On Suffering

My mind has been cloudy with many a theological thought these days.  Namely, thoughts on soteriology, suffering, and redemption.  I can't seem to stop thinking about it.  Situations in the lives of my friends, and my own life, keep lending to the questions.  I do love how whenever I'm this passionate about some theological topic or another, new people and ideas seem to pop up wherever I go, and I find myself stumbling into the conversation when I least expect it.  Poor professors, especially, open this particular Pandora's Box without really meaning to, and are disrupted from their lectures by my taking to my proverbial soap box.  I can almost hear them thinking, "No, really, I was just talking about the church in the 13th century...not your struggle with victimization and the divine."

But then I think--are they ever truly separated from each other?  If I'm going to learn about history, pastoral care, even Hebrew, don't I also have to cope with my all of my theological struggles alongside?  I don't think we can treat theology like the plates they give you at picnics--pre-divided so that the food can be easily managed and organized.  Faith, theology, it is all much messier than that.

All that being said, I have nothing but questions at this point.  They are all questions that come from places of deep grief in me, but also places of deep hope for healing.  I am not scared of the questions--I'm actually happy to be this engaged in my faith.  I haven't felt this way in a long time.  Yet it is not without a little trepidation that I ask them at all.

So, onto the questions: how do we talk about the death and the suffering of Christ as redemptive without encouraging, on some level, patterns of violence?  Can we talk about hope in suffering while also telling people that they are allowed to leave harmful situations?  Can the portrayal of suffering as strengthening/hopeful/etc. ever be empowering to the victimized?  Is suffering different than victimization?  What do we think the Bible has to say about this all?  Thoughts/more questions/dissertations are welcome :-)

The thing with feathers?

"In the dark we climb this slope/Because the bravest thing of all is always hope."

-Brave Saint Saturn, "Binary"

It's difficult to talk about hope sometimes.  I can wax theological about it, certainly, and have had powerful encounters with this thing we call hope in many phases of my life.  I claim a hope known through my faith as that which sustained me during some of my greatest struggles.  I proudly proclaim 1 Cor. 13:13 as a beautiful testament to the religious experience I claim.  

But it's difficult to talk about hope sometimes.  Now, as I watch some of those most beloved to me struggle with the fragility, and loss, of life, I am positively speechless about hope.  Language of hope feels too uncomfortable, too painful, like forcing myself into shoes that are two sizes too small.  Hope is not confidence.  Hope is not equivalent to happiness.  Hope, I think, must necessarily exist with devastation.  I don't think we talk about that enough.  So my prayer is that my dear friends might know hope that is big enough to carry their grief without dismissing it.  And that God would draw them close so that they do not have to bear the burden of bravery alone.    

V-Week

I am prouder than ever to be a student at PSR right now.  I find myself profoundly moved by what I witnessed at my seminary's student-run production of the Vagina Monologues.  What a beautiful thing it was to see female seminarians and clergy participate in this production--women I am lucky enough to call my colleagues.  

I remember when I saw the Vagina Monologues at St. Olaf.   I'm sure it was a good production, but what I mostly recall is that it felt daring simply because it used the word "vagina" a lot.  And I acknowledge my complicity in that perception--I have grown a lot since I first saw the production at St. Olaf.  Tonight, because of the incredible artistic direction and passion of the actresses, I saw that the point of this whole show goes far, far deeper than its vocabulary.  In the end, its not about anatomy--it is about acknowledging and healing a history of violence, in all of its many forms.

One of my fellow seminarians whom I deeply, deeply respect and admire said something interesting to me last year.  It was our last day of our Field Ed discussion group and, as seminarians are wont to do, we were ritualizing our final session by sharing the ways we'd been blessed by our peers throughout the semester.  When my friend came to me, she said that it had been a blessing to watch me wrestle with gender-related issues at my Field Ed site and grow through my struggles.  I remember being terribly confused when she said it--in my perception, none of my internship related issues had anything to do with my gender identity.  I thought she was exaggerating one explicitly gender-related issue that occurred at my site. Yet as the dust of last year has settled, I'm beginning to see what she saw in me all year long.  While not true for all of my internship-related concerns, I'm slowly recognizing that many situations reflected my deeply ingrained notions of what I thought my culture/society expected of me as a woman.

The Monologues gave me hope.  It was sobering to hear all the violence named, even in drama But it was downright prophetic to see my friends and colleagues present this work in the name of justice, sisterhood, and healing.  

