Meeting the Madwoman

"Congratulations on the baby."

earth
ground
in real life

my body, money, family, job, to-do-list, punctuality

listen
humility
forgive
repent
turn

real change, James, homeless folks, hungry folks

True to my word, I packed up Baby N and went to church this morning.  While we were there I observed 3 good things:

1. Acceptance, support, gentleness, comforting, sharing - as the community gathered around Sweet Miss K whose mother died a few weeks ago.  Her mom was only recently diagnosed with cancer and we had such hopes that she would prevail.  Sweet Miss K is somewhat fragile, even at her best, so the sudden loss of her mother is such a great grief.  K entered the sanctuary this morning and immediately started sobbing.  "I should leave," I overheard her say to the woman she was sitting with.  "No dear, everyone here knows, everyone here loves you.  Stay."  I held Baby N on my lap and my tears let down like milk.

2. Several folks extended the (cold) comfort of telling Sweet Miss K that her mother was in a much better place, she was with Jesus.  K cried back, "But where does that leave me?  I'm so sad.  I miss her so much."  AMEN  Sweet Miss K is so brave to tell the truth about grief.  It's not about who we've lost, they're the lucky ones, it's about us left here without them.  How are we supposed to endure the loss when the one who has always helped us through is the one that we've lost?  The comforters should know better than to offer flimsy facades.  Grief won't be covered up; it will make itself known.  Better to face it truthfully (and in good company).

3. Baby N delivered a massive, stinking diaper 30 minutes into the service.  Fortunately, we had already removed ourselves to the Family Room adjacent to the sanctuary.  I cleaned him up and we stayed put for the rest of the service.  I'm grateful for the refuge of that little room.  I love these people.  I love seeing them support K.  I love the altar piled high with goods for the food bank.  But I chafe & writhe & start gnawing the furniture in reaction to so much of Christian religion.  The hymns are loaded with words & concepts that I reject - "blood" that saves, "I am your son" with no alternatives ever, and a sermon about God shining through the holes in our lives, shredded by loss & trauma... and while that may be true & I might even accept it in an intimate conversation, from the pulpit it sounded canned, like a sound bite.  

I lay back on the floor of the Family Room while Baby N played with the toys there.  They built this little room when we started attending.  It was dedicated as part of N's dedication service.  I'm struggling to reconcile the community that I value with the religion that I reject.  I'm holding tightly to the compassion they show to each other and to the folks in our neighborhood.  I'm holding tightly to the stories they share of God's presence in their lives.  I'm trying to respect and understand their regard for the religion.  

The religion gets in the way for me. As it has for years.  In the past, I've allowed that obstruction to keep me outside the community of believers.  But I want to be able to move in and out:

1) I want a personal practice that centers & sustains me; 
2) I want kindreds with whom to share frustration, creativity, challenges, study, celebration...; 
3) I want to be part of the broader faith community, to hear the good they draw from the religion, to celebrate and grieve with them, to be loved among them, to be included even though I believe differently, to share some of the presence I meet and the good I draw from my faith.

"The Kingdom of Heaven is like yeast," we heard him say, "that a woman took and mixed with three measures of flour until all of it was leavened."
Judith put her hands to her mouth and actually giggled.
"What's so funny?" I wondered.
"Don't you know, Mary? The rabbis consider yeast unclean. Only women handle it. Who but our Jesus would dare to compare it to the Kingdom of God!"
Many times I witnessed the gap-toothed grins of old women, and the clapping and dancing of younger ones as they recognized themselves and their lives in the stories: the persistent widow demanding justice, the woman throwing a party when she finds the lost coin. They needed no explanation. They understood: the Bridegroom was here in their midst. They were invited to the feast." pp 414-415

First, the obvious things that I like about this passage:
1) Jesus speaks directly to women's lives - rather than overlooking us or lumping us into stories where men are normative & primary.
2) Jesus says and does the things that are vitally different from the conventions of his time & place and through that conveys the heart of his message.
3) Jesus used stories about people's real lives to share that message and to welcome & cultivate a community who got the message.

Now, maybe more subtly, how this passage applies to me.

In the last few weeks, my little family took a pause from our church attendance. We need more time as a family, interacting with each other, doing fun stuff, chatting, chasing & getting chased by Baby N.... When we go to church we feel like we give the best hours of the day (before N's nap) to an event that doesn't give us much room to interact with each other. It felt like a loss. Plus, I tend to come home all riled up.

But in the course of Sunday night's June moon ritual, something came to me. I need to go back to church:
1) Because it's good for me to hear other people's ideas about Christianity. Some of the folks in this congregation have powerful love and commitment to Jesus. They tell stories of their experiences of the presence of Christ in their lives.
2) Because I want to do good work in my community and this church does that all day, every day. They are sharing "the feast" in tangible ways (rent, food, recovery groups, access to medical care...). I will be a lot more effective as part of this community than I will be on my own.
3) It's good for me to get riled up. Maybe not every Sunday, & certainly not to the point where I get bitter & dried up, but enough to point me to something vitally different as illuminated by Jesus & to prompt me in how I'm going to live that.
4) [bonus!] This is a congregation of quirky loving folks that I enjoy. They love my son. They welcomed my family from minute 1. (They shared "the feast" even with us?) Churches like this are rare. People like this are to be held onto.

So, this Sunday, Baby N and I will be heading around the corner to church. Instead of family time, L will get a morning to himself - to play bass or read philosophy or take a long bath. All the good refreshing restorative things that a stay-at-home parent rarely gets to do for himself. And we'll work it out, like all families do. We'll keep moving so that each of us is growing and challenged, nurtured and celebrated. And I hope we'll bring a little bit more into our time together from this kind of time apart.

Cunningham, Elizabeth. The Passion of Mary Magdalen. New York: Monkfish. 2006.

My board for this month continues the theme of trinity. Here as body, mind & spirit. (back to my current fave word perichoresis) These three aspects of my life are dancing around together. Dynamism. Perfection as-is. Stretching in two directions - rooting into the divine, blooming into my daily life. Spiraling as I shuttle back & forth between the two.

I wonder, too, if the tool really is helping me to be more me, like it does for my husband. Teasing me out past censored perfection. Rooting me in relationships with folks & stuff I enjoy. Challenging me to adapt myself to a new medium & adapt the medium to my purpose. Presenting me with a new set of choices. Sounds like I'll be growing up.