sharpening our lenten knives

I own only one sharp knife. It is small. Tuesday night I was told of its formal name: “a paring knife” and I was also notified that such a knife would by no means be sufficient for a “normal person’s kitchen”. My disinterest in all things culinary is nothing new. I’ve baked no-bake cookies and made 10 Minute Rice in three minutes. One boyfriend joyfully noshed on raw cauliflower after an earnest attempt to serve him baked eggplant for dinner, and another asked in his annoying Afro-British accent, “Have others tried to domesticate you, and they’ve failed?” - - Making me sound less like a woman who prefers to have food prepared for her and more like a feral beast. Somehow though, I have survived in the United States sans the ability to cook, and also without a television or an alarm clock, for what it is worth.

The controversy surrounding my paring knife and the frustration it caused Ben really got me thinking about the things people do in their own lives that cause me such distress when I am in their space. You know, those things that just amaze me that somehow they too manage to survive. Things like the oh-so-common Hansel and Gretel sort of trail of shoes and dirty clothes through the apartment that so many boys seem to be fine with. Or how my friends in the burbs choose to drive their two tons of steel every time they need something from the CVS around the corner. Or the fact that people say they don’t have enough time to exercise or write notes. How do these people survive, I wonder?

I guess they must have a nice knife collection.

thoughts on 30 things, or two

My friend Lynnette and I were born during the same week in 1978. She messed with Texas while I threw off the equilibrium of the Keystone State. Savvier than myself, Lynnette recently made a list of 30 things she intends to do during her 31st year; one commitment is to take a photograph a day. I, a day late and a dollar short, decided to think about 30 things I would like to do during my 31st year.

Number one: I aspire to ask more questions.
As open and extroverted as I tend to be, I could use some improvement in the area of inquisition. Academia is driven by questions, and I thrive in that environment. But when it comes to my personal relationships, I think I tend to tell people how it is or ignore how it is rather than going ahead and asking how it is. Maybe that is a means of protecting myself. So, ok Lynnette, I will show your thirty things with one thing: As a thirty year old woman, I aspire to push myself to ask questions everyday.

Another thing I was thinking about, is the notion of accepting where people are, outside of any relation to me, really and truly. When my Dad turned 50 in 1992 he told me, “I no longer give a shit.” I am pretty sure that with getting older certainly life is getting easier. Of course, more problems seem to appear, and there are certainly moments of utter devastation, but I have to say, life is a lot easier than when I was, like, 22. But, still, betrayal is an animal without definition. And the world is full of peoples' pain.

According to Dr. Bart Ehrman, there are three sorts of premises in Christianity: 1) God is all-powerful; 2) God is a loving God; 3) There is suffering. In friendships and relationships, I think only one of these tenants reigns true: 1) Neither party is all-powerful; 2) Both parties are capable of behaving in unloving ways; 3) And well, yes, suffering plagues us all.

But what if we had a rapprochement, and what if we assumed - - about one another - - that even when unloving acts are committed that there is an intention to be ultimately loving. How would that help to inform responses to our own suffering? Would suffering built upon suffering cease? Would yielding one another a grace of real forgiveness - - even for that which is unconscious and unconfessable or inexcusable- - help with our own happiness? Is that what it means to no longer “give a shit”? Unconditional forgiveness? Is it better to just disappear rather than acknowledging – you’ve gotten too close to me – I’ve told you too much – you’ve hurt me here’s your bag in a punitive manner; here’s a formal email about the weather; here’s me disappearing. See, I have disappeared.

I’d like to think that any option is ok.

After all, people need to take care of themselves.

The world is broken and we must cope in order to live.

But I can’t think that way.

I just think it is much better to stay in the messiness. The only way out is through, and as I travel on my own path of suffering, my inclination is to stay in the mess with others.

But then again, I think my inclination is probably wrong.

Sometimes it’s ok to let people go away.

Sometimes that’s easier. Well, it is always easier.

My 30 years have at least taught me one thing.

my little green

Happy 6th Birthday to Luke on Wednesday.

inshalla

A couple of weeks ago, I called my friend Uzma for the first time in many months. While Uzma is someone I greatly admire and feel quite close to we do not speak frequently. She and I were catching up about all the things women talk about in these sorts of conversations. (And she always makes time for me when I call.) Uzma is going to be a Mom, so we talked about that. Having finished her Masters in Public Health at Johns Hopkins, she has a new job in North Carolina, so we also discussed that. During this conversation, I realized she was at the same time running errands for her husband, Nadim. First she went to the drug store to get him a prescription for heartburn. Then she went through the Arby’s drive-thru. Then to another place to retrieve a specific type of freedom fries. Nadim, a heart surgeon, was at home watching the Redskins with a friend.

Realizing it was about 7 pm on the east coast I asked Uzma, “Are ya’all breaking fast now or something?”

“Yes! And I am running all over the place to get Nadim what he wants!”

“Happy Ramadan, I guess?”

“Ha ha ha- thanks,” she said.

Today, I watched an A&E special on Queen Noor (Lisa Hallaby) of Jordan. And I remembered Uzma driving through the drive-thrus. And I also recalled Sarah from Austin in Bangladesh telling me of her arranged marriage and the early struggles with it as the commitment she and her husband made grew stronger - endured the test of time and ultimately celebrated an irreplaceable bond.

I envy these women.

In a day and age where my favorite Presidential candidate Barack Obama marches around asserting that he is “not a Muslim” I sometimes wish there was place for me in the Muslim culture. Islam means “surrender,” and at risk of sounding pathetic, I must say, as a single woman, I would love nothing more than to give, surrender, and love with all of my being, in choice and devotion like my Muslim friends do in their marriages.

I missed my friend Iram’s wedding in August, but she was gorgeous and I am sharing a photo.

Before the grace of you, go I.

As I race to the finish of my two year Masters program, I have not been very good about blogging, but will hopefully get back to it soon, as there are several stories causing a stir in my mind! In the meantime, I would like to share a song I seem to turn to a lot during times of change, and when the things that are beginning don't seem to have a chance to grow, and the things ending don't really want to die.

Ministry

Today, I believe that I ministered for the first time, and not by example or deed, or any of those creative ways in which we hold tribute to living in the way of God’s kingdom, but in real conversation as a woman with a past to a woman with a past. I didn’t realize that I had ministered this afternoon, until several hours later while washing my dishes, and it just came over me. I remembered the joy I felt in my afternoon ministry; the comfort I felt in being there, and most of all, the normalcy of it to me - - it flooded my body, and I left the soapy sponge, in the crusty pasta sauce, in the bowl, in the sink, so I could sit down and think for a few minutes about the encounter.

Despite all the discussion about the topic at Divinity School, my brain is continually skeptical of forgiveness. My heart, - - a big fan of grace. But mercy, -- that’s what gives me a lump in my throat. My friend Sam who lives at Riverbend Maximum Security Institute is sort of like a grandfather figure to me, and he says that I must always remember mercy. He says God is only about mercy. “If he can remember mercy, why can’t I,” I often wonder.

Today I sat with a woman who is pursuing her PhD, and we talked about our lives, and the story of our twenties. I asked what she had done before her graduate school work. Laughing, at first she said she was a prostitute. I made a joke about her clientel. Then she paused and she said, “No, actually, in all seriousness, I was a drug dealer and I went to jail. And my boyfriend who I told you about, I met him in a halfway house.” In the shadow of Vanderbilt’s Kirkland Hall, I thought she was pulling my leg. But I quickly thought about my own life. A montage of my past came through my vision: the struggles, the goodbyes, the violence, the wilderness of my existence. I remembered that I am as much a victim and a sinner, as everybody else, and I realized that this woman was telling me the truth. She was a drug dealer before she was an academic. She was a liar before she was seeking the truth in these halls. So we talked, and talked, and talked, about our lives. There were no tears. There were no ah-ha moments. And when we were done, we got up with our lattes, and walked in the sunshine, back to our school work. And when I washed my dishes, I realized that I finally understood what ministry was about. Mercy.

where sin has increased grace abounds (romans 5:20)

Pentecostalism, HIV/AIDS, and the burden of South African women is what my friend Katy researches. Today she lectured on a wide range of issues surrounding the devastating HIV/AIDS problem in sub-Saharan Africa in specific relation to the Church’s failure to care enough (although statistically they care more than non-Christians), turn away from traditional strategies, and zap stigma. As a Christian Ethicist, Katy offers a three pronged approach for the moral response to HIV/AIDS: A Posture of worldliness (ending the bifurcation between the spiritual and the physical); Reading and responding to the situation at hand (the emptying of the church-self to serve as opposed to blindly following moral code); Reframing guilt and innocence (i.e. Christ became guilty out of love). Theologically, Katy’s research can certainly inform my own interest in the anthropology of Haiti’s suffering.

Bonhoeffer has been on my brain a lot lately, and one of his quotes was shared in today's lecture: "I discovered later, and I’m still discovering right up to this moment, that it is only by living completely in this world that one learns to have faith. . . By this-worldliness I mean living unreservedly in life’s duties, problems, successes and failures, experiences and perplexities. In so doing we throw ourselves completely into the arms of God, taking seriously, not our own sufferings, but those of God in the world – watching with Christ in Gethsemane. That, I think, is faith . . . and that is how one becomes a human and a Christian.”

According to Bonhoeffer and divine command theory, God’s yes is bigger than God’s no, and Christians must have full engagement and a posture of worldliness. The numbers say that a third of the world is Christian, and 1.7 million of the 2.5 new HIV/AIDS cases in 2007 are in sub-Saharan Africa. So if Bonhoeffer’s theology were to be adopted by American Christians alone, how long would it take for HIV/AIDS to disappear from Africa, and from the world as a whole?

resurrection

Even though the world has failed, the healing capacity of the human experience has no limits. I can never know your pain, but I can tell you about mine. Together, we may live in communion, and change the failures of the world.

Today, in a lecture on the ethics of sex (within the context of the norm of the black church's no-talk policy), my professor discussed “sexual consent” and his own experience as a rape survivor. He read some of his new book that addresses this topic. Needless to say, I was profoundly surprised by his choice to speak so openly about something so painful and rarely discussed. He said that he has had a lot of time and therapy to get to the other side of this, to take power from it, name it, and talk with people about it. After class, I went to his office to thank him for the lecture. I said, “That room is full of rape survivors. You just know it.” We will never be able to measure the impact of Victor’s lecture today. He inspired future church leaders to speak about the sexual problems going on sometimes right in the choir chambers of the church. He also gave permission to all of us, to take back our lives; lives that have been slowly stolen from us at the hands of sexual violence, shame, and silence. There is a life after the silence.

Eight years ago, I was followed into a public restroom in Washington, DC, and my head was slammed against a mirror several times, and I was raped. People nearby could hear my frantic laughter as it was happening. I was left alone with my attacker, and then taken by him to a second location where he continued to rape me. Thank goodness, the only thing that I can remember from the second location was waking up and screaming when my head was being bashed again. The following day was probably the weirdest day of my life. During the weeks of panic attacks, issued blame, and months of anxiety, I worked closely with a therapist, as I tried to reclaim my life, and get better. My parents and friends helped me too. It was an imperfect journey, ignited by the social sin of rape, and guided by the human instinct for survival. By being honest and committing to do this work, ultimately my life was saved. Obviously this is the very abbreviated version of what happened to me, and of how it profoundly affected my life and my personhood. But at the end of the day, the details are not the story.

There is one book that I found to be tremendously helpful, and I think everyone should read it, rape survivor or not: After Silence, Rape and My Journey Back, by Nancy Venable Raine.

Before Raine published the book, close friends said things to her like, ''Let's face it, no one wants to hear about such terrible things.'' And, ''I just can't imagine how you can write about something so . . . so very personal.'' And, ''Shall we get off rape to something . . . agreeable?'' Shame presupposes wrongdoing. The things we do not talk about are the things we have done wrong, right? A DUI? A divorce? An F in a class. She writes: ''The sense that I was responsible for the rape supported a more important belief, one that I could not give up, although it had been severely damaged. It was the belief that I could control what happened to me, that my actions had a bearing on the outcome of my life.''

The vast topic of rape is something I occasionally talk to friends about. I never know what they have been through. Without it becoming my identity, I hope that my openness about this can somehow help others who have suffered with the aftermath of a rape, - -people who understand that it is the terror of the violence and the power and the robbing of one’s personhood that is the story of rape, or repeat rapes. It is about being told: "you are not human." Eight years later, I remember dealing with the anxiety, panic, depression, helplessness, and confusion, - - but I usually think of the people who do not have access to help, or who never got help in time. I on the other hand, have been given a new life.

We all need to be part of an open conversation about this social demon, in order to save the lives of those suffering in silence. Inspired by Victor’s lecture, today I am reaching out to you.

if laughing is loving

A friend recently forwarded this email to me; an email that I sent out last June. Rereading it, I think it can be applied to my life in general, not just that particular trip. As I prepare to visit Bangladesh for the first time, I wonder what will confront my senses and ignite my passions, but I don't think anything has ever ignited my passions the way my friendships have.

