Let’s talk about Practice

I was asked last week just what a practice of Place looks like. What does it consist of? Good question! The honest, straight up answer? I don’t know. You’ve heard me say this before. In fact, at the start of every quarter there’s been a recognition that I won’t know until I start Doing.

Most of what Place means to me could easily be summed up with: going outside and paying attention. I plan to do a lot more of that. To the casual observer this might not be particularly spiritual or religious, but being outside and paying attention is the cornerstone of every indigenous tradition I’ve ever read about, not to mention most shamanic traditions. Prayer, meditation, gratitude – and do it outside. Listen to your surroundings. Start to see yourself as part of the whole, not lord and master over.

I am reading books about the indigenous peoples of the Pacific North West. I have lots of plans: an outside altar, visiting cultural centers on the reservations in the area, going hiking, attending the farmers market (which opens next week) and finding local foods, taking my meditation and offerings practice outside in the mornings.

Also, I am going to explore Shinto, and attend the Shinto shrine that is 2.5 hours north of here.

But as for what my practice has looked like in the last week, I admit that it’s mostly been me sitting in my office, meditating, making kala, and getting back in touch with Kali. I’ve been laid out with a virus and was too exhausted to go outside on the two nice days we had. But the exhaustion will pass and the sun will come out, and when I build the little back yard altar I’ll be sure to post pictures of it!

The Annunciation

Yesterday was the Feast of the Annunciation, one of my favorite Christian celebrations. I know, I’m not in my Christian quarter anymore, but Mary is a special lady and I wanted to mark this day. Seeing as how I didn’t go to church at all last quarter, I decided to take the kids to the nearby church. I thought maybe, just maybe, there would be some mention of the Holy Mother on her day. Of course there wasn’t.

Botticelli's Annunciation

Two blocks up a busy street from our house is Gloria Dei Lutheran Church. It’s a large (all the churches here seem to be compound sized) and rather attractive brick building. I like that the name is Latin. It’s an ELCA branch of Lutheranism which is the more liberal side of things, meaning LGBT people are welcome. The website said they had an organ and a choir, and I’m such a sucker for liturgy with music that I thought this could be a nice experience.

And it was! If I wanted to attend church, I would unreservedly attend here. Great people, beautiful sanctuary, nice organ and singing. They even had activity bags for the kids to keep them occupied. But I’m not Christian and I find Protestant liturgy so incredibly dull. My son was getting squirrelly during the sermon and I was hungry, so we left about half way through.

There was no mention of the Annunciation, no mention of Mary at all. And to think that Luther himself loved the Blessed Virgin! I should have gone to a Catholic church. My overriding thought was ‘Why do I do this to myself? Why do I keep coming back?’ Obviously I need a musical and liturgical outlet.

——

In addition to a tale of my failed attempt at church, I want to share something that I wrote six years. I was feeling more Christian then, but I think this piece still rings true for me even now. It’s a ‘homily’ I wrote about the Annunciation. I pretty much hate sermons and think that church liturgy is no place for them. But I offer you the following:

Luke 1:26-38 (NIV)

Tomorrow is the Annunciation, the day that the angel Gabriel appeared to Mary and announced that she would be with child, that his name was to be Jesus, and he would be the Son of God. In many ways, this story can be seen as just another hokey tale made up by late-to-the-gospel-game Luke. Perhaps like Dan Brown, Luke was inspired by a previous story and needed to spice up the details so as to avoid possible plagiarism lawsuits.

It can also be seen as a patriarchal takeover of a woman’s body. In some feminist circles this is the most obvious way to interpret this story. A male god decides to reproduce, picks a young virgin, and impregnates her without her consent. Divine Rape, one might say. In this light the Annunciation is another example Christianity’s disdain for women. This viewpoint sees Mary’s unimportance as supported by the lack of any mention of her in the other gospels, with the relatively minor exceptions of the wedding at Cana and at the crucifixion proving the point.

