so negative, why do you have to get so angry, what is wrong with you?)

So how many “no big deals” does it take to make a big deal?

Using inclusive language for humanity is an official policy of Caldwell Chapel worship for a reason.

We have the conversations we’ve had with people about avoiding “Lord Lord” language for a reason, too. Some of those we’ve even had here. (Here’s one. Here’s another.)

Yes, this is about language. This is about language because, protestations to the contrary, language means something. And if it really doesn’t mean anything, then why use it in the first place?

During this Lent, maybe we could all actually surrender the practice of calling Jesus Lord, as if the very best, the greatest, the most honorific and the only thing we can think of to call Jesus is Master of slaves, Owner of property, Leader of feudal armies, Husband, Sir, Big Man.

Jesus. The Word and Wisdom and Lamb of God, the Bread of Heaven, the Living Water, the Christ, Savior, Redeemer, Teacher, Mediator, Alpha and Omega, Lily of the Valley, Rose of Sharon, Morning Star, Author and Finisher of our faith, . . .

Even though all of that, too, is only, you know, language.

[The Order of Service for Caldwell Chapel Worship, Wednesday, February 25, 2009]

Worship in the Words of the Tradition

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Still thinking about V is for Venite . . .

candle_bible
Thursday, February 12, turned out to be a day of examining the ambiguous legacy and role of the church in relation to violence against women.

The V-Week Planning Group had planned from its earliest meetings to include a lunch-hour faculty panel on this day, and had early identified “The Role of the Church in Violence Against Women” as the desired topic. The idea was to find a way to consider the positive contributions of the Christian tradition alongside its complicity in patterns of violence against women. We wanted to celebrate the way themes of, e.g., human worth and dignity, equality before God, love and belovedness, healing, “setting the captives free,” empower women who have been touched by violence, remind them that this violence is wrong and is not the last word on them and their lives, and give them the strength and healing to persevere, survive, overcome, experience resurrection. At the same time, we wanted to be especially cognizant of the undeniable negative contributions of the Christian tradition, especially in its historic role as western cultural hegemon. (Sometimes difficult to remember in these post-Constantinian, post-Protestant-consensus, post-etc. times is that Christianity was an integral part of the dominant cultural paradigm in Europe for 14 or 15 centuries — at least, according to the last western civ text I checked). We wanted to hold those two legacies in tension, consider what that dual legacy might mean for members of the church today, what we might need to be critical of or re-evaluate, what we need or might need to repent of, what action it might call us to, and so on.

With this in mind, it was a short step to a decision to plan an opening worship service for the day that made this ambiguous legacy explicit, and that called attention to some of the connections between what we say we worship, how we say it, what we counsel members of the church, what we require of women and men within the body of the church . . . and the violence that women suffer in many forms all around the world.

Sad fact: It didn’t take long to bring together texts from scripture that have historically been used against women, statements from the Church Fathers that reinforced attitudes that women ought to submit to, and may well deserve, violent treatment on the part of husbands and other authorities, and militant or self-sacrificial metaphors that contribute to a normalization and acceptance of violence. (Here is a draft of the order of service.)

What we had not anticipated was the way this worship service would make people feel. As liturgists Brianne Jurs, Marie McCanless and Christine Coy-Fohr read, and as the congregation responded in song — led by Mary Beth McCandless — the sense of shock and speechlessness was almost palpable. As Mary Beth remarked after the service ended, “it makes you realize how much translating you’ve been doing all along.” Usually these messages — a constantly available strand of the tradition — are diffused in the context of other worship. In this service, brought together as they were, there was little opportunity to ignore or deny the insistent message of the unwholesomeness of women, and the acceptability of violence in the right cause.

One clear conclusion from that painful experience is that many of the church’s habitual tropes, images, and slogans deserve considerably more thought and qualification than we usually give them, and that some — if they survive scrutiny at all — call for frankly critical analysis and far more judicious deployment in the life of the worshipping community.

As the service progressed, members of the congregation wrote down some of the things we’ve learned about women and girls from our participation in this tradition and posted them around the worship space, an action that concretized this day’s worship and prepared for that of the next. The deep pink cards constituted visible reminders that the space in which we worship is not empty. It always already contains — for us, and our neighbors — many echoing voices, words, messages, many indelible images, unforgettable experiences. Not all of those invite, welcome, affirm . . .

Sometimes, indeed, as we saw and felt on this morning, it takes courage and determination simply to enter a worship space and to pursue what is vital and nourishing there, while fending off and blocking out what is poisonous.

It should take less. Remembering and speaking the words of the tradition that make worship hospitable to women is one of the concrete things the church and its members can do in the effort to end violence against women.