Manic Monday

So I predict I'm going to be grumpy on Mondays.  I'm currently sitting in my Worship class at 9:40pm, feeling exhausted because I've been in class since 8am.  The first two, Hebrew and History, were at least interesting--but my senior seminar was all kinds of depressing, and now my poor worship professor doesn't stand a chance against my fatigue-induced cynicism.  What can I say?  Snarky thoughts keep me awake.   

That being said, I feel very lucky today.  I'm feeling a connectedness to God that I haven't experienced in a long while.  I feel like I'm understanding grace in a new way.  I feel like I'm understanding my relationship with God in a way that is much more complex and intricate than its been in the past, and I am grateful.  

Too bad I can't stay awake in the class where I'm learning how to be a pastor... :-)

Something I don't like

Sometimes the nature of humanity really gets me down.  Not to get too Barthian on y'all (though I unabashedly love that guy sometimes), but sometimes I get frustrated with human brokenness.  I suppose this is a good way to start Lent, and perhaps one of the intended effects of the Ash Wednesday service I attended tonight (which, of course, was beautiful framed by the reality of hope).  That being said, I find it upsetting that we, as people, tend to be both the break-ers and the broken.  This, of course, radiates out of my own personal reflection, seeing the areas where I have been broken and where I have caused brokenness.  I am even more humbled tonight by how brightly my life shines with grace.

And now, for something completely different.  I'm currently reading a book on boundaries.  More to come on this, but it's been powerful, important work.  School has started again, and luckily I'm still in the "excited to be back in classes" stage; we'll see how long it lasts :-)  Overall, I feel blessed and happy-- I know brokenness, but I also know grace.

Back to Reality

Well, after 2 weeks of being on vacation in paradise, I'm happily re-adjusting to normal-person life.  Hawaii was incredible; all the time outside in such beautiful surroundings with family (biological and not) was healing.  And yet, I'm pleased with how little needs healing this year in comparison to last year--I feel like I'm getting to watch all those balls that have been up in the air slowly fall into place.  That is a comfort, but what is perhaps more comforting is that I don't feel as afraid of uncertainty as I once did.  I know full well that my life will take twists and turns I could never predict, and I am much more okay with that now than I was 3 years ago.  

In the vein of healing, my mother, Emily and I composed an impromptu ritual of our own while on the beach of Maui.  Per my mom's recommendation, we wrote down in the sand anything and everything that had ever caused us worry, and celebrated as we watched the waves overcome the simple words etched in the sand.  We giggled the whole time, but there was a depth to the silly victory we felt while watching our concerns literally being washed away.  And to witness it surrounded by family and friends--well, there isn't a word for the happiness that brings.

What I was surprised by was when my mother suggested to me "You forgot to write down K---- in the sand."  I had completely forgotten--and in that moment, I realized that I was moving on from the things that happened last year.  Not that the drama of last year was the most traumatic thing that ever happened to me, but there were moments of such sincere grief and anger that made me grow impatient for when I would get to move on.  

That being said, I've been having dreams about going back to the hospital recently.  They're very simple--all I do is say good-bye to the people there.  I think that's where I still find room for sadness; I didn't get to say good-bye to the people I had worked with in such close capacity for that year.  But that was almost a year ago now, and I celebrate that I didn't feel the need to write that in the sand.  

Things are looking up for 2008.  

A New Year

New Year's 2008 was a New Year's well spent.  I rang in 2008 with my nearest and dearest (or, as I like to refer to them, my VIPeeps :-) ) in St. Paul, MN.  Good people, good laughs, good food, good wine, and all-over merriment abounded.  It was such a delightful way to start this new year, and was well worth braving the frozen tundra that is Minnesota in January.  I have to admit, I still harbor a fondness for Minnesota--I wouldn't be surprised if I end up back there some day, if only for a little while.  While I was there, it was neat to stand back, take in my college friends, and realize that we are all growing up into pretty cool people.  I am so proud of all of my friends and what they are accomplishing in their lives.

What was just as delightful as seeing these wonderful people was coming back to Berkeley--and getting to reconnect with the communities I have here.  While some friends are still "new," I was taken by how many of them no longer fall into that category.  Warm things like breakfast with Eli, calling on Kris last minute to pick me up from the airport and giggling most of the way home, and chatting with Ryan about everything and anything under the sun are just a few of the reasons Berkeley has become home to me.   

Now, I am in what might be considered most authentically my home gearing up to go on vacation with my parents and Emily.  And aside from "studying" for my Bible Content Exam that's coming up, I've been feeling blessed to have three places I can call home.  I can't think of a better way to start of a new year.