I have come to see this story differently. I think this is one story in which early Christianity’s views on women (radical for their time) remain in Christian heritage. Christianity is not known for its feminist agenda, and while many great spiritual men have exhorted Christians to peace or reminded us of God’s preferential option for the poor, in its early days Christianity had a revolutionary new way of treating women. They were to be treated with all respect, not as property, which was common practice of the day. They were given religious freedoms unheard of in the pagan or Jewish traditions of the time. I think that much of this power was left out or deliberately stripped away as Christianity became codified in the early centuries. But there is no denying that hints remain in the New Testament; women are seen sharing in ministry: as deaconesses, as prophets, as apostles.

The story of the Annunciation is one of these passages that hint at us of early Christianity’s respect for women; it gives us a glimpse of how God interacts in the world, and it provides us with another lens with which to interpret Lent and our lead in to Easter.

While Luke never mentions her age, Mary would have been anywhere from 12 to 15 years of age. She was a virgin, betrothed to Joseph. In some unexpected moment she was found alone – not accompanied by a gaggle of girls or chaperoned by a male family member. In this moment God spoke to Mary through the angel. Like all smart women, she was suspicious of this unfamiliar character.

28The angel went to her and said, “Greetings, you who are highly favored! The Lord is with you.” 29Mary was greatly troubled at his words and wondered what kind of greeting this might be. 30But the angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, you have found favor with God. 31You will be with child and give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus. 32He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, 33and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever; his kingdom will never end.”

This interaction is interesting for a couple of reasons. First, the audacity of God to spring this on such a young woman! Hey, guess what! You’re pregnant! Secondly is the amazing fact that God did not speak with her father, her brothers, or Joseph – all the men that in this age can lay claim to her. He went directly to Mary. She was an autonomous being, she was approached as a person of worth.

Mary, however, remained skeptical. 34″How will this be,” Mary asked the angel, “since I am a virgin?” Mary questioned God. She didn’t run away frightened, she didn’t instantaneously acquiesce. She questioned, and in return Gabriel answered her; she was not smote for unbelief or heresy.

35The angel answered, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. So the holy one to be born will be called the Son of God. 36Even Elizabeth your relative is going to have a child in her old age, and she who was said to be barren is in her sixth month. 37For nothing is impossible with God.”

At any point Mary could have run away, or even have said no. God was telling her what was to be, but she could have walked away. Instead, she looked at the mystery of God and accepted: 38″I am the Lord’s servant,” Mary answered. “May it be to me as you have said.”

This to me is an example of faith and strength, though not a flashy faith, nor the kind of strength that leaps tall buildings in a single bound. Rather it is an example of what is required in those quiet moments when we have to look at mystery head on and make a choice. Mary could not have fully understood what the consequences of this acceptance were going to be, but she chose anyway. No one made the choice for her. She didn’t run home to ask her parents’ permission, nor her best friends’ opinions. She made a choice for herself. God spoke, she questioned, she listened, she chose. She could have said no. Maybe God approached one or two other women before Mary and they said no. We have no idea, but we know about Mary because she said yes.

Because of this choosing new life sprouted where there shouldn’t have been life. A virgin pregnant is rationally absurd. But with God all things are possible! Through Mary’s choosing, in her yes to God, she allowed something new to grow within her. For this reason this story is a perfect holyday to celebrate in the midst of Lent. We are in the full flush of spring. The rains are nourishing the plants; the sun is restoring the earth and all that dwells in it. Celebrating Lent we are making way for the new growth in our lives, symbolized by Easter and the resurrection of Life. In the meantime, we may have to make a choice, or many choices. Do we say yes to this new growth, whatever it may be? Can we question the choices placed before us with the confidence that we are beloved by God and that there is no wrong answer? Mary’s example to us on this day is not one of meek obedience, simply cowed before an authoritarian god. Her example is one of faith and strength, present even in that which is considered weak. We are all called to meet God, to interact with God, and to participate in the life-giving activity of God.

Let us go forward in faith and embrace whatever new life is growing in us this season.
Amen.

Place – what does that even mean?

