Category Archives: Relationships

thanksgiving hopping

Thanksgiving is approaching and my entire school is buzzing with the formation of plans. Some students are going home; some are planning small, swanky soirees; others are hosting giant potlucks. Of course, with so many plans happening on one day, there are many students who are invited to many Thanksgivings. Some say ‘yes’ to the first invitation that comes their way, or to the one with their closest friends. Others agonize over where to spend the day. But there’s another category: Thanksgiving hoppers.

I imagine the habit of Thanksgiving hopping started—painfully, gruelingly—with divorce situations. For many of my friends, it’s considered a fun way to spend the holiday. Often it means getting in as many Thanksgivings as possible; other times it means planning to be with one group for lunch and another for dinner, splitting the day between friends.

I find the practice infuriating. As a hostess and a friend, yes, of course, but even more so as a spiritually conscientious person. Because Thanksgiving hopping is the opposite of giving thanks. A proper Thanksgiving means being right where you are with deep gratitude, about savoring the rich quality of food and drink and relationship, about being in a moment of eternity because there is nowhere else to be. Thanksgiving hopping is about gluttony, sacrificing quality for quantity, and watching the clock to get to wherever you promised to be next.

By attempting to be with everyone, you’re really being with no one. You’re with the pain in your gut from too many side dishes, you’re with the clock on your phone trying to gauge how long you can stay without offending the host of the next event. You don’t stay put long enough to allow the slow build of relationship and relaxation to culminate in the quiet joy of deep contentment. You’re missing out on what’s right in front of you, and worse, you’re depriving your friends of the gift that is you and your full presence.

We spend every other day of the year rushing from one place to the next. Take this one day to slow down and really be where you are. Give us this day to give thanks with you. Give us this day to give thanks for you.

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rule of life

Last year, as an assignment for Prayer, Presence & Practice, I received the assignment to write out my Rule of Life. While not exactly a Rule, what I turned in are some principles that I try to live by, and I share them here for whoever might find them helpful.

  • Have a voice. Know yourself.
    • Commit to living out the image of God that is within you, to allowing identity to overflow into actions.
    • Follow your joy.
    • Be interested in growth.
      • Allow events to change you.
      • Ask basic, stupid questions, and find unexpected answers.
      • Ask complex, interesting questions, and research for the most satisfying answers.
      • Look for more livable ways to define and live the good life.

This piece stems from my practice of silence, in which I not only learned the power of my voice but how to handle it with care and strength for both others and myself. My search is not simply for a career but a vocation, which I understand as identity-in-action. No one can tell me what this is; I must know and hear my own voice. It is not sufficient to have a self that is only a self in relation.

  • Have courage.
    • Courage to say no, courage to say yes. Remember that saying yes “to will the one thing” means saying no to lots of other things.
    • Remember that we all suffer. Keep going.
    • Lean into the pain, find what it has to teach you.

As someone who knows narrative and is intuitive, I often know where a trajectory will take me before I get there. I must remind myself that all good stories require conflict. Often, the work that must be accomplished requires leaning into the pain of my story. It’s those moments that I want to stop that I must find courage to keep going into the discomfort and hurt—nothing has taught me this more clearly than  writing. Additionally, I must have strong boundaries in order to accomplish what I’m meant to rather than becoming distracted in others’ callings.

  • Be vulnerable.
    • Pursue relationships that might not work out.
    • Show hospitality that will likely never be returned.
    • Risk emotionally.
    • Laugh, loudly.
    • Cry, openly and without shame.
    • Believe in the holy contour of life.

Relationships are important for a full life. My life is not only about my work but about being with others well, which requires such openness and risk for a certain level of intimacy.

  • Be grounded in physicality; know your embodiment.
    • Sweat often. Sweat is your prayer.
      • Practice yoga. Run. Practice krav maga. Go dancing.
    • Breathe deeply and mindfully. Breath is your prayer, too.
    • Drink lots of water. Eat colorful plants that died just recently.

Beginning to articulate body as prayer has been a theme in this term’s other papers, so I won’t reiterate here.

  • Value your creative process.
    • Mantra: good artists borrow, great artists steal. Keep a swipe file.
    • You are powerful enough to make new words and new symbols.
    • Listen attentively and carefully.
    • Take field trips.
    • Remember. Carry a notebook and pen. Write things down. Revisit journals.
    • Fail. Fail again. Fail better. Fail faster.
    • Collaborate. Everyone has something to offer.

I do believe that writing is a task I am mean to be working at. Guidelines are helpful in achieving that, in figuring out the way and the content.

  • Live with simplicity.
    • Know kinship with creation.
      • Garden. What you do the earth, you do to yourself.
      • Enjoy the sun. Sit in the grass. Enjoy rainy days, too.
    • Don’t be cool.
      • You don’t need more clothes, gadgets, social media presence, or anything else trying to sell a false version of the good life. Consume less.
      • In general: reuse, repurpose, and make what you can
      • The pursuit of [material] happiness is the source of much unhappiness.
    • Find a rhythm of work and rest.
      • Daily, weekly, yearly.
      • Keep a daily routine… but don’t be rigid. Stay up late when ideas are happening. Get out of bed when they wake you up. And keep human! See people, go places.

I’m concerned about the consumer-driven narrative of today’s culture; there are other ways to live that have been livable and well lived for centuries and centuries.

  • Find a third way.
    • It’s not just about looking forward to Resurrection on the other side of Death, it’s about finding a third way, a way in-between the black/white paradigms.
    • Think in terms other than good/bad, or find other ways to define those terms.
    • Follow your joy.

I’ve always struggled with darknesses; this past year has been especially difficult and I don’t expect that to go away as I start to work on putting words on pages. I need to find a way to navigate, a way to hope more than I despair and to know glory without being overwhelmed by it.

