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I have seen many examples of people — especially Christians, and especially pastors — sneering over the trend toward political correctness with more than a hint of condescension. They do this as they go on with their careers in telling everyone else what’s important in life. And this is a problem.
Opposition to political correctness is basically stating: “I’m right, and I don’t want you to tell me that I’m wrong.” It’s saying “I have the full understanding of what’s good and what’s bad, and I don’t have anything to learn from you.” And it’s saying “I fully understand what other people’s situations have been and what should or shouldn’t offend them.” Ultimately, opposition to political correctness is opposition to being corrected. The people who take this stance are generally not at all offended by systems that neglect and disenfranchise people, or by the words of others which actively undermine the respect and humanity of certain people. These same people are often TERRIBLY offended by anything they perceive to be mocking God or mocking anything that aligns with their interpretations of scripture. This is interesting, because being God, he does not actually need to be defended. Conversely, people frequently need very much to be defended. People are the ones at risk of (and routinely subject to) being harmed, killed, abused, oppressed and silenced. God doesn’t need our defense. People do. I wonder if people like this are not actually defending “God” as much as they are defending their own worldviews, and their right to do as they see fit —as gatekeepers of truth. But do we not think that the God who “so loved the world” is terribly offended when people are demeaned, disrespected, injured and subject to injustice? It’s as if the same people who hold up signs reading “God Died for Mankind” also think that being super spiritual means no longer being concerned about mankind. The second half of John 10:10 states “I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.” The phrase “to the full” implies that Jesus is not simply talking about life after death. Scripture doesn’t make mention of some people have “super full life” versus “less full life” in heaven. Jesus wants us to have life, and have it to the full. So what is the opposite of that? The first half of the verse states “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy.” These are the very things humans do to each other. On earth. In human situations and human systems and human relationships and human interactions. The poor are stolen from by autocracies and injustices, people are killed by angry humans and by words (Matthew 15:22), and people are destroyed both internally and externally by the refusal of others to stand against the aims of the enemy. And make no mistake, the fact that someone is a Christian in no way limits their ability to act in line with the enemy’s intentions. Every time we disregard someone’s health, someone’s welfare, someone’s quality of life, we are acting in line with the enemy. We are partnering with him in stealing, killing and destroying. “Anyone who isn’t working with me is actually working against me.” Matthew 12:30 NLT. And “working” is just that: work. When people are fighting battles for their own freedom and humanity and we choose to uninvolve ourselves with those battles, we are choosing not to work with the love of God. We are “actually working against” him. So perhaps instead of working so hard at telling other people to believe the same things we do, we should work with God against the schemes of the destroyer, who seeks not only to keep us from God, but also to take as much as he can from our lives on earth. We should be working to bring the opposite of stealing: generosity to all, and the opposite of killing: flourishing life for our fellow creations (Isaiah 55:10-11), and the opposite of destroying: creation, provision and opportunity. If we are disinterested in the level of respect and equality given to those Jesus died for, I question whether our priorities might be further from God’s than we realize. And seeking opportunities to provide basic human respect and consideration through the option of political correctness is one of the easiest ways to show that we are not scornful of the wellbeing of God’s creation. Megan Mercier is an author and homeopath living in Madison, Wisconsin. She writes the fantasy series The Innerland Chronicles and other fictions under the name Windy Phillips, and also passionately writes, speaks and advocates on the topics of abuse, feminism, and the Church's responsibility. Follow her on Twitter @nutmegisme and her blog at sherlocktam.blogspot.com. She owns and runs Freedom Homeopathy during her spare time as a single mom.“
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Transitions are hard—especially transitions that involve leaving and saying goodbye.
