Forgiveness

"Holding onto resentment is like swallowing poison, and then expecting someone else to die." -Rev. Lynice Pinkard

God speaks loud and clear sometimes.  We may not be as fortunate as Daniel to see God's writing on a wall, or be like Moses and hear God speaking out of a bush--but that doesn't mean God isn't speaking.  God spoke to me today through the words of Rev. Pinkard.  They were not spoken to me or about me--but they happened to be spoken as I was sitting across the table from someone who hurt me, who angered me, someone who fractured our relationship through their actions and their mistakes.

"Dear God: I get it.  Love, Lindsey."

I've spent a lot of time being angry.  And I think that's important.  When people wrong us, or hurt us, it's appropriate to feel wronged and hurt.  It's appropriate for some relationships to end.  What isn't appropriate, I think, is to hold on to the anger for too long, so that it festers within us and blocks us from really knowing the God of radical love and grace.

I didn't feel any radical love and grace towards this person in the beginning.  At first, I felt like I was in junior high--passive aggressive behavior is what marked our first encounter in nearly a year.  But we got a second chance, and then it was better.  I had heard God speak, afterall; I realized my resentment wasn't getting me anywhere.

We didn't talk directly about anything on our second try at communication, but we didn't beat around the bush either.  Direct communication would've signified an attempt at reunion that is just not going to happen.  I was proud of myself, though; a past version of myself would've reacted very differently to this person's tears, their feelings of remorse unrelated to our relationship, and subtle hints at reconstructing a bond.  Me 2.0 was able to honor the grief without trying to participate in the healing; Me 2.0 was able to watch this person grieve and not reach out to hug them.

When we left, there was no promise of a future meeting.  There was no indication that things were better, even.  We simply said good-bye.  Again, this is something that a past version of me could never have done.   

People screw up.  Sometimes, those mistakes ruin relationships.  But resentment is a bitter pill to swallow--and it's not worth holding onto sometimes.  I hope that this is the beginning of me letting it go.

Fear of the Feminine

Apparently, my gender is of great concern to some people.  Let me explain.

There was a moment in class that I found distressing the other day.  In my worship class, we were talking about using inclusive language for God.  In the midst of the conversation, a student raised his hand and expressed feeling at an impasse because, "We can't make everyone happy by calling God 'Father;' but, I mean, we just CAN'T start calling God 'Mother.'  That's just not possible."  Reading that doesn't do that comment justice--I wish you could've heard the sound of this student's voice:  it was a gross mix of terror and disgust, as if calling God 'Mother' would be akin to calling God 'The Cosmic Charles Manson.'

And these feelings of distress coming from a woman who is, frankly, quite comfortable with her Father God.  Despite the best efforts of some of my colleagues, utilizing masculine gendered pronouns for God is important to me.  I know God as Father, and I'm okay with that.  In fact, I like it that way.

But I don't think it would be distasteful to frame God as feminine.  And, frankly, theologically speaking, I think it would be problematic to frame my thoroughly Reformed, and perhaps "wholly other," God as solely one gender or the other.  In the end, the class I was in decided that it wasn't impossible to use feminine pronouns for God.  Nodding solemnly, the class decided that maybe we could talk about Mother God as long it was accompanied by a "tremendous amount of education."

This, friends, is where I'm befuddled.  Why is it so awfully problematic to use the word "mother" and feminine pronouns when it comes to the divine?  Why would the invocation of femininity require education that is so painfully apologetic (where 'apology', in this sense, refers to 'an expression of remorse')?  And if the concept of gendering God is so problematic, why do we not provide a "tremendous amount of education" when we use Father language for God?

I mean, I get the power of tradition.  I don't want to demean the influence of the history of Western Christianity and its conception of a gendered God.  I also get the power of scripture and its unequivocally masculine pronoun-ed God.  I spend hours every week immersed in Hebrew scriptures, and know that both "Elohim" and "Adonai" (the Tetragrammaton) speak, create, and love in the 3rd masculine singular.  But I wish there was a happier medium, where we could reconcile the tradition and scripture of Christianity in a way that honors experiences of God that are, perhaps, differently gendered.  And in the end, I just wish that I didn't have to listen to my peers talk about the union of the words "mother," "She," "Her", & "God" with fear on their faces and disgust in their voices.