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media marriages

On December 29, I wake up and whisper “happy anniversary” to my husband.  On January 28, he gives me a birthday gift (and  I give him his, six days late, because we always agree to not do gifts so shortly after Christmas and I don’t want him to feel obligated to get me one because I always get him one; but we both do, anyway). When I want him to know I love him, I hug him, or text him, or sometimes slip a note in his folded shirts for him to find later.

What I don’t do: write on his Facebook wall. Tweet about it. Write a status update in which I tag him.

I want my husband to know I love him. And yes, you, our friend, his family member, my acquaintance, you will probably be able to tell I love my husband because of the way we are with one another, because of the way we talk about one another, because of the way we look at each other. I don’t need to convince you of it, because it’s true, and as something true, it’s already evident.

By posting flowery love notes to social media (especially people who use social media pretty much exclusively for this), I don’t think you love your spouse. I think you want me to think you love your spouse. I think you care more about the appearance than the reality. I wonder if I can tell that you and your spouse love one another by the way you are across the room from each other at a party. I wonder what your tone is struggling to hide. I wonder what your eyes can’t hide.

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the human movement

For the first time, I dropped a class. After one session.

Still, I learned something.

I learned that you can be a respected editor, a decent writer, an in-demand speaker, and keep company with Impressive People–and still be the kind of person I wouldn’t want to be. In fact, it might even require a strand of arrogant narcissism to become such a success. I learned that what matters most to me is the character of an individual, not their list of successes and achievements.

In another class, while giving introductions, we were asked to share what we hope to do after graduating. After half a dozen men shared their career aspirations, I hesitated, then stated that after graduation I hope to be a gardener, and a writer, and a mother, and a good friend, and maybe spend some time attempting to articulate the ways that our bodies teach us about the Divine in ways that words do not.

I am ambitious in that I want to do good work, but I am not ambitious in a career-oriented, worldly, everybody-look-at-me sense. I don’t want to promote my blog. I don’t want to follow people hoping they follow me back. I don’t want to cultivate a persona. I want to live a full life and be a whole-hearted person, and our current society does not measure ambition nor success on such criteria.

There are times–more than I’d care to admit–that I worry I’m failing the feminist movement. And I probably am. And yet, perhaps I am furthering the human movement, the movement that does not place the burden on doing it all—whether it’s “gain all the money and power” or “do all the housework and childrearing” or “gain all the career goals AND be the perfect wife/mother”—but instead places equal emphasis on doing and being. That’s something, I believe, that would benefit women and men and culture and the world.

After writing this, I heard Arianna Huffington’s commencement address in which she states that our current definitions of success aren’t working for women, aren’t working for men, and aren’t working for polar bears. Listen to it here.

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feminists, christians, corinthians

In USAmerica today, everyone is talking about sex. Perhaps it’s more accurate to say that throughout history everyone has been talking about sex, and USAmerica is in the midst of the present manifestation of an ancient issue. Today, sexual behavior for women is often presented as a choice between two extremes: purity or promiscuity; prude or liberated. However, neither stance is helpful for a fully human life: firm answers applied to everybody lacks compassion and imagination, as Paul can help Christians understand.

Sex-positive feminists believe sex to be natural and beneficial. Sex between consenting adults is encouraged as sexual desire is understood as a natural part of human experience that should not be denied or repressed. Indeed, desire cannot be repressed without negative consequences on the individual; sexual repression and anything that promotes repression are treated as the primary enemies. This view of sex is often criticized as being irreverent, but that is an oversimplification. Many sex-positive individuals have a high view of sex and use language of intimate connection.

The sex-positive way of life can be problematic for women. If sex becomes a high priority, then a woman’s value can become tied up in her sexual accomplishment or ability to find a partner. Also problematic is when attention shifts from equal abilities and equal rights into a desire to prove that women can behave as men in ways men have been criticized, such as deception with regards to the intention of the relationship beyond sex or libertine “Don Juan” behavior. One woman notes that “the feminist sex-positive cultural attitude boiled down to … ‘I’m more sex-positive than you.’” For women who adopt this competitive mentality and find it unfulfilling, “the failure of this approach in their own lives became, in their minds, the failure of postmodern feminist philosophy as a whole.” In a reactionary move against the lifestyle, such women sometimes jump to the opposite extreme: chastity and submission in the name of Christianity.

Presently, the Christian stance on sexuality emphasizes abstinence, chastity, or purity outside of marriage. The primary enemies here are promiscuity and premarital sex. Tim Stafford speaks for many when he asserts that “Christians can tell young people when it is right to have sex for the first time: on the day you marry.” Stafford characterizes sex outside marriage as “a compulsive need,” an abuse of self and others, and depersonalized “biological stimulation.” Without debating the truth of such statements, it is enough to say that such language does not match many individuals’ felt experience of sex. Many find an outsider labeling consensual sex enjoyed by both partners as ‘abuse’ to be offensive, as is the notion that sex is depersonalized based only on the evidence of not having a marriage certificate.

The emphasis on virginity is problematic for, as Julia Duin emphasizes, “we only give away our purity once.” What is told to widows, those who come to Christianity later in life, and—perhaps most distressingly—rape victims? The downside of the purity narrative is one of damaged goods, defeat, and despair. Also problematic are the solutions to denying desire recommended to celibate Christians, which carry tones of avoidance and repression that set up bad habits for marriage. Julia Duin suggests Christians “find something to care about more than sex,” exercise, and “figure out what stimulates wrong desires and avoid that.” The language of avoidance simultaneously makes sex more desirable—the ‘don’t think of a pink elephant’ of morality—and creates problematic expectations for sex in marriage after a lifetime of denying desire to be felt. “Wrong desires” aren’t instantly renamed “right” when a marriage license is signed.

