The Words of Her Mouth

Written on a napkin

The Lord will keep
    your going out and your coming in
    from this time on and forevermore.
– Psalm 121:8, NRSV

I reversed the words
As a show of confidence
In God
In my love
In my life:
“The Lord will keep
Your coming out and your going in
From this time on and forevermore.” 

The Words of Her Mouth

(parenthetical)

I cried out to the Lord when I was in trouble
    (and he answered me)
 – Psalm 120:1, CEB

When God appears in parentheses 
may I safely assume
(or have I taken God for granted)
She is there between the words –
dwelling in the subtext –
(does He sub-tweet?)
layered in the lines
of my life
(did They answer me)?

Knit Without Ceasing

Something Beautiful

Various knitters and their Carbeths, including my friend, the Rev. Stacey Simpson Duke, bottom left.

I follow a lot of knitters and yarn dyers and pattern creators on Instagram, and sometimes I will see a sweater in progress and click on a hashtag to see other knitters’ versions of the pattern. I enjoy investigating what kinds of yarn they are using and seeing the variations of colors. Often I navigate to Ravelry and look at the pattern, and I might even do the math on a yarn purchase, but I never actually make a sweater. I tell myself, knitting for others is more satisfying (it’s true I love to knit for others), or you know you prefer to knit socks because they are so portable (also true, they really are), and sweaters are *so* complicated (which, usually, is also the truth, but I know knitters who would gladly advise me), and there are more excuses available, but when I see my friends in their sweaters, I kind of wish I were among them, banging out a Carbeth or whatever the sweater of the moment might be. 

Here’s the truth that has mattered the most. What stops me from knitting one of these sweaters myself is seeing them on people who don’t look like me. The patterns may come in a range of sizes, but it’s hard to imagine what they would look like on me, since I am short and round.

This is the body I have.

And I wonder if knitting a sweater for the body I have might not be exactly the right project for what I am calling The Year of the Body? So I am going to go back to scrolling Instagram, but this year, I’m going to give it a try, and pick out a pattern and colors and yarn I love, ask for help if I need it, and make something beautiful for me. 

What are you going to do for yourself and your body in 2019?

Reflectionary, Year of the Body

Slumps

“Let’s do your slumps,” said the physical therapist, as if I had any idea what she meant. I had been in the pool for an hour, activating my core with every fiber of my, well, core. What are these “slumps” of which she speaks? The word summons up images of unremitting failure, as when a baseball player cannot hit the ball or the housing market drops off and does not rebound. 

It turns out it’s meant to alleviate sciatic nerve pain, which I didn’t even realize was one of the things I was trying to fix. I literally slump over, then stretch out one leg at a time and bend my foot to loosen what is so tight it hurts. This exercise, which sounded so counter-intuitive, requires me to do something I am trying not to do at all, by replicating a reflexive posture that I want to avoid in the many hours I spend sitting at my desk while writing, coaching, and engaging in the online work I do for RevGals. 

It was a new exercise for me, so of course I needed an explanation of how to do it and why, but I have to think there is a spiritual lesson here that goes beyond the obvious need for better communication. When I have one idea fixed in my head, what possibilities am I missing? What system, belief, or self-definition do I hold with every fiber of my core that could use a slump and a stretch and a little pulling back?

Today, I hope you will give yourself permission to slump a little from some upright stance and see what you notice. 


This post was originally published in the RevGals Weekly e-Reader.

Reflectionary

The Year of the Body

I am still waiting for my Star Word, and I rarely make resolutions, but for 2019, this is my declaration. 

2019 will be The Year of the Body. 

Well, maybe I should say, The Year of My Body. 

There are things I want to do this year, and next year, and the year after that, and they would be more readily accomplished if my body works well, or as well as it can work. This requires sorting through the mess in the back of my mind that my foremothers handed down to me: your body should look right and work right without any obvious effort, because after all, it’s primary function is as God’s temple, so please don’t be too embodied, just enough to house the holy.

I’m in Week 4 of my second round of physical therapy for my hip and lower back, trying to regain some functionality lost to arthritis, both rheumatoid and osteo. PT has a rhythm. First the routine seems too easy, and then it feels impossible to maintain – my current situation – and then I get the hang of it and feel strong and even powerful! 

And then it will be over because the insurance-approved sessions will run out, and I will  leave with recommended destinations for arthritis-appropriate exercise. Last time, I resisted. I’ll walk, I said. I don’t want to join the Y, it’s too expensive. Who has time for those water-based exercise classes? They all meet during the work day, anyway. 

The alternative, though, is circling back to where I was when I started four weeks ago. 

I want to think this wasn’t exactly what God had in mind, image-wise, in the beginning. In a perfect world, I wouldn’t be gradually adding minutes on an underwater treadmill or doing sit-to-stands to try and regain flexibility. In this imperfect world, though, in the Year of My Body, I have to hope that God knows what it’s like to favor what is sore and to stretch what has grown stiff. I have to believe that even in my brokenness, I can still be a reflection of God. 

Help me, Holy One, to live in the body I have, to care for it as best I can, not just to house the holy but to see in it a reflection of you. Amen. 


This post was originally published in the RevGals Weekly e-Reader.

Reflectionary

Book Review: We Pray With Her

During the 2016 presidential campaign, a group of United Methodist clergywomen offered support to candidate Hillary Clinton, a fellow Methodist, by writing devotions and prayers to encourage her. We Pray With Her: Encouragement For All Women Who Lead (Abingdon, 2018) draws on the writing of seventy women. I am delighted that their work has been gathered into this book. 

