Sunday, March 30, 2014

You disown me
And you stone me
With the rock of ages
-Wayne Kirkpatrick

"This won't be another Salem
That was inexcusable
You won't be my Cotton Mather
And I won't be your crucible."
-Wayne Kirkpatrick

This is a cold war
Do you know what you're fighting for?
-Janelle Monae
"Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?"

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

Holy Beauty

I was looking for images of ordained women, particularly ones from liturgical traditions. A lot of the images were posted on sites where people were decrying the feminization of the church, the departure from the pure and holy doctrine of male only ordination. Some of them were incredibly vile blogs making fun of people's vestments, singling out women in particular (for what better way to take down a woman than to chide her for her fashion sense?) There were several articles in several reputable online publications discussing women's ordination in the Church of England, where women's pictures were used, but with no caption stating who they were. A few of these articles even had the temerity to interview men without interviewing a single woman close to the matter at hand, but of course still using their images (for the shock value I suppose). So I had to do some digging to find out that the beautiful woman blessing the Host in this photo is Bishop Kay Goldsworthy from Australia, the first female bishop ordained in the Anglican Church of Australia. The sight of her doing this is healing, it reminds me that the God who made us all did not make men more in his image than women, and that all those who are called and qualified to serve can do so.

This image might make some want to mourn, but I offer no sympathy for that. We can respectfully discuss it, but I don't feel a mite of sadness for you.

For all this photo makes me want to do is dance. 

God is my Mother as well as my Father, Halleujah! 

Tuesday, March 11, 2014

Losing the Answers

I have left a world behind-a world inside me and a world outside of me-and the wounds inside continue to bleed while I go about my life.

I don't know how to tell people that inside I'm falling apart when to them the wounds seem like they came from an imaginary friend.

These people don't understand how powerful brainwashing can be, how damaging abuse from a religious institution can be to one's psyche.

I'm trying to find my footing and my place and my beliefs and my next step.

You see, I lost my Reason for Existence, my Clear Answer to All of Life's Perplexing Questions.

Even then I still thought I was comfortable with the raw paradox of Divinity, but I had simply not experienced enough of the beautiful, painful, complicated, messy world.

Meanwhile, the dog still needs to be walked, the bills need to be paid, the dishes must be done, the career must be tended to, my husband needs my presence, and on and on and on.

If I told you I was tired, and I tried to explain why, would you understand what it means to be wearied in your soul?

Have pity on me. I used to have all of the answers. Then I had most of the answers. Then I had some of the answers.

Now I have none. I hold my fingers over my lips and in my silence I cry with groanings too deep for words,


for all those who
lost the Answer
and our finding ourselves.

Monday, March 10, 2014


Sophia Summit by The Naked Pastor

In my hands there is coal
and it will take years of pressure before
diamonds come spilling from my fingertips. 


As a child I held these hands open
you grasped them and said
you'd show me the way
you'd give me the manual
and lay out the path
and lead me on to places
I didn't want to go.

all the while the coal gathered dust
the light flicked away
and it grew cold
on the shelf.

It was during that time
that you laid claim to me
but you don't get the rest of me. 


I picked it up today
and felt the rough weight of it's potential
against my warm palm. 


Good things grow in the gardens of my mistakes
but that doesn't erase the regret. 
You can blame me for it all, if that's what helps you rest in peace.
You can tell the world I didn't have to listen to you,
if you think that will grant you absolution.

No matter what it is you now say,
I still have to walk the path
you were trying to protect me from
because it was wide and open
and it splintered into paths infinitum
and in all it’s complexity and rich topiary
you thought there was only chaos.

But there is actually beauty
and freedom
and yes,

(the lie was thinking you could protect anyone from it).

I thought I’d have to turn back from certain trails
since you had already taken much from me
and they were steep and far too long a road for a drained soul.
But there is a difference between the hard necessary work of surviving the blows,
and the hard necessary work of coming alive.  


I wrap my fingers securely around the atramental stone
I crack and bleed from the coarseness.
I blister and peel from the heat. 
But it is mine to form
And I will not let go
for no man.