Helpful in mediating such extremes in the conversation are Paul’s words to the church in Corinth: “‘I have the right to do anything,’ you say—but not everything is beneficial. ‘I have the right to do anything’—but I will not be mastered by anything.” Whatever the problem the Corinthians brought to Paul, they justify it by saying they have the right to do anything. What’s notable is that Paul doesn’t disagree. As a community who lives post-resurrection, they know that sin has no ultimate power, and thus all things are lawful. It is on this point that much of Christian language around sex fails to convince, for by focusing on sin, the good news of the forgiveness of sins is denied. There is no question of lawfulness: because of the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus the Crucified, “all things are lawful.” It is on this same point that sex-positive feminists are correct: they have the right and the ability to do anything.

However, Paul adds some nuance to the argument by pointing out that not everything is beneficial and can become enslaving. He draws attention the large gap between what is permitted and what is best for living a life of wholeness. We are free to do anything, but that doesn’t mean we should; true freedom is the ability to go without whatever is craved. Again, many Christians have missed this nuance. The Driscolls dedicate an entire chapter of their recent book to addressing various sexual issues, answering if they are (a) lawful, (b) helpful, and (c) enslaving, as though the evaluation of three separate issues can lead to a clear answer of what is permissible.

But what Paul writes here is not a clear answer. He doesn’t respond to the Corinthians’ concern by explaining that it is unlawful, why it’s unhelpful, and how it’s enslaving. Instead, he opens up readers to a stance of evaluation and discernment. Creating a new law is not only unhelpful, it is detrimental to when it becomes a barrier to entering the church community. The difference between permissible and beneficial has been forgotten by many feminists as well, both sex-positive and anti-pornography. Paul reminds us all that what is beneficial for one person may be enslaving for another: a nightly glass of wine might mean heart health for one and an awakening of alcoholism for another. Paul’s response honors the fact that in the breadth of human experience, there are no tidy answers.

Paul’s openness to the complexity of human life highlights an underlying problem of both sides: they lead to either/or, black-or-white thinking. From the Christian side, a woman is either labeled pure or damaged; more crudely, virgin or whore. From the sexual liberation side, women are either free or oppressed, slut (used with a reclaimed positive sense) or prude. Neither lens allows for a wide variety of human experience. For example, where is there room for widows—are they ‘ruined’ for a second marriage? Or are they prude because they enjoyed sex only within the confines of marriage?

Another underlying problem with both sex-positive feminism and chastity-focused Christianity is that the focus on sex is unimaginative. Oftentimes, both sexual behavior and the debate around sex emerges as a symptom of much larger issues. For example, Duin states that “People are looking for something big enough to die for. Not finding that, they’ll settle for comfort and pleasure.” However, she herself becomes sidetracked into believing that the root problem is the sexual impulse when the real issue is boredom and safety. Rather than asking “How can we help Christians not have sex?” she would do better to be asking “How can we help others find and commit to something big enough to die for?”

Stafford is equally unimaginative. He emphasizes legal marriage even as he acknowledges that ancient Israel had no such customs because of the closeness of community. Rather than advocate involved community—a genuine problem for many in USAmerica today—he relies on the legal system to guarantee that a couple will fulfill obligations to one another post-sex, a solution that relies on a gentile system in order to discourage a gentile way of life. Why not advocate for improved, involved community, the real lack from which our culture is suffering?

There are no easy answers in the realm of human sexuality. Rather than becoming entrenched in arguments, may the conversation shift to an imaginative exploration of the root problems and discuss them compassionately with space made for one another’s experiences.

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brilliant

As part of a recent course, the instructor asked the class to write about a moment in which we felt most alive. “What were you doing?” she prompted. “What was happening? What noises do you associate with this memory? What color is that moment?” The class laughed when she asked about the color, but the answer, for many of us, was immediate. I struggled to write down the specifics of the color flashing in my mind: Light. Clear. Bright and in focus. Well-lit. White? Sun beams reflected off moving water.

As we shared, one participant said her memory was yellow. Those of us who knew her nodded, yes! Of course she’s yellow! One person wondered aloud, in a concise illustration of calling and flourishing: how can we help her be more yellow, or help her be yellow more often?

It wasn’t until much later that I began to apply the concept to myself: what does my color say about me? And of course, I pinpoint the color I was really trying to name, and with it the frustration and anger and elevation and pressure and pleasure and delight when people say to me: “You’re just

so

brilliant.”

There was a day last year where I vented to a friend about how my peers didn’t engage me or interact with my ideas or add to the conversation, they just told me how brilliant I was. I said the word with contempt. Brilliant. I took their complement as a statement about my intellectual capacities, an urging for me to perform so they could consume the words and ideas. My friend listened, nodding, then responded, with overwhelming strength and compassion, “Well, you are brilliant. Literally, you shine.”

And in this moment it all clicks together. It’s never been about intellect, it’s been about personhood and flourishing and identity. My peers have been calling me to be more me, have been calling me into the moments where they see me have the most life, have been calling me to be the person I was created to be more often, have been calling me to flourish—not for consumption or as superficial complements, but for delight and for glory. The intellect is just the self-created shadow I’ve been hiding in, hoping to dull the shine. What would it look like for me to allow myself to be light, clear, bright and in-focus? What would it look like for me to allow myself to be more brilliant, or to be brilliant more often?

I’m scared.

brilliant

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“repent of thinking evil of evil”

Those words were one line in the closing blessing of tonight’s liturgy. In the wake of the Zimmerman trial, of what feels like a massive injustice, a failure of our system, a brokenness of humanity, they rang through my soul. I’ve been thinking of Zimmerman as an evil man with a cold heart and hard intentions, and while that might be true for the moment in which he chose to pursue with suspicion rather than step away and trust in the workings of the universe, decided to kill rather than lose a fight against a teenager, that is not the sum total of who he is as a person.