Today begins a new quarter! Hurray! Or hwre, as they say in Welsh. When I started this project I fully expected to be in Wales, exploring the green hills and red kites and Welsh mythology. Wales is a beautiful, powerful place; I miss it. Instead, I’m back in the US, in Washington state.

Place may seem like a strange choice for a religion blog. There’s no religion called Place. What does that even mean?

I put it last in my year-long exploration of the traditions that have informed my own personal beliefs and practices, because Place was the first ‘religion’ that I knew. Place, Land, Home – it can be called any of these things. In my testimony I talked about how I was raised secular, but I left out the specificity of being born and raised in Alaska. I don’t even know how I begin talking about the imprint Alaska has made on me. How to explain the sense of place and land to some one who didn’t grow up with that, or find it later in life?

Let me try.

The household I grew up in didn’t talk about things (still doesn’t). Almost everything was assumed, picked up through observing, or just discovered on one’s own. What I learned from my father, who was also born and raised in Alaska, was that the nearest thing to a god in his life was Alaska: its waters, its mountains, its communities, its resources. We were pretty subsistence-based. We went fishing all summer, catching so much salmon that I actually used to complain about having salmon AGAIN for dinner. We went berry picking. My father went hunting. Our freezer was stocked and our family fed and housed by the work of his hands. He built many of the houses we lived in. He told a few stories about spending summers camped out on Shelter Island fishing with his dad and brother. My dad knows all the waterways and islands and history of SE Alaska, like other people know freeways and commute times.

Place was also important to my mother, who raised me with Australian children’s books and music. I knew where her homeland was. I grew up with an understanding of just how big this world is, how diverse it geography and its creatures.

But there was something of the sacred in the way my father related – still relates – to the land. It’s not a tree-hugging reverence, but rather a respect for the forces at play in the land and weather and currents. It was an understanding of conservation and preservation, but not environmentalism. We take care of the land not because it is sacred and should be outside of our touch, because that land takes care of us, by housing us and feeding us.

I think there are many people in other lands that can relate to this. I’ve mostly found that people with a rural upbringing understand this, but I’ve also found some people with such a deep love of their city that they understand the complicated emotional connection to place as well. For a long time I felt like Juneau was my greatest love, and I kept cheating on hir by moving away. I always expected to move back and raise my children there. I only gave that up six months ago. Juneau is still The Home Land for me.

If this reverence and focal point in life isn’t similar to religion, then my degrees are worthless.

Or maybe it’s just that I’m bent to perceive the religious and/or spiritual in the world around me. Different lands feel different to me. The older and more traveled I become the more I find I am better at listening. Different places ‘speak’ differently, have different things to ‘say,’ and connect with me more personally. Some places want to dump their stories in your lap, others hold their secrets tightly, and sadly, some places are dead – either because that’s just how they are, or because it seems like the humans have stopped listening.

This quarter I’m diving into where I am: Olympia, Washington. I am going to take this spring quarter to explore the Land here: plants, animals, birds, geography. But a place is more than its land, it is also its people and its history. I’ll read up on the history (as told by white folk) and explore the indigenous peoples of the area, their customs, histories, traditions. I have heard that many of the reservations in the area have excellent cultural centers.

As I am as white as they come, racially and culturally, expect some awkward discussions of race. According to the US Census, Juneau’s population is 11.8% Native American or Alaska Native. (In comparison, Olympia is only 1.1% American Indian.) I grew up with Native friends, we learned about the myths and traditions of the indigenous people in school, and I knew people my grandparents’ ages who spoke Tlingit and remembered learning English for the first time. Alaska is a relatively recently settled land and many of the atrocities faced by other Native groups were avoided – however, that is not to say that horrific things didn’t occur and that Alaska has avoided rampant racism and white privilege. Oh no.

Washington also has the Tsubaki Grand Shrine of North America, the official shrine of Shinto outside of Japan. I have long had a fascination with Shinto, so I’ll be exploring a little bit of that too.