- - -
To All~

I have the privilege of traveling in Haiti until August 21. Access to email will be sporadic, but please email me. I will be visiting new towns, and old friends from last summer, while I gather information for my Masters thesis. Haiti brings to my life unequivocal inspiration along with deep spiritual and intellectual angst. In Haiti, there are no distractions from the need, or the joy, of the moment.

When scary things happen in Haiti, --things that I can't control-- I will think of you, and your laughter, and the very funny moments I've shared with you. If laughing is loving, then I am the luckiest woman in the world to love and to be loved with such severity. Vibrant photos promised upon my return to Nashville.

Before the grace of you, go I.

Love, Kate

who has a seat at your table?

My interest in raising children is on par with my interest in owning a dog, and anyone who knows me knows that I am not a dog person. (But that’s not where I am going with this blogpost.)

That being said, there is something that I envy that is very innate in the struggle of raising children, and what it all produces. Every time I go to Susan and Andy’s it becomes more and more difficult because I envy the love they have in their family. I envy it so much, it nearly brings me to tears, questioning my own human capacity to be capable of the day-to-day work required for raising children. They have two kids. Henry is five and Cal is two; I have been their weekly babysitter since I moved to Nashville. I am far from being a great babysitter, but they accept me anyway, even when I serve their kids garlic bread for dinner. They are members of the vast family that I have acquired on my life journey; it is a journey in which I have relied upon the loving and giving hearts of strangers who have evolved into forever friends.

Like Kathleen and her children. They have continued to provide for me, a sacred space for love, honesty, and understanding, and all without justification or trial. While the essential timing and unbelievably sincere and sacred efforts stand alone, the Harrington clan is not alone in having been welcoming to me. I have a long list of people to whom I should write heart-felt letters to about the grace, forgiveness, devotion and hospitality shown to me during my adult life everywhere from Jerusalem to Montana. If I knew I was going to die tomorrow, it is unlikely that I would sit around with my best friends or the people I see often. I would probably want to visit people like my friend Marcia in San Francisco, who offered me hospitality during a time of suffering and loneliness.

Patience and hospitality are the earthly things capable to create the welcoming conditions for the kingdom. If I have learned anything from divinity school, I have learned that hospitality is the heart of Christianity. As a liberation theologian, that specifies hospitality for the materially poor, - first and foremost. And parenthood seems to be baptism by fire about hospitality. The lines of mine and yours become less delineated. The thing, I believe, that separates parental love from eros (erotic love), agape (community love), or philos (fraternity), - is the willingness to engage is a particular type of kenosis if you will - - the willingness to empty yourself and die for your child. There is almost a joy in the thought of it.

St. Augustine might say that if we start acting hospitable, we will become hospitable. Choices can become our habits and our habits can become our nature.

Today, let us live with a spirit of hospitality.

there is no time i feel more alive than when my heart is breaking

happy valentine's day week. for you, a gem from the ever so eternal post secrets:

two longings

Today, I found a hand-written note inside a used book that I recently purchased. I can’t stop thinking about it:

Monday. Packing.

Dear Michael,Wow. I’ve never known a real pilgrim-missionary-journeyman before. You are doing something amazing. Something I could not do right now in my life. I am incredibly proud of you, do you know that?

Yet, I wish I were going – mainly because I will miss you SO much. I can’t imagine how I’ll survive without communicating with you for days and days. I know I’ll think of a thousand things to tell you. You whom I tell everything to – whether you are listening or not.

I wonder what God has in store for you on this pilgrimage. Why have you been chosen to go? What is your lesson? How will it change your life? It does not matter much to me I guess, as long as I am still included in that changed life. Feels like a new era in our story together somehow. Life with you is always an adventure – incredible, and fascinating.

So have fun. Enjoy the adventure that you are undertaking. Remember to journal a lot – for both of us. I know we’ll be connected in spirit as we always are. I know you will be fine and I will be fine and the kids will be fine and your Mom will survive somehow. We have lots more adventures ahead of us. I will be waiting patiently for your safe return so we can continue on together.

Thanks for being such a beautiful, caring, and complex man of service to the world. The people of Haiti will be forever enriched by your presence. I guess it is the least I can do – to share you for a few months. I piece together the paradox – to make peace with the paradox, to find a balance in some larger sense, so that a life can feel whole. I love you forever, Peg