I recently got into an argument about whether or not it’s acceptable to say “the cross” with reference to the entire life and death of Jesus. I’m convinced that it is not: invoking the cross does not also invoke the resurrection, much less the many years and teachings of the incarnate divinity before that moment. By saying “the cross” to mean “the life,” by invoking the metonym of a part to represent the whole, we are choosing to remember him only for the worst thing that ever happened to him. But he wasn’t simply a victim of the state; he was a helpless infant, and a wise child, and an unconventional rabbi, a man who loved, who had compassion, who wept. How dare we reduce him to a symbol from just one day in a rich life?

And yet that’s exactly what I had wanted to do to George. (It feels more human to be on a first-name basis with a man with whom I have wrestled internally so much.) I had wanted to define him by the worst thing he had ever done, to name him simply ‘murderer’ and not have to deal with the complexity of his life in all its love and pain and joy and fear and shame. Which isn’t to say that justice is irrelevant; it’s not, and I would love to see him repent, to see him confront his prejudices and hatred, to be in community with those he fears, to heal and become more whole. Which might happen, who knows. I do know that his life and actions are beyond my control; I must step away and trust in the workings of the universe. I must repent of thinking evil of evil.

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some thoughts on sin

Here’s what I wrote when handed this exam question: How does ‘sin’ fit into your own theological anthropology? What are some helpful and/or detrimental aspects of how sin is understood within the Christian tradition?

My understanding of sin is strongly linked with my understanding of the doctrine of imago Dei. If each human carries a unique image of God and is called to gift the world from such an identity, then sin is defined as anything that is not living out of that identity. It is working for acceptance and approval and love rather than from a the belief and knowledge that one is accepted and loved. It is the ways in which desires and passions become distorted and misdirected. It is the ways we inhibit others from knowing and living out  their own identity and agency.

Sin, then, is highly unique. As feminist theologians such as Saiving Goldstein have pointed out, sin may be pride but can just as easily be the opposite: a lack of organizing center, a dependence on others for one’s own self-definition. What is detrimental in the discussion of sin is blanket statements, as there are very few actions that can be deemed sinful for absolutely everyone. Oftentimes we focus on behaviors when what is really at stake is a question of character, an issue of identity and agency. The focus on behavior is a narrow lens and does not address the complexity of a human life: for just a few examples I’ll point to the debates around homosexuality; masturbation; plastic surgery and viagra; alcohol, tobacco, and marijuana use. I’m not saying these categories are unimportant. They are real areas of concern for many Christians, but they are symptomatic of deeper issues, and when we focus on fixing the symptom we are refusing to handle the complexity of that individual’s identity and the image of God he or she holds.

Most importantly, as James Alison reminds, sin is “that which can be forgiven.” Indeed, that which already has been forgiven: there is no room for shame nor condemnation in the gospel, and it is here that some understandings of sin have been most detrimental. By attempting to shame others into “repentance” rather than informing others that they are already loved and no longer need to live in sinful ways in order to gain love, the gospel message is not only distorted, it is inverted.

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Translating the Theories of Atonement and Attachment

The following is a paper written in collaboration with Ben Shafar for a theology course at The Seattle School of Theology & Psychology. The work being referenced, “And Did My Saviour Bleed,” can be read in five parts, beginning here.

Although conversation is commonly a major form of connection within relationships, the relationship itself exists outside of the confines of language in the relational space between individuals. In attempting to explain what it is that happens in that space, various disciplines use various vocabulary. Psychology has a vocabulary and research system for discussing styles of relationship rooted in attachment theory. Theology has a vocabulary for discussing relationship between God and humanity rooted in atonement theory. An individual’s style of relating will be consistent with other humans as it is with God. We seek to demonstrate that such correlations exist in lived experience of relationship.[1] To facilitate demonstrating the correlation, we will be referring to the short story “And Did My Saviour Bleed” in order to discuss how we see these theories playing out within individual characters. Essentially, this paper is a preliminary work of translation.[2] This investigation marks a first attempt to bridge understandings from two separate disciplines and to propose the need for quantitative research to investigate attachment styles as they are lived out in churches that hold various theologies. Within “And Did My Saviour Bleed,” characters’ attachment and atonement styles correlate in such a way that reflects an overall way of being. The way a character relates to other family members is similar to the way a character understands the atonement and relates to God.

There are many influences to consider in a discussion of styles of attachment. Current research draws on evolutionary theory as well as contemporary findings in neurobiology. A brief history of the theory of attachment begins with John Bowlby’s definition of “the attachment figure’s ‘availability’ as a matter not just of accessibility but of emotional responsiveness as  well.”[3] Essentially, Bowlby and his research partner Mary Ainsworth observed a strong correlation between levels of attunement in the mother-child dyad and the child’s ability later in life to relate well with others. More specifically, the ways in which a child is soothed by the primary caregiver in the child’s early life serve as a simple set of rules by which the child is likely to continue to live as an adult.

The work of attachment begins even before birth.[4] A child’s neurochemistry is affected by the state of the mother’s brain from the earliest stages of development. The neuropathways that are formed before birth situate a child for certain ways of being in the world. Even as a child enters this world, there are forces at work inside the brain that will assist or hinder in development. The type of interaction and care the child receives has been observed to trend towards one of three general resultant areas: avoidant/dismissive, preoccupied/ambivalent, and/or disorganized.

Attachment styles, or styles of relating, have been observed to exist on a continuum. Distinctions are offered as paradigmatic frames of reference, each blending into the next in the chaos of actual lived experience, yet offering insights into our distinct ways of being in the world. No one relates to others using just one of these observed styles, but for simplicity in discussion, four different classifications of attachment styles are offered. Secure attachment is observed in the behavior of infants that “appear to have equal access to their impulses to explore when they feel safe and to seek solace in connection when they do not.”[3] In adulthood this plays out as a kind of flexibility and resilience in and surrounding one’s relationships with others. The remaining insecure classifications are avoidant/dismissive, preoccupied, and unresolved/disorganized. Each of these styles of relating is characterized by certain types of attachment-seeking behavior—whether positive or negative—and can be identified within a broad range of more healthy or less healthy ways of being in the world. One impetus behind the conversation of this paper is the observed correlations between these styles of relating and the various ways we (the authors) have seen ourselves and others live out these models in the church and in their theologies.