What’s exciting about this quarter is that much of what I learn or practice is very hands on – it’s doing, not just believing. And it’s stuff my kids can connect with. My family can attend the Shinto shrine and the cultural centers with me; we can go hiking and exploring together. It’s also spring. The forsythia is blooming yellow outside my window, the sun is getting a little bit warmer, the days are lengthening – let the great exploration begin!

Goodbye Christianity

Today is my last day with Christianity. Sunday, March 25, is the Feast of the Annunciation, one of my favorite feast days in the Christian calendar. Even though it overlaps into my Place quarter, I plan to attend church and write about the day – my last hurrah. For now, I want to sum things up.

This quarter has felt like a disappoint to me. No juicy practice. No experiences that took me deeper into the tradition. I pulled away, farther than ever. I struggled with the desires of my heart. I didn’t write the deep, theological posts I was thinking I’d write during this quarter. And yet, I’ve gained a lot in the last few months.

I’ve seen just how ready I am to let go, to say goodbye to Christianity. I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again, Christianity is not my story. Well, that’s not entirely true. I have absorbed a lot from the Christian tradition; I’ve taken the best and left the rest, in my opinion. There was much goodness to take away, as both a practitioner and as a theological student. Loyal to the bitter end, I am. Coming to terms with this and seeing the realities of my heart and practice has been priceless.

I’ve also gained more readers this quarter. While Hindu search terms are my biggest draw (not a day passes that someone doesn’t search for Kali or reads my post on her, may it be a blessing to all who seek), my biographical posts have had the most hits.

I was going to list all the things I love and don’t love about Christianity, but… why list what I don’t love? Let’s end with the positive. It’s an election year in the US and what’s bad about Christianity is already on full display!

Things I love about Christianity*: Christmas, the resurrection, the concept that all humans have the spark of the divine within them, communion/the Eucharist, forgiveness, mercy, loving your neighbor as yourself, challenging the Powers That Be, the Virgin Mary, all of the art – classical and devotional – that has sprung up from it, the Incarnation, the rich theological traditions it contains, Quakers, liberation theology, icons, all of the music – from requiems to gospel to simple chants – inspired by it, contemplative prayer, the concept of grace. And many of my favorite friends and family.

A benediction for this ending, and for all who read this:

The LORD bless you and keep you. The LORD make his face to shine upon you, and be gracious unto you. The LORD lift up his countenance upon you, and give you peace. Amen.

 

*Many of these things don’t belong solely to Christianity, I realize, but they are present none-the-less.

 

Fifteen Years in the Wrong Shoes – part five

This is the final post in my ‘testimony’ series. (You can follow the links to parts one, two, three, and four.)

My family landed in Wales in the early autumn of 2009. It was a grand adventure. Husband had never been to Wales before; I had been once for three days two years prior. But the gods said go, so we went.

The rational reason for our moving to Wales was that I wanted to be nearer to my adviser and the academic community while working on my PhD. My area of specialty was the Virgin Mary, particularly feminist Mariology, and the woman at this particular university was one of the few people anywhere in the world focusing on this type of work. My topic was Marian co-redemption.

My husband and I love to travel and thought this was a great opportunity to explore someplace new. We went over on my student visa and our child was small enough not to be disrupted either in his social life or his schooling. But really we went because we felt ‘called.’

After getting settled, into house, into routine, I started work on my degree in earnest. I had an office which I shared at the top of the religions building. I worked in the mornings and my husband cared for our son, and then we would switch in the afternoons.

I began making some friends. It turned out that there were three other Feri practitioners in Wales (one student, one almost initiate and one Reclaiming Feri initiate). All were within an hour’s drive and one lived two blocks from me. Introductions were made by mutual acquaintances online. My first autumn there I had what was my first ‘definitive’ experience with the gods.

I started to sing with the Church of Wales chapel choir. Even though I was more personally identified with Feri at this point I still kept a toe in the Christian world.

But our time in Wales was our time in the desert. It was our crucible. The university I was a part of was merging with other universities and my department was gutted. My adviser was fired two weeks after I arrived. In the spring I lost my office and had no where to work or store my books. First the library, then my kitchen table. I transferred schools to follow my adviser. I ended up at a much better department at university in London, but there was no way our family could afford to move there, so I may as well have been back in the States doing the degree!