I hate saying goodbye. I’m not sure I know anyone who likes saying goodbye. My grandfather used to cry at every goodbye and it was heartbreaking to witness. I started to loathe goodbyes and tried to avoid the pain that came with them. I would “Irish goodbye” and just sort of disappear when the party was still going. This was so much easier. I didn’t have to worry about making anyone sad or wonder if people would miss me as much as I missed them. When it’s over it’s over; just slip away. No muss, no fuss. Except while this avoids pain in the moment, it really isn’t fair to anyone. It doesn’t give people the chance to honor the relationship or experience that has been. Sometimes saying hard things and feeling difficult emotions are important. They provide a sense of closure so you can move on and fully step into the next new thing. I have known I would be leaving the Slate Project and stepping down as co-pastor for some time now. Until now, June 2017 felt sooo far away. Now it is almost here. June 3rd will be my last day. #SlateSpeakITF will be my last event. And the preceding week will be my last time participating in #SlateReads and #SlateSpeak, at least for a time. There needs to be a season when my absence is felt, so I can move on and so the community can move on. There may be a new co-pastor at some point and room needs to be made for that person. I will have a new community to serve and I need time to get to know them and they to know me as we start to build our new life together. It is a very strange thing to feel joy and grief at the same time; to be both happy and sad. I feel like Dolly Parton in Steel Magnolias, “Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion.” The both/and-ness of this time is overwhelming, but much as I/we may want to, we can’t ignore it. It has been an honor to be a part of this community and serving as one of its pastors has been one of the most fulfilling experiences of my life. The relationships I have formed in the Slate Project have been so dear to me and the thought of us not being in each other’s lives is heartbreaking. But, that is where the notion that our relationships will be changed, not ended, is a huge comfort. The ministry we have engaged in is God’s ministry, and even as we part, we remain members of the Body of Christ. Monday May 29th will be my last BreakingBread. During that service and during that week’s #SlateReads and #SlateSpeak there will be a time for saying goodbye and releasing each other from the pastor/community of faith relationship. We will send each other forth into our new ministries, offering gratitude and thanksgiving for what has been and praying encouragement and blessings on what will be. I will be absent from the online community for at least a year, after which my hope is to rejoin you as a member of the community in the summer of 2018. I will forever be grateful for the time when the Slate Project was my home. I pray God will continue to use it to share God’s radical love with the world. May God guide us all as we continue to discern what it means to follow Jesus together and love one another as God loves us. The Rev. Dr. Sara Shisler Goff is priest, writer, artist, activist, human being, and co-founder of @theslateproject. Starting in August Sara will be the chaplain at Seabury Hall, a independent Episcopal college preparatory school on Maui, Hawaii. Originally published on sojo.net.
I was serving as associate pastor to a small church in southern Wisconsin, just a year out of seminary, and I couldn't get out of bed. I slept all the time. I couldn't eat. I couldn't see any future ahead of me. I was filled with a despair I couldn’t put into words. My primary care doctor diagnosed me with anxiety-related depression. It was 2011. There was no way I could tell anyone about this diagnosis. Forget talking about it in regular conversation — I'm a pastor, for God’s sakes, a leader in the Christian church. I couldn’t be dealing with this. I needed to man up, I told myself — I’d get tough, and pull myself out of this nightmare. “Demons” have never been part of my religious vocabulary. Growing up in a fundamentalist Christian community, spending my teens as an agnostic, then becoming a Lutheran pastor, at every turn, my faith journey made me wary of terms like that. I mean, it wasn’t like I was living in a scene from The Exorcist, right? But ever since I began walking with depression, that term has taken on new meaning. Depression lies to me. It is relentless. It tells me I will always feel this way, that I’m not deserving of help, that I am a burden, a waste — that my life is thoroughly hopeless. The demon of depression tells me that this is my fault. It tells me that I am utterly alone. Mark’s gospel, in particular, depicts numerous instances in which a demon is present. The possessed person is often blamed for this, but Jesus never uses that logic himself. He doesn’t condemn a possessed person for their reality, and he doesn’t tell them to just get over it. Jesus does what Jesus does: He heals them. To read the rest of the article click here. Originally published on sojo.net.