The section sections focus on Call, Struggle, Courage, Resistance, and Persistence. The devotions interrogate our assumptions about scripture (Is it possible, as Rev. Elizabeth Quick writes, that Mary wasn’t at home on the day Martha complained about needing her help in the kitchen?) and bring the voices of famous women into the conversation, from Sor Juana to Audre Lorde to Jen Hatmaker. 

And their own voices are a gift, as they write frankly about challenges they have faced as leaders and women. 

What no one tells you about leadership is that things will change and with some change comes struggle. I was utterly unprepared when my professional and personal lives began to orbit on different planes.

Rev. Dr. Theresa S. Thames

The writers are defined as young, by which the publisher means under the age of 40, and the topics skew toward that age range. The prayers speak to particular situations in the lives of women, such as leaving a baby at daycare for the first time, or in a time of relationship difficulty, or when a parent is ill. Some prayers, though, speak to all ages of women in leadership. 

A Prayer at the Time of Burnout

God of mercy, I confess I feel like I am bereft of sinew, a bag of dry bones, and my spirit in ashes. I have tried to take it all on myself. I have failed to seek sustenance. Give me courage to seek help. Help me find a moment of Sabbath today, breathe into me and revive these bones. Help me trust that you will walk with me through this land. Amen. 

Rev. Sarah Karber

This book would make a wonderful Christmas gift, for women who lead in their work, and those who aspire to lead, whether they work in ministry or some other field. My only complaint is I would have loved a full list of the writers to be included. 

I received two copies of the book from the publisher in exchange for my honest review. I am delighted to have a copy to give away. Please leave a comment to be entered into a random drawing. 

Books

Book Review: A Gracious Heresy

I’ve heard the story from my Presbyterian colleagues about the Rev. David Bailey Sindt, who stood up at the 1974 General Assembly with a sign that read, “Is anybody else out there gay?” Other mainline denominations have their semi-famous gay icons, but what of the gay and lesbian people who took their own stands on less-remembered occasions? 

Connie L. Tuttle was one of them. The first out lesbian to graduate from Columbia Theological Seminary, Rev. Tuttle stood in protest during an Atlanta Presbytery meeting in the 1990s, compelling those in attendance to remember that they were discussing people, not merely policy, as they considered Amendment B. That event forms the spine of her memoir, A Gracious Heresy: The Queer Calling of an Unlikely Prophet(Resource Publications, 2018). She had no official standing to speak at the meeting, yet she stood, in a visible yet silent protest. 

Tuttle tells her at times tumultuous life story in frank prose. She does not spare herself and thereby gains the credibility that allows her to tell the truth, as any worthy prophet would, about the people whose preferences and prejudices affected her along the way. The narrative is grounded in the events of the world, giving the reader a sense of what it was like to be a young woman formed by the social and political climate of the late 1960s. Her childhood experiences as an Army brat exposed Tuttle to a non-denominational and accepting form of church, and that is what she hoped to find when, as a 20-something lesbian single mother, she began searching for a spiritual home and found it for a time in a Presbyterian congregation. In response to a strong sense of calling, she went to college in her 20s at Agnes Scott, with the goal of then going onto seminary. 

Call is not so much words as it is feeling. Not the imposition of feeling but the rise of relationship beyond words. (p. 23)

Tuttle’s writing voice communicates a sense of her energy and drive, whether she is remembering cooking for a community meal, taking a road trip, or learning how to be present to patients as a chaplain. Throughout she shares a vision of community in which people care for and nurture one another, despite the unkindness she faces from sexist and homophobic church and academic leaders. (For those who know anything about the Southern Presbyterian Church in the 1970s and 80s, many familiar names appear in the text.) She takes us into classrooms and meetings with faculty, including a story from her first day of classes, when the professor teaching “Formation of Ministry” informed the students they must guard against “zipper problems.”

Shocked, I looked around. Zipper problems? Two things bothered me about this statement. One: there were enough women in the room for him to have come up with a different euphemism. Or did this just refer to male clergy? And two: WHAT? You mean to tell me that the people who are supposed to model the highest standards of ethics are no more than clay-footed mongrels panting after any women in heat? (p. 143)

As I said above, her tone is frank, and that frankness was much-appreciated by this reader. Sexism and homophobia have not gone away in the decades since Tuttle graduated from Columbia, in the church or in the wider world. I take great encouragement from her determination to push back even then, and from the cause of that determination: she had a call to follow, and she was going to find a way to respond to what God put in her heart. 

When asked to describe her gifts for ministry during an assessment required for her seminary graduation, Tuttle explained that her wide experiences prepared her to speak for those who cannot speak for themselves, particularly those who had been hurt by the church.

I want my life to be prophetic and my actions to be pastoral. (p. 182)

What a worthy aspiration!

Connie Tuttle was never ordained in the Presbyterian Church (USA). She went on to found Circle of Grace, “a small, progressive, ecumenical, feminist, Christian house church” in Atlanta, Georgia. She is part of the RevGalBlogPals blogging community; you can find her writing at The Gracious Heretic. I recommend her book to all who love to read call stories, and especially to readers who wonder why LGBTQ+ people stick with the church. (Short version: God called us.) Rev. Tuttle may be a heretic; she is certainly a prophet; she is also a hero.

I received a copy of the book in exchange for my honest review. (Cross-posted at RevGalBlogPals.)