We had very few friends. The community we were in was not the best fit for us. This is not to say that it isn’t lovely and the people wonderful. It was a mutual ill-fit and an acknowledgement that Americans don’t easily fit into the British social scene, that Americans don’t have an easy place in a community carved up by Welsh-English divides, and that a family isn’t a good fit for a university culture. My husband and I spent A LOT of time together. Many of our weaknesses were brought the forefront. Our first summer there was particularly difficult. But by not having any other distractions we were forced to deal with things. We were made stronger as a unit.

My husband started his own business right before we moved. Building up his skills, clientele, and confidence while in a new country after having just endured a very expensive move meant we were barely scraping by financially. That was stressful.

And I got pregnant with our second child. One more complication in the mix!

My academic work was slowing down. My enthusiasm for the work was waning. I was tired of reading anti-feminist treatises – both ancient and modern. I was feeling more and more distant from the Virgin Mary. She wasn’t the focus of my devotion anymore. I wasn’t enjoying singing at the church and I particularly didn’t care for all the Lord-ly, kingly, martial language employed by the Bible readings. I felt really disconnected from all things Christian. Personally, I had given up on the term. I don’t know when it occurred but at some point during that first year in Wales I gave up using that term as a personal identifier. But my academic work was firmly and fully embedded in the Christian tradition.

Deep in winter, fully into my second year in Wales and hugely pregnant I started to wrestle with the idea of quitting my PhD program. The work that had seemed so important, the work that kept getting unexpected assistance when it got stuck, the work that had seemed so vibrant to me, went cold. I thought that perhaps this work had just been the ploy to get us to Wales, to force us into the verdant desert. I did a tarot reading about my degree. That reading revealed that for the sake of my greater spiritual growth I would indeed quit my program.

Now, I not only had to come to terms with shedding an old outdated self-identifier (Christian), but I had to wrestle with the idea of letting go of my PhD program. I have wanted a PhD since I was 12. I don’t know who I was trying to impress, but all these years I’ve felt I’ve had to prove something. To some one. Probably myself. What would I do if I didn’t keep going in academia? Would I ‘just’ be a stay-at-home mother? Oh, there was some internalized anti-feminist thinking I needed to unravel!

I spent a lot of time in meditation in the last weeks of my pregnancy. Our family life mirrored the pregnancy in many ways. Late in our second autumn my husband’s business began to take off. We were wrestling with the big challenges in our relationship and life together. We had little to do except ask the big questions and stew in the confusion.

Then the baby was born. It was a beautiful birth – a safe, healthy and peaceful home birth (a million thanks to the NHS). Spring was spent adjusting to this new addition to the family; I had to physically recover. And figure out what to do next.

And really, this leads me up to my first post for this blog. If not a Christian, what is my practice? If not a grad student, what is my work? This blog has helped me immensely with both of these questions.

The Virgin Mary will always have a place of honor in my home. I feel like she was the vehicle for a stronger divine voice (oh Mary, you are so often the vessel for other divine voices) that has been leading all these years. She was the way I could enter more fully into the Christian tradition, and it was through her that I heard the voice of the Great Mother for so long.

Looking back there was no single point where I decided once for all ‘I am not a Christian.’ It’s been a slow, but not unsurprising, reveal. In some ways it was like being in a quiet, safe relationship (Christianity), developing some new friends (feminism and Paganism) and after a while realizing that I’ve been in love with someone else for a long time (witchcraft).

I spent fifteen years in the wrong shoes. I am grateful I had shoes at all for the journey. I’ve learned a lot from Christianity – language, stories, myth, theological tools and insights, personal practices, such as prayer, contemplation, compassion, discernment, textual analysis, etc. But the shoes never fit quite right and I never thought to exchange them for a new pair. But now I’ve taken that old pair and retired them. I’ve got new shoes on. I need to break them in – or they need to break me in. But they fit better and I’m excited to climb the rest of the way up this mountain.