It is our experience-driven observation and reflection that this same work of attachment is at play in the nature of how one conceptualizes and relates to God. One’s God-concept is inevitably influenced by the paradigmatic impact of the primary care one receives, although conversion or outside influences also hold impact. We do not propose to state that theologies themselves are more or less correct, accurate, or even healthy, but rather hope to illustrate that the way an individual believes his or her relationship to God is similar to the way he or she lives in relationship with others.

Atonement is at the heart of the Christian message and of humanity’s relationship with the Divine. Different understandings of the process by which the sins of humanity are forgiven or not forgiven are central issues of theological inquiry. Atonement is the way in which sins or wrongs are reconciled between two parties. In Christian theology, human “reconciliation with God [occurs] through the sacrificial death of Christ.”[5] The need for reconciliation is implicit throughout the Old Testament texts which assert that nothing impure or sinful can approach God. Through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, God has provided a way for humanity to be reconciled to Her without need for further sacrifice. The question that atonement theorists seek to answer is, how is such reconciliation accomplished?

Theories of atonement seem to fall into distinctly nuanced categories, but the way such theories are lived out by Christians covers a wide continuum. In the relatedness of these approaches to viewing reconciliation, the intersection is messy. New ways of rethinking beliefs of how God, resurrection, and community are understood come from within the mess. As this is an introductory conversation, the aim is simply to show the associations between various styles of attachment and their likeliest atonement-theory counterparts in an attempt to open up the importance for future conversation and research. Each of these systems is loosely held, allowing not only for systemic integrity, but also for the persons who inhabit the various systems of thought and styles of relating.

Secure attachment comes about in a relational environment where exploration is possible. If a child experiences the mother[6] as available and dependable, the periods and varieties of exploration can become more vast and varied. In interactions with a primary caregiver the child experiences a rhythm of rupture and repair[7] that leaves the child’s feelings somewhere on the spectrum between cared for and abandoned. The child interprets this data and bases her or his own future actions around the likelihood of eliciting a positive response from the caregiver. The nature of this rhythm will set the cadence for the rest of the child’s life. A child whose mother is adequately in tune recognizes the infant’s needs and meets them in a timely fashion. This very basic interaction communicates that the infant is important, and that asking for what she needs will not result in a negative consequence. The less attuned caregiver sends a different message to her or his infant. Securely attached adults exhibit a well-defined sense of self and a strong sense of worthiness for belonging and love.[8] Her ability to function in the world is less dictated by how others view her than by her own thoughts and desires for the communities in which she functions.

The central character in “And Did My Saviour Bleed” is Caron, a concerned and outspoken young woman. Caron is an individual who comes close to an earned secure attachment. That is, although her primary caregivers were not safe people with whom she could become securely attached, such security was developed outside the immediate family. The story does not address the way in which Caron earned secure attachment. She is involved in the church; it may be that she has a community there who has helped develop her. It is just as easily something much more difficult to explain: a conversion experience, an in-breaking of God in the life of a young woman who is paying attention.[9] The reader sees Caron’s secure attachment because she repeatedly proves that she has a sense of worthiness, belonging, and being loved, and is willing to risk and explore in ways that securely attached individuals are. She demonstrates a profound willingness to engage in the rupture and repair necessary in seeking a new way to relate her parents. This willingness is grounded somewhere in her own experience. She has learned somewhere in her life that exploring is safe, and even healthy. The reader sees Caron’s risk in relationship out of a secure center within herself in the second scene as she calls her sister to a more legitimate apology, “You’re sorry for what?” She has a strong sense of boundaries and thus does not greatly fear rejection.

Also notable is Caron’s demonstration that she holds a sense of worthiness in high value not only for herself, but extends it to others as well. In the first scene, the narrator notes that Caron strongly believes that if Kayla “just felt loved, she wouldn’t have to do all this every night,” and believes it to the point where she is willing to risk personally in order to instill such a sense in her sister. In her final plea to her parents, Caron extends a similar invitation to belonging: “I don’t want us to be against each other keeping track of who owes what to whom.” She opens the possibility for them to accept belonging, if they can just accept that they need not do anything to become worthy of it, if they can accept that they already are worthy.

Just as Caron feels a sense of worthiness of love and belonging in order to function with bold vulnerability in her family structure, she operates similarly within her church community. It is not only that her voice “blend[s] into the unified voice of the community”, but that “she allows” the unification to occur. During the sermon as well, Caron “allows herself to believe she’s worthy of such love, allows herself to be vulnerable.” This is the language of a woman with earned secure attachment: the security is not inherently natural, but surrender is chosen. She is not unwillingly melted into the congregation, but she is secure in her own self and chooses to belong; on some level she feels not only that a sense of worthy but also a sense of agency. Later, the reader again sees that Caron feels safe with this community: she both cries openly and “unashamedly wipes tears.” There is a sense, in the celebration of the crowd, that Caron is not the only one with her emotional guard lowered. What both binds this community together and shapes their acceptance of one another is the theology around which they gather.

In the second Easter morning scene, the reader receives a summary of Caron’s theology of the atonement. What is taught by her pastor is, in short, a nonviolent atonement theory. In this theology, according to James Alison, Jesus is understood at once as “the authentic high priest, who was restoring the eternal covenant that had been established long before”, and the sacrifice, “substituting himself for the victim of our typical sacrifices.”[10] As Caron’s pastor phrases it, Jesus “at once fulfills the Jewish atonement rites while exposing the sacrificial violence of humanity.” Such a theology allows room for sin to occur because “the definition of sin becomes: that which can be forgiven.”[10] More on that theology is explained within the text of the story, so the focus here is on how Caron lives such a theology.

Caron applies her theology to her life and relationships. The hope is not only for tolerating this life while anticipating an afterlife but for a different way of living this life now; as her pastor states, “it is not a continuation of the same life that was … what we talk about is a new way to live this life now.” Because her theology emphasizes this life, she believes in the possibility of living a new way and of having a new style of relating. The reader sees this bridging between theology and attachment style in the final Easter dinner scene where she addresses her parents, “I want to have a better relationship with you. You know, going forward,” and later “let’s do something different, let’s find some better way to do this.” Caron’s hope is for improved relationship in this life now, and she is willing to risk for it. “Because love wins, we don’t need to be defensive, we don’t need to be self-protective, we don’t need to be afraid,” as her pastor teaches. She becomes, like Christ, the victim who approaches her abuser without accusation and with capacious forgiveness to offer new life. Just as it is only securely attached people who are able to emotionally risk and make mistakes, it is only individuals who believe themselves to be truly forgiven that are able and free to make mistakes, even to sin boldly, and Caron’s loving confrontation and vulnerability are certainly sins within her family system.

However, Caron is not ideal in a secure attachment style. Although she is healthier than the other characters in the story, she has a tendency towards the insecure style of relating characterized as preoccupied/ambivalent. Insecure styles of attachment tend towards avoidant/dismissive or preoccupied/ambivalent and are the result of significant and/or unresolved trauma.  Preoccupied individuals such as Caron come out of homes where their own efforts to regulate themselves are often thwarted by the additional need to regulate or soothe their caregiver(s) as well. This style of relating has been aptly described as “no room for a mind of one’s own.”[3] Characterized by a tendency to withdraw into one’s own mind for solace, or to act out erratically in the face of poorly demarcated boundaries, the at-times calm exterior observed in this style of relating is a false guise for constant internal struggle. Another description of this struggle is ‘always worrying about how to please others, but never knowing how;’ an apparently calm duck paddling like mad below the water’s surface. In this constant inner chaos, the only help to be found is in the fantasy that others are unnecessary. Then it is practical and helpful to relate to others with ambivalence, or to appear preoccupied with one’s own thoughts. It is important, however, to recognize that there is no rest or escape in this strategy. Anxiety is not absent, it is being dealt with in the ‘best’ fashion that the individual has been able to learn.

Caron’s anxiety is most clearly observed in the first scene of the story, “Good Friday, 2003.” She is herself anxious about her sister’s nighttime activities, but senses her big sister’s unmet need for love and belonging as well. Rather than having the opportunity to soothe herself, she attempts (however unsuccessfully) to soothe Kayla: “If she just felt loved, she wouldn’t have to do all this every night.” Although the risk involved in soothing another requires some level of security within one’s self, taking care of others emotions is a distraction from the ability to self-soothe. One might suppose that Caron’s anxiety is also a cause of her inability to impact Kayla, given Anais Nin’s definition of anxiety in relation to love that “anxiety is love’s greatest killer. It creates the failures. It makes others feel as you might, when a drowning man holds on to you. You want to save him, but you know he will strangle you with his panic.”[11] Perhaps Kayla’s glare can be interpreted as a sign of feeling Caron’s anxiety. The story does not resolve whether Caron has sufficiently reduced her society to offer her parents an invitation to relationship from solid ground.

In the following scene, Caron is again the parent of the family as she calls Kayla to better behavior, offering boundaries that are more defined and manageable than those offered by the girls’ parents. The narrator notes that “So much has never been demanded of her [Kayla].” Caron is also the parent in that she is the one who recognizes the nature of Kayla’s behavior and attempts to bring it to her parents attention. Similarly, she is active to the point of distraction in attempting to draw her father’s gaze into her own life. She repeatedly corrects the distinctions between influential instructors in her life, again without success: Jim takes no notice of his daughter’s desperate plea for recognition. In a sense, she is attempting to parent Jim and Ann into being better parents.

Also characteristic of preoccupied individuals is withdrawal into the realm of the mind. During the evening of the first scene, as Kayla leaves for the night and Caron experiences high anxiety, retreating into her mind is exactly what Caron does to self-soothe: “retreats back up to the stairs to her bookshelf.” Caron also resorts to cutting. Her flight away from her feelings results in her infliction of pain in order to experience calm. She is all too aware of the quiet chaos of her family life. Although she is on her way to escaping the drama, she is not free of it.

As stated above, it is difficult to make solid claims about young Caron’s theology. The author imagines that being in the home of a family who (assuming the theology professed in 2010 also applies to 2003) professes that humans are sinners, indebted to God, and responsible for Jesus’s death, would provoke and maintain some anxiety in Caron. Just as her parents are unpleasable and distant, so too is God, requiring perfection—which may not even be good enough. Whereas her parents can dismiss the anxiety that such a theology could provoke (discussed below), Caron becomes preoccupied with the relationship and need for behavior-based affirmation. Caron recalls this anxiety in the final scene—“I tried so hard to be the perfect”—before re-affirming in herself that perfection is not demanded of her, especially not by God.

What helps define Caron as more secure in her style of relating is that she does not live in the fantasy that other people are unnecessary. Indeed, her relationships with her family members—no matter how chaotic and frustrating—remain so central to her that she continues to return to the family table in adulthood, continues to emotionally risk, continues to hope that something better is just about to arrive. Caron is a living invitation to community, akin to that expressed by Kathryn Tanner when she writes of “a community of mutual fulfillment in which each effort to perfect oneself enriches others’ efforts at self perfection. One perfects oneself by making one’s own the efforts of others to perfect themselves, their efforts too being furthered in the same way by one’s own.”[12] Something of this miracle is at work in Caron’s investment with her family. She longs for the interrelatedness they could experience if they were all willing to work on their relationships.