They devoted themselves to the apostles' teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer. Everyone was filled with awe at the many wonders and signs performed by the apostles. All the believers were together and had everything in common. They sold property and possessions to give anyone who had need. Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts, praising God and enjoying the favor of all the people. And the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved. (Acts 2:42-47) One of the first things that happened as the church was born that first Pentecost, 2000 years ago, is that Christians started sharing everything they had. They worshipped in their homes. The gospel was lived out of dinner tables and living rooms. Scripture says, “No one claimed any of their possessions were their own, but they shared everything they had ... and there were no needy persons among them … They put their offerings at the feet of the apostles, and they were distributed as people had need [and] there were no needy persons among them.” This witness has so much to teach our world. In contrast, it was the ethic of the early Christians that no one had a right to more than they need while others have less. Basil the Great said, "When someone steals another's clothes, we call them a thief. Should we not give the same name to one who could clothe the naked and does not?"We are living in a time of unprecedented economic disparity between the rich and the poor, the haves and the have-nots. Masses live in poverty so that a handful of people can live as they wish. The world’s three richest people own more than the combined economies of 48 countries. The average CEO in the U.S. is making 335 times the average worker. To read more click here. We live in a scarcity culture. It thrives on tricking us into believing and then embodying lies: There is not enough to go around—not enough money, not enough love, not enough success, not enough happiness, not enough pleasure, not enough joy, not enough time, not enough…
We are taught to believe that we are not enough. Women especially are taught this. We learn to breathe in desperation and taught it is our true nature, even though it suffocates and slowly kills us. We learn to survive by not being enough. It is the only way we know how to be. What do we do when we glimpse another way? When the light finally breaks in and we see? I am learning how important it is to share that “new reality” with another person so they can also see—beholding it together helps to make it real. This past weekend, I spent time with two very different communities. One was a gathering of Episcopalians who are working to discern and discover new ways of being church—ways that are truer to the heart of what it means to follow Jesus. The other was a group of women seeking to reclaim (or discover for the first time) their true selves through connecting to the source of their divine power within their feminine bodies. To an outsider these groups and their intended purposes for gathering might seem completely divergent. But there are so many common themes, so many common desires, not least of which is a deep desire to connect to a source that is greater than themselves - and this divine source is Infinite Abundance. People shared story after story about connecting to this Divine Abundance and through this witnessing of one another’s liberation, those who were witness experienced their own setting free. While we spend so much of our time dwelling in fear, this Divine Source is at our fingertips, closer than our very breath, living and moving inside of each of us and in the currents between all of us. One possible reason we so easily believe the lie that we are not enough is because we are terrified of our “too-much-ness.” As Marianne Williams writes in A Return to Love: “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?' Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.” The gift these communities gave to their participants was the space to share all that is being felt, experienced, struggled with and sought after - AND to witness to the new creations each person is co-creating herself to be. She is co-creating her Truest Self with God and with her community. Whether it is in communities that call themselves church, or in groups of women who call themselves sisters, every time a person has the chance to share her story in a group where she can be witnessed, heard, loved and held, she can remember that she is enough and more than enough, because she is connected to the Source of all that is. How do we learn to see a new, truer reality that the Divine lives in each one of us? How do we unlearn years, lifetimes, of conditioning that have taught us not to trust in who we really are? How do we tap into abundance so we can create even more? One way is through witnessing and affirming each other’s too-much-ness, the source of overflowing creativity and joy that is the heart of our true nature. If it feels like too much, find a community to share it with—digest it! Let the joy flow out of you and into others so you can make room for even more. We must train ourselves to tap into our own power, the power of God that is within us. We cannot serve the world by denying who we truly are. The power we need to change the world lies within each one of us. Recognizing that power in each of us, helps to set us all free. Sara Shisler Goff is priest, writer, artist, activist, human being, and co-founder of @theslateproject. The dirt covered snow melts away as the sun reflects on it. The ground gives way to new life as Spring beckons forth. Leaves returning to the trees, grass beginning to peak through the melting snow, the sound of birds returning from their winter migration, water puddles for children to gleefