Category Archives: iChurch

Talking Taboo? I did!

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Talking Taboo

A year or so ago, I received an email from a writer.  This letter came from a recommendation from Dr. Mary E. Hunt.  I read the email and thought:  ”what do I have to say about today’s church?  I don’t even attend church!”  And then it dawned on me…I had a whole life committed to church and grew up in the church.  And so, a while ago I began writing for the “I Speak for Myself” Campaign.  I began writing about doubt and my tattoos.  What resulted was Talking Taboo.  I wrote about my migration from Texas–to Chicago–to Denver, and the ways that my body changed with the texturing of tattoos.  I mapped out my faith in images and words, which are all tattooed on my mestizaje body.  I called my narrative “Faith Seeking Understanding:  Tattoos Mapping my Faith.”  I think moments like what has resulted in this book are great ways to teach others about religion and faith.  While I continue to enflesh an agnostic orientation, I think this book is one that will help ignite the grassroots!  I hope you’ll get a chance to pick up the book; there are some really great contributors in it!

You can hear a little about this writing from the Indigogo crowd-funding site, below.

 

 

REDUX: a church’s confession on a sunday morn from a QueerMestiz@

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So, I’ve been keeping up w/ my friend’s blog, Confessing Queer.  I recall when Seth mentioned this project to me–I was still living in Chicago.  I’ve read it off and on, and this particular post grabbed me, so I’d like to write a redux, a response to it, if you will!

These two “confessions” are from Seth’s blog, and I want to write from this confession.  It is, if you will, an attempt to join w/ Seth and confess…

* i confess that the church has acted as an institution – right up there with the government, prison industrial complex, world-wide finance, healthcare systems, educational systems, military industrial complex, and corporate media.  by participating as one of these systems, we have wielded power over millions of people’s lives who have not consented to participate in the church’s belief systems…yet have found themselves at the mercy of the church’s dogma and doctrine.

* i confess that we are a broken, hurting body that despite (because of?) our doctrinal positions, needs the vulnerable humanity that christ taught us.  we don’t know how to live here.

I’ve spent significant time w/ Texas Baptists, Southern Baptists, Cooperative Baptists, United Methodists, Jesuits, (along with now some United Church of Christ folks) and a whole array of non-religious people.  I’ve been trained by a wide variety of theologians, including American evangelicals and non-religious Religion Scholars, in three different contexts–all of which have been religious contexts.  All of my degrees are in Theology, with a severe turn toward Ethics and Moral Philosophy during graduate work.  Having studied Theology and Ethics (and ultimately keeping one toe in the Church), I have a few thoughts about the Church, and their representation (and perhaps signification) as an all-powerful institution.

I confess that these religious groups, these “churches,” these organized religious bodies have indeed acted more as power brokers in today’s American religious scene.  The focus on institutionalizing faith and religion and dogmatic beliefs has been a distraction from the imperative to relate (and relate well) with the world.  In fact, I confess that these institutions have created religious detractors who essentially throw their hands up in disbelief.  I confess that Sunday mornings are ways to concretize belief and in turn the affect is the ongoing dismantling of relationships.  And, because of the ways in which these institutions, these churches, these religious bodies (the wannabe communities), we no longer know how to live into relationships; we only know  how to live into the doctrinal systems that are created by these power brokers called the American Church!

I sigh.  I confess.  I want more from this organized body called the Church!  I long for ways to live into the openings of relationship, and ask for us all to find these openings with one another.  I’ve been part of this church that creates detractors, and I desperately want to simply confess.  I confess that I haven’t done my part in investing in relationships that have the potential to transform the world around me.

I want more from this thing called the church.  That’s my confession.  I want the Church to live into its potential of creating life-affirming and transformative relationships with the world around them.

Yet, I digress…

 

The Return to la iglesia…

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I went to church twice today…I had several thoughts as the day progressed…

I left for so many reasons after a long, thoughtful ,and agonizing journey of asking and risking the questions–questions that continue to reside deep within me.  I left, and vowed never to return.  I left after completing both a bachelor’s and master’s degree in Theology.  I left after falling in love with the liturgy of the Episcopal church.  I left after being asked to be a prioress of an intentional community.  I left after thinking that I would follow thru with ordination.  I listened to a clergy person tell me that its important for women to be ordained, though I never felt called to ordination.  I felt called to scholarship and the vocation of teaching, but I started an ordination process…it did not end favorably.  Today, I am ok with that.  At the time, however, I was unclear at what was actually happening and how I was being affected.  I continued on my route to scholarship, and today, I find it very fulfilling, though challenging and difficult.  I am compelled to learn, compelled to be a ‘good translator’ of the things I learn.  Today, I’ve also found myself returning to the very place that I once called “home.”  Its the space and place where I first understood myself as a self.  It was a space of radical openings for me; space that was home and sacred.  I’ve returned to that space as of late…attempting to root myself in community that fights injustices on every front, cares radically for each person in severely tangible ways, and calls for my best self.  It was just today that I recognized the depth of life that this community gives me, and the ways in which it continues to call me to live a compelling and livable life.  I’m grateful for this community, and the liturgy that invites me to reflect thoughtfully on the Holy.  Its also a community that takes living the way of Jesus seriously, and that perhaps has been the best piece of this community.

From Holy Triduum to Holy Saturday

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I’m on my way to my favorite liturgical service, and will be visiting a small Episcopal Church tonight.  It is the church service that speaks the most to me.  As a child growing up in a Southern Baptist Church, I always wondering how we got from Good Friday to Easter–to the “hooray, he has risen.”  For me, I often got stuck in that in/between space of Saturday–the darkness, the already and not yet space.  And so, this year while I live with loads of doubt, I find myself in transition from the Last Supper that we celebrate on Thursday, the Death that is recognized on Friday, and I stop today in the darkness of Saturday.  It is the Already/Not yet space.  The space of hopelessness, the space where you just don’t know.  It is, perhaps, the space that is the darkest and all you can do is rest in your hopelessness.  This is Easter for me–the darkness, the deep groundedness, and hopelessness of Saturday.  And so, as I prepare myself to leave my house for the Holy Saturday service, I ask myself:  is there a way beyond the dichotomy of the Already/Not Yet?  Perhaps not!  Perhaps we remain in the place of hopelessness, in the place where we are compelled to work and unite together and hope against all hope for something radically different.  That is this year’s Easter for me–hoping against all hopelessness, the space and place of the Already/Not Yet of Christianity.

[I'm grateful to Jürgen Moltmann's work which I read year's ago that motivated me to transition into the space of Holy Saturday, and his personal stories that unmask the realness of an immanent God who suffers with us in our hoping against all hope.]

Concerning Uganda…

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This summer I spent a week w/ Dr. Sharon Groves at the HRC Summer Institute.  So, when I received this letter in my Inbox the other day, I could actually say that this is a sincere and heartfelt letter–from someone I know, no less!  So, posting this letter became important to me…because wherever you stand on the politics of the HRC or even lgbtq stuff, bigotry, violence and intolerance is uncool!  And, the use of religion as a tool of power and violence is also uncool!  Here’s what my friend Sharon has to say…

U.S. pastors are exporting bigotry to Uganda, with brutal results.

This is an issue close to my heart, because I’ve spent over a decade working for equality as a lay leader in my own church, and now, as acting director of HRC’s Religion and Faith program – which helps religious leaders of all stripes speak out for equality and fight back when hatred is promoted in the name of religion.

On Thursday, that perversion of faith cost Ugandan gay rights advocate David Kato his life. He was bludgeoned to death in his home after his name was among those listed in an anti-gay magazine, under the headline “Hang them!”

Since at least 2009, radical U.S. Christian missionaries have added anti-gay conferences and workshops in Uganda to their anti-gay efforts in the U.S. – and now they’re beginning to ordain ministers and build churches across East Africa focused almost entirely on preaching against homosexuality.

These American extremists didn’t call for David’s death. But they created a climate of hate that breeds violence – and they must stop and acknowledge they were wrong.

“Stop Exporting Hate.” Sign our petition to Carl Ellis Jenkins, Lou Engle, and Scott Lively.

We’ll deliver your signature to three men who have gone out of their way to promote hatred:

Scott Lively of Massachusetts held an anti-gay conference in Uganda with two other U.S. pastors. A few months later, a bill was introduced in Uganda that would make homosexuality punishable by death.

Lou Engle, a Missouri preacher whose rallies draw tens of thousands in the U.S., spoke at a rally in Uganda this year that focused on praying for the bill’s passage. (Engle claims not to support some parts of the bill, but internal documents show he came to speak about “the threat of homosexuality,” and defend the Ugandan government’s efforts to “curb the growth of the vice using the law.”)

And Carl Ellis Jenkins of Georgia is presiding over a group that’s opening 50 new churches in Uganda to “help clean up bad morals, including homosexuality” according to his staff.

They have been stirring up hostility in a country where homosexuality is already illegal, violent attacks are common, rape is used to ‘cure’ people of their sexual orientation – and a shocking law has been proposed that would make homosexuality punishable by life imprisonment or even death.

And they’re in lockstep with some of the largest and wealthiest right-wing groups in the U.S. When the U.S. Congress considered a resolution denouncing the grotesque Ugandan death-penalty-for-gays bill, the extreme-right Family Research Council – now classified as a hate group by the Southern Poverty Law Center – spent $25,000 lobbying to stop the resolution from passing.

Religion should never be used to spread hate. These men do not speak for me or the millions of diverse religious people who support equality not in spite of our faith, but because of it

That’s what our Religion and Faith program is all about: helping people of faith from all different traditions speak out so we can reclaim the core religious values we hold dear in America.

At the heart of every religious tradition is love of humanity and love of creator – not hatred for our neighbors. Creating a climate of hate runs contrary to the very idea of faith – but that’s exactly what the right wing in America is doing.

Tell missionaries and radical hate groups: “Stop exporting hate.”

Whether or not we’re people of faith, we cannot stay silent or stand idly by while a radical minority pushes a hateful agenda in God’s name. Please stand with us and speak out today.

Sincerely,

Sharon Groves

Religion and Faith Program

The Unchurch Church

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This post appeared on the State of Formation blog, my new blogging home. I’m reposting it here for my iRobyn readers!

It’s been a long time since I’ve stepped inside a Southern Baptist Church. In fact, its been a long time since I’ve been inside any church, that institutional space where “God comes close.” Leaving Texas for graduate school meant that I was also leaving the place and space that had formed me from a very young age: Texas Baptist Churches. Arriving in Chicago for graduate school in 2002 became a journey of exploring so many things that are important to me: religion, “spirituality,” and the compulsion to follow the ways of Jesus. I grew tired of stepping inside churches while living in Chicago. I stepped inside so many: American Baptist, Episcopal, Federated, AnaBaptist/Mennonite. I grew tired of these visitations, found myself utterly empty when I was in these spaces, and finally left the church. Not only did I leave the church but I also stopped identifying as a “person of faith.” The Christian identity no longer held meaning for me, and therefore, I was no longer going to use this term to situate myself. After all, the word Christian has this whole history of being part of the empire and as a mixed raced person (of Mexican and Anglo heritage(s) ), I did not want to be close to the empire. It was during this time that I embraced the position of the Agnostic. Today, I identify as a Christian Agnostic as a way to honor my history and practice of Christianity and also a way to honor my own sense of the limits of knowledge when it comes to belief.

Moving to Chicago also prompted me to ask the questions of community and I began, as part of my journey, the task in finding community. And, I needed a particular community: queer positive, inclined to think critically, and justice oriented. I found some of these things while living in Chicago. I met incredible people, many of whom are religious folks and committed to their way of belief and practice. But, it didn’t necessarily feel like community to me. I grew to have pockets of people who were very interesting, but never a community. My time in Chicago was incredibly formative, but what was missing was the component of community.

I moved to Denver August 2009 to begin a Ph.D. program. I was here a while before I asked about churches. I seemed to still be curious about this space and place that has played such a central role in my life. I was recommended several places here in Denver. I visited not one! Then, as I was strolling along the FaceBook, I saw a thread about La Comunidad Liberación. It caught my attention. I wondered what exactly is this thing called The Liberated Community? I came to find out that its a church of the United Church of Christ variety. This was new to me! Never been to a UCC church before! So, I inquired and maintained a healthy bit of skepticism about “going to church.” I learned that this group meets in an Art Gallery and that it is primarily a community designed to meet the needs of the migrant community, many of whom are from Latin America. I returned to La Comunidad after visiting my first time. I enjoyed the conversations they had and the fact that people came from all different walks of life. My agnosticism was welcome there, radically so, and I came to understand community differently and more meaningfully. My move to Denver was significant in that I grew to have a sense of community that was particularly located in the idea of Church. This was a surprise! Yet, I tend to call La Comunidad the “Unchurch Church.” It is a place where formation is taken seriously, where walks of life are honored, and where we begin at the place of difference for relating. It is a place where I have come to belong, where I have come to want to be, and where I look forward to becoming more of who I am: a queer person of color.

La Comunidad–The Unchurch Church–has become my primary way of understanding how I am to be in this world. Perhaps how I am called to be in the world? That, my call and vocation to think critically as a Scholar actually matters and might actually put food on people’s tables, and the community which gathers at La Comunidad is one where I am called to be truly and radically me in order that I can be radically present with the task of thinking. It is in my becoming within The Unchurch Church that I am formed in ways which ground me in a better sense of being a queermestizo. And, the task in being a queermestizo, in being me, is not disconnected from community. I am becoming because I am part of a community which takes people’s lives seriously.

If you’re ever in Denver, come visit the “Unchurch Church:” La Comunidad Liberación!

Solidarity for a Different Future! 24-hr Fast and Vigil

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Tonight, 01 August 2010, at 6pm marks the beginning of the 24 hour fast and Vigil at the GEO Aurora, CO detention center.  Folks from La Comunidad are participating in both the fast and vigil, some there at the detention center and others at home.  I agreed to remain in an attitude of thoughtful intention while folks from Comunidad are in Aurora.  I also agreed to blog throughout the night/24 hours to document my own process.  The following is one blog entry with time-stamps.

6:00 p.m. I have lit three candles and have placed them on my bar in my kitchen.  I can see the flame burn, and the three candles are a reminder of the two folks from Comunidad who are participating and the third is lit for the refugees who are fleeing Arizona.

7:30 p.m. I am preparing for my trip to the detention center to bring water with another member of La Comunidad.  We plan to arrive near midnight, and I am waiting to learn if our group needs rain gear, since a few drops of rain fell in the area.  We all want our group to be safe and provided for and supported in this endeavor.  I am holding La Comunidad in thoughtful intention and remembering the difficulty we face as a community and the threat of empire.  I am also remembering the good folks of Arizona who are living with a great amount of fear as a result of this new bill.  And, I am remembering my core message from our media training during the HRC Summer Institute:  ”As the daughter of a Mexican Immigrant, it is our moral priority to create safe passage for those crossing the US/Mexican Border.”

8:50 p.m. I sit in my living room watching my three candles illuminate the room.  This light that burns is like an icon of hope.  I am anxious to go and be with my friends at the Fast/Vigil.  I am holding fast to the hope that this detention center will close and that migrants will not be faced with the injustice of this capitalistic system interwoven with the government.

9:07 p.m. I have soft music playing and I am finding myself a bit angered that we must protest for human rights.  I am also mindful of my own history…that, if the white police officer wouldn’t have found my mother, abandoned in a house in Mexico, I wouldn’t be here.

9:37 p.m. Just spoke with someone who attended the beginning of the vigil/fast.  She told me that there are many young people there!  It is great to think about this being a trans-generational vigil/fast.  Holding fast to the hope that we CAN create change together.

10:49 p.m. I am sitting with the corritos we sang this morning:  Canavalito de andar & Won’t You Let Me Be Your Servant? I am particularly drawn to verses 2,3, and 4 of the second song, Won’t You Let Me Be Your Servant?

verse 2:
We are pilgrims on a journey, we are travelers on the road; We are here to help each other go the mile and bear the load.

verse 3:
I will hold the Christ-light for you in the shadow of your fear; I will hold my hand out to you, speak the peace you long to hear.

verse 4:
I will weep when you are weeping; when you laugh, I’ll laugh with you.  I will share your joy and sorrow till we’ve seen this journey through.

I am nearing the time to leave for the detention center to take supplies and check on our group.  Holding La Comunidad in thoughtful intention.

11:11 p.m. I am on my way out the door to the detention center to check on the folks from La Comunidad.  I hope there is enough light to take some photos, or perhaps I will take my camera to document this event of solidarity.

11:35 p.m. I pick up Emily.  The street is terribly dark and empty.  She, however, is toting a full ice chest of water for our group.  We are making our way out to the detention center.

12:00 a.m. (02 August 2010) We arrive in Lupe Lupita Negrita.  It is pitch black.  Folks are sitting on the ground, in the street playing cards, and there to my left is an altar.

And then, I had the chance to see folks from La Comunidad.  I snapped a picture of them, and they are looking lovely.  In this photo is the street medic whom I’ve met once before at a protest.  We had great conversation for about 45 minutes.  We talked about all things importante.

12:45 p.m. Emily and I headed back to our homes. We are so very proud of our folks who are fasting and standing against injustices!

1:14 a.m. I arrive in my garage.  My heart is heavy for those who are detained.

2:01 a.m. I crawl into bed.  I think that there must be a way thru these injustices, and hope for something brighter when I wake up.

8:30 a.m. I attend my Ethics Reading Group.  For 3 hours we talk about the matrix of oppression and the fact that there might very well be blood shed for justice to occur.  I think about La Comunidad and the group that is there fasting and holding vigil.  I think about the detainees.  Hope diminishes.

1:00 p.m. I touch base with Anne, the pastor for La Comunidad.  She is doing ok and remains there at the vigil fasting.  I plan to see everyone at 6:00 p.m. for the monthly vigil where the fast will be broken.

4:41 p.m. I am readying myself to head to the Vigil for tonight where folks will break their fast.  This work is incredibly tiring, but I feel a particular and strange pull for justice.  The Jesus community has taught me this.

5:30 p.m. I leave for Aurora, but first I pick up Nancy.  Lupe is driving us (my VW jetta).

6:00 p.m. Arriving for the vigil.  The fast is broken in ritual and love.

Breaking of the Fast Ritual

Leader We’re here to end our time of physical vigil and fast in solidarity with those inside this detention center, knowing that we will continue to hold constant vigil in our hearts until no person is detained here.

Group May we have the perseverance to continue to strive for a community where no one is detained or separated from those they love,

and where the humanity of all is reclaimed.

Leader We’re here because workers – those who contribute to the creative fabric of our community, those who build the infrastructure of our society, and those who contribute their strength to making this world a more livable place for all – are imprisoned here.

Group May we continue to contribute our creativity, work, and strength

to making this a community where everyone’s labor is valued and honored.

Leader We’re here to honor and remember the fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, partners, neighbors, and friends detained here.  We stand in resistance today of initiatives that rip our families and neighborhoods apart.

Group May we honor all of the relationships in our lives that sustain us, nurture us, and support us in creating a better world.

Leader We’re here because we believe that our community can be something different and something better than this broken system of detainment has to offer us.  We’re here because we vision a world where borders, barbed-wire, and fences do not control our human relationships.

Group May we consider the ways we perpetuate a spirit of detainment and control in our lives

and strive to dismantle the spirit of enforcement everywhere in our world.

Leader We’re here because we are thankful – for the earth’s ability to produce food for us, for the hands that sow seeds and harvest produce, for the people who transport food to our local area, and for all those whose hands have touched this bread along the way.

Group May we honor them in the way we share and eat this meal and remember the ways every action we do affects many others in our world.

Leader We will now break bread together in order to break our fast as a symbol of the ways we nourish each other, the goal of sharing community together, and the desire for every member of our community to be offered a place at the same table of fellowship.

As you receive the bread, please find someone who you do not know, or don’t know very well, exchange names with them, and then offer them bread saying:

“With this bread I offer you nourishment, acceptance, and love as a member of my community.”

Group With this bread I offer you nourishment, acceptance, and love as a member of my community. (as each serves bread to another)

You are a Whore & a Bitch!

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“The Church is a whore and a bitch, and she is mother to us all.” St. Augustine/Martin Luther (this quote has been attributed to both theologians)

I suppose I would have different reflections after having attended Denver’s queer prom tonight, but I don’t.  I am left with the words “whore” and “bitch.”  They remain with me, even at 12:49 a.m.

I mingled with some of the best theologians tonight at queer prom; theologians who are actually changing the world, and my world, too.  There were several students from the School of Theology who were volunteering or in charge of queer prom, and then there was the famous Lutheran pastor, er rockstar pastor, Nadia Bolz-Weber.  Nadia and I have been virtual colleagues on the Twitter and the FaceBook, and tonight was the first time we met face to face.  I even asked her if our relationship should change!  She towers over me and is all tatted up.  She looked stunning tonight.  Amy took over my refreshment table so that I could actually have a conversation with her.  So, we sat there at the Tivoli and began to talk about the good things in life:  Justice, Theology, Space, Culture–Church.

I have never been much of a fan of St. Augustine, but there are moments when I am moved by his thought and words.  His more famous statement regarding the church being a whore, bitch, and mother to us all, was where we sat for a while in conversation.  Recognizing that Sunday is Pentecost Sunday, the “day the church was established/birthed,” I understand that the Church, institutional or otherwise, has some social capital.  It has a hold on me, despite how frustrating that is.

The Church IS a whore and a bitch, and dammit, it is my mother!

I suppose I meet people who have “issues” with the church, but fewer people I meet actually sit down to parse out their feelings regarding the church.  I’m far too baptist to just resign myself to the institutional church being a place/space for every believer.  I don’t think it is.  And, I’m far too Anabaptist to avoid seeing church as a primary community where I come to understand myself and perhaps the best thing we have on earth.  And that is it–the space where I came to understand myself no longer has meaning.  It no longer has that maternal connection.  Though the church is my salvation in many ways, the church, that “institution,” no longer feeds me.

Detour in thought…

On Friday, my colleague friend and I ran into the good pastor.  She called herself my pastor…there I was situated in the space of religious experience that is called church.  And, even though ‘my’ “church” is called La Comunidad, it has a pastor.  I have a pastor…   Clearly, I’m not ok with the traditional rendering of church life, and at the end of the day I still don’t know.  I hang onto the knowledge card.  That feels like the most authentic place and belief I have had in a long time, and I am given room to “believe” and embody this not knowing, this knowledge.

So, in a few hours, the Christian tradition will celebrate Pentecost.  House for all Sinners & Saints will do Bluegrass and Red Velvet Cake.  I was invited.  La Comunidad perhaps will do Taize tomorrow along with communion.  I am also welcome in that space, too.  This is the umbilical cord that is wound tightly around my heart, and at times squeezing me to where I gasp for breath.  As I lie here awake thinking of the many conversations I had over the course of this evening related to church, I resign to agree with Augustine.  The Church is a whore and bitch.  And, dammit, she is mother to us all. She is a mother to me, and I hate that!

I live with a certain amount of angst, and the angst that I have around Pentecost, the birthing of the church, is so real tonight.  I am learning to be ok with this angst, and to embody the most intentional expression(s) of my emotions regarding that which has formed me:  church.

It is in these times that I turn to Julian of Norwich and rest in the hazelnut, for that is where even myself is cared for deeply.  And that might be where the Divine comes to meet me, where the Sacred mothers me.  Alas, I do not know, but what I do know is that my questions are welcome with these two really great pastors, Nadia and Anne.  And, my not knowing is a great place from which to do ethics and negotiate the reality of hope and hopelessness.

Glad Augustine made it to queer prom.  Who would have ever thought!  Eat a slice of red velvet for me tomorrow night!  I’m really glad we talked!

an excerpt from "The Violence of Love"

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Monseñor Oscar Romero wrote the following in his book:  The Violence of Love.  This was the passage I read last night at the detention center vigil for Good Friday.

For the church, the many abuses
of human life, liberty, and dignity
are a heartfelt suffering.
The church, entrusted with the earth’s glory,
believes that in each person is the Creator’s image
and that everyone who trampels it offends God.
As holy defender of God’s rights and of God’s images,
the church must cry out.
It takes as spittle in its face,
as lashes on its back,
as the cross in its passion,
all that human beings suffer,
even though they be unbelievers.
They suffer as God’s images.
There is no dichotomy between man and God’s image.
Whoever tortures a human being,
whoever abuses a human being,
whoever outrages a human being
abuses God’s image,
and the churh takes as its own
that cross, that martyrdom.