In addition to preoccupied attachment, another insecure style of relating is avoidant/dismissive attachment. This style of relating is characterized by a tendency to think of others as unnecessary to the meeting of one’s own needs. This is generally observed to develop out of a primary care relationship wherein the mother is experienced as less than optimally available. When a child learns, through her own experience of the world, that regulating her own cycles of joy and distress is necessary without much assistance from a caregiver, it becomes patterned for her as a style of relating.

Within “And Does My Saviour Bleed,” avoidant and dismissive styles of relating are noticeable in Kayla, Ann, and Jim. Kayla is absent from the Easter dinner, and likely from the family in general if the reader can infer as much from Ann’s words “Dad hasn’t heard from her.” Caron’s easy acceptance of the excuse implies that such excuse-making is familiar. In short, Kayla has chosen to be absent from family life, to avoid events and conversations. The root of unresolved trauma that leads to such a style is not made explicit in the story, but Ann’s obvious distraction into the crafting world is a clear example of a less than available mother, and Kayla’s youth experiences (as summarized by Caron) of alcoholism, drug-addiction, promiscuity, and anorexia point to a deeply troubled young woman. Because of her absence in the later narrative, not much can be surmised about the correlation of an atonement theology to such a style of relating. Fitting with an avoidant attachment style and presented knowledge of the character, the author imagines that Kayla is in the atheist/agnostic spectrum and uninvolved with any type of community of believers.

Ann offers a clearer picture of an avoidant/dismissive attachment style and its theological correlation. Perpetually at her craft table, she is obviously disengaged from conversations and emotions, beginning with her silence in response to Kayla’s apology in “Holy Saturday, 2003.” She cannot be provoked into emotional engagement even by her husband’s angry outburst—“You entirely missed the point, Ann!” She simply shrugs off the anger and distances herself from it with a dismissive comment, effectively avoiding any further confrontation. Even being confronted more lovingly by her daughter during Easter dinner, she fails to say anything that is helpful and relevant. The rare times she does speak, it is either an attempt to soothe away the problem, although with great insensitivity—“We couldn’t read your mind, honey”—or to distract away from the emotional confrontation by asking “What was the name of that [burger] joint?” Ann’s inability to connect emotionally, either to fulfill others’ needs or to be vulnerable in seeking to get her own needs met, is characteristic of an avoidant/dismissive attachment style.

Such dismissiveness correlates strongly to her theological stance. As her pastor preaches the goal of the atonement, reconciliation is not at all about this life: it is about avoiding eternal pain and suffering in Hell and being rewarded for professed Christianity with life in God’s presence after death. Because hope is placed entirely in the afterlife, there is no call to action for this one. All that is required is weekly sermon attendance, even virtual attendance; in Ann’s mind an hour a week of church is what is required to be a Christian and thus receive “eternal life” after death. She interprets such attendance even more loosely than her husband, never ceasing to work on her project as she “occasionally glances at the screen to fulfill the obligation of attendance.” Here it is obvious that her style of relating is true not only with people, but also with God: she refuses to be emotionally drawn in. It is just as easy to imagine Ann fulfilling the obligation of attendance with only occasional glances at her child. Crafting functions as a way to distance herself from other humans as well as from a message that she believes is of God. Such distance from everyone, and specifically from God, leads Ann to live a life that is functionally agnostic. Although she professes a belief in Christianity, her life looks no different than that of a professed agnostic; the belief that God exists does not influence her lived experience outside of the hour a week she glances at a sermon.

Jim serves as an example of on the continuum of a preoccupied style of relating. Many of his behaviors can be interpreted as either dismissive or preoccupied, which serves as a reminder that these ways of being in the world exist on a fluid continuum. In the “Holy Saturday, 2003” scene of the story, Jim makes it clear that everything must go on as usual. He is not interested in actual relationship with his daughters but only in maintaining the calm that he so cherishes. His wife, Ann, is allowed no impact into his affairs and is only expected to maintain the status quo. The interactions afforded the reader are vacant of emotion except when things are getting uncomfortable for him. His need to keep the peace, at the cost of any true interaction, can be thought of as coming from his own sense of abandonment. His “parents would go antique shopping for weekends and leave [him] five dollars.” His preoccupation with the need for stability dictates his capability of relating to others. It also correlates with his receptivity to and interaction with God.

A great need for debts to be balanced is evidenced in Jim’s threat to Caron: “Unless you want to take on her punishments? That worked when you were kids. You told on her and I’d give you her punishment. Remember that?” Jim is outwardly calm and controlled, but inside he is often frantic. He has a hard time identifying this feeling, as it is all too normal for him, yet it guides his need for the external world to make orderly sense in an immediate timeline. The words of the Easter sermon affect him; the price paid for his redemption is what catches him. It speaks to the frenzy of longing inside him saying: ‘your bill is taken care of.’ The tears he sheds don’t flow from an in-breaking of the joyous spirit of God, but from the sadness that the words touch in him of which he never speaks nor allows to be visible. Jim ‘believes.’ He prayed the prayer and lives a good life. But he is missing the full blessing of Christ’s message for him in community. He is held inside himself by his own need for order. The theology that speaks to him fills a need, but it also perpetuates his stuck-ness by not challenging his assumptions and experiences concerning redemption.

Where Ann is happy to pay her dues of church attendance, Jim is consumed by living by the rules. “Through his cuts, we get healed. It’s what God had in mind all along: to crush him with pain to pay the debt of our sins, all the things we do wrong, our adulteries, our alcoholism, our lies, our lust–,” Jim takes these words to heart by making sure he doesn’t give Jesus any more reason to suffer. His preoccupation with the importance of following the strict structures of scripture eclipses his ability to comprehend the nature of what Jesus fully and already accomplished. Instead, Jim lives in a tightly controlled awareness of the pain that it costs (both Jesus and himself) to make things right. Needing to take care of all his own emotional needs as a child situated Jim in precisely the right location for this sort of theology of retributive sacrifice.

