Monthly Archives: March 2013

rape and the church

“The person offended is not excused from the responsibility to reconcile; yet neither is anyone else who knows about it.”

– John Howard Yoder

We were meant to talk about the ideas we encountered in John Howard Yoder’s Body Politics. Instead, we started talking about Yoder’s life. One student brought up that he has sexually abused women and, as far as it is known, has not apologized, has not made amends, has not done any of the reparation and community-reconciling actions that he advocates in his work. The professor who assigned the reading asked us if we thought it was right that we still read his work in light of what he has done. I spoke: yes, read it…but also discuss his misconduct and how it might be evident in his theologies.

Rather than discussing the influence his abuse of power has on his theology, though, I felt as though the discussion leaders kept the focus on absolving Yoder. First was a speech (given by a feminist man who is aware of the ways that men with power have hurt his formation) about how we can’t expect anyone to be perfect. Can we make space for failure?

Yes, I assert. People who never visibly fail are often proponents of prosperity gospels, and that is not good news at all. Fail! Fail again! Fail better! But admit, apologize, repent, repair. Yoder has not only refused to publicly apologize, but as only “vaguely acknowledged misconduct.”

The professor (a woman and feminist) began speaking of shame, and how painful it can be to have shame exposed—with emphasis on Yoder’s shame, how hard it would be for him to have his shame exposed.

Forget, for a moment, that part of the church’s job is to expose and heal shame. We’ll come back to that on another day. Let’s talk about a society in which a woman is raped and socially humiliated, and all the national news media want to highlight is her drunkenness and that the boys were promising students with promising football careers.

This is the same story.

Image from Bitch Media

Image from Bitch Media

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

my sin

Sin is complicated. It would be so convenient if there were a list, encompassing every detail of life, of the permissible and the unacceptable. I could memorize the list, then be set for a happy and simple career.

But it’s not that way, or at least it shouldn’t be. For one man, sin might be pride, the over-valuation of his opinions and over-exertion of his agency. For his wife, sin might be humility, an under-exertion of agency, a lack of a defining sense of self.

Recently, I had a run of long days, so much so that I started my days exhausted and ended them in despair. In those moments before sleep, temptations are strong. I murmur to my husband, “I don’t have to work.”

“No, you don’t,” he agrees, knowing the pattern of this conversation.

“I could be a mom all the time.”

“You could.”

“I could have a garden, and put things in cans. I’d learn how to sew our pajamas. Our house would be so clean…” I allow myself to slip into this fantasy for a few escapist minutes. Yes, life could be so easy. I’d make my own schedule. Laundry would be folded while it was still warm from the dryer—or better yet, I’d take the time to hang wet laundry and let the sun dry it, folding it at dusk. Pinterest could supply me with a never-ending list of projects for my ideal home, activitiesfor my hypothetical children, and, if unfulfilled, I could fill my time making items to sell. The only struggles I’d experience would be the small self-inflicted ones: learning how to embroider a french knot. Yes, life would be serene.

But I don’t even manage to fall asleep before I feel the Spirit pushing me out of the fantasy. Don’t deny you identity! she screams. Don’t check out! I need your agency in your body!

This is sin, at its core: the attempt to be fulfilled by something less than what God desires for me. The life I described above might be a Spirit-willed outpouring of identity for another, but I know it’s not me. So I get up, I hear the Ghost, I sit at my desk and struggle through writing a few hundred words and reading a few thousand others. And I wait in my want to see what might become of my work, to see the unveiling of the person I was created to be.

My despair.

[What despair looks like for me.]

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,