These styles of relating are helpful as diagnostic-like tools for identifying strategies through which one’s attachment might be moved towards more secure. Many believe that this is the central work of psychotherapy. We believe: it is also the work of the church. One’s style of relating affects how one interacts with others. It also influences and is affected by one’s view of the nature of God and the processes by which we claim to know or interact with God. All of these influences intersect in one’s style of relating, in how an individual lives. What a church teaches is both influenced by and influences the people in attendance. These reciprocal influences craft both the institution and the people over time. More research and study is needed in order to assist in learning more about how theology informs the lived experience of God and relationships with others as well as how the church can add to conversations around helpful styles of relating. Simultaneously, in examining how styles of relating influence and are influenced by the theologies to which we cling, the hope is to add new textures to the layers of meaning that are co-created in the dialogue between these disciplines.

Future study may lead to healthier ways of telling the gospel story. It may afford us new and better ways of thinking through and about the gifts God gives. In exploring this terrain free from worry about the status of our salvation, there is great freedom. It is this freedom to sin boldly and to love well that we wish to make more abundant in our families and in our churches, in our nation and in our world. Everywhere that dogma and relationship intersects can be mined in the light of this relational hermeneutic.

* All quotes that are not footnoted are from the short story “And Did My Saviour Bleed,” which can be read in parts: can be found in parts: one, two, three, four, five.

[1]As this paper was a short-term project, we have not analytically researched support for this belief other than the observation throughout our lives that an individual’s way of being tends to exhibit consistency across relationships. The general correlations we draw will not be representative of the wide variety of human experience, but rather relationships as we have experienced them and as portrayed in the story “And Does My Saviour Bleed.” Much research is needed in order to demonstrate a consistent truth to such correlations. Additionally, we do not seek to demonstrate causation in either direction: theologies impacting a person’s human style of relating nor a person’s attachment impacting his or her professed theologies, though there are causal threads worth investigating in the inter-related nature of this dyad.

[2] We understand this translation to be an essential component of inter-disciplinary communication, where each discipline has manufactured and issued language to convey a truth about an experience or reality that exists outside of language.

[3] David J Wallin, in Attachment in Psychotherapy, (New York, NY: Guilford Press, 2007).

[4] Thomas Lewis, Fara Amini, and Richard Lannon, in A General Theory of Love, (New York, NY: Vintage Press, 2000).

[5] Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church, 3rd ed (New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 2005).

[6] The language of the discipline still resorts to using the word “mother” here. It is now fairly well assumed that the word “mother” has been generalized to refer to the role of primary caregiver. The tendency to associate a particular gender with this role is no longer useful. The word ‘mother’ will henceforth be used with the caveat that no gender nor biological connections are being assumed.

[7] One can trace a similar theme in the history of the nation of Israel in which humanity’s relationship with God is constantly ruptured and repaired, both directly with God and through the levirate priests. Furthering this conversation will require attention to the ways in which the believing community has seen God’s grace play out in the history of Israel as well as with the church of our current age. Both histories are rife with rupture and repair between God and humanity, between peoples, and between individuals.

[8] Brené Brown, “On Vulnerability”, in TED Talks, June 2010.

[9] There is vocabulary in Christianity of adoption into the family of God. If such an adoption has the power to change one’s attachment style, Caron may be one such example. Research needs to be done on what Christians can learn about the process of attaching securely to God from the process of adoptee attaching to adoptive parents.

[10] James Alison, “God’s Self-Substitution and Sacrificial Inversion” in Stricken by God? edited by Brad Jersak and Michael Hardin, (Abbotsford, BC: Fresh Wind Press, 2007).

[11] Anais Nin in Diary of Anais Nin: 1944-47, 7 vols. Vol 4, (Orlando, FL: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1971).

[12] Kathryn Tanner, in Jesus, Humanity and the Trinity: A Brief Systematic Theology (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2001).

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trinitarian personhood

The Trinity is recognized as the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit in their differentiated forms, and yet also as a single entity. The paradoxical three-in-one-ness of the trinity can be a foundation to an individual’s understanding of self as plurality within an integrated unity.

In the western world today, we are accustomed to thinking of our selves as segmented into clear-cut definitions of mind, body, and soul. When a concept of divided self is accepted, the selves compete with one another for dominance. For decades, the mind and soul have held supreme importance over the body. Logic and faith held in the mind have been believed to be the way to salvation. The soul is given special ranking as it is the piece of an individual that is granted eternal life. Such an intellectualizing of the gospel contributes to loss of the body, which the incarnation of Jesus combats: it was important for God to become enfleshed, and so it must be important for us to recognize our bodily selves as well. Even before the embodiment of the divine person, God in Her infinite wisdom created us to be embodied creatures; I trust She had good reasons.

The trinitarian nature of God can be explained as correlating to our construction of identity: Christ is analogous to the body, Father to the mind, and the Spirit to an individual’s soul. Such constructs forget the essential aspect of unity: God still recognizes Herself as one integrated being. Jesus cites the Shema as the most important commandment; God in flesh tells us that the most important thing to know is that God is one.

Spiritual formation should point the Christian to a relational understanding within his/herself, correcting the cultural norm of competition. When we stop viewing unique identities as in competition with one another, they are allowed to relate and grow through one another. Jeremy Begbie provides the idea of notes sounding: although a single note “fills the entirety of my aural space,”  two notes interpenetrate to occupy the same space while retaining their individual sound. The interpenetration allows each note to be more fully itself. When an individual can understand his selves as sounding through one another to be more themselves, true growth and acceptance is possible. The body becomes connected to the soul, the mind develops through bodily experiences; the interplay is part of the beauty. This work might be called introversive atonement, an at-one-ment that brings unity to a fractured self, or a-tone-ment that heals the mind and soul through toning work of the body.

This piece was originally part of the final exam for Theology of Spiritual Formation with Chelle Stearns. Students were asked to write 3 essays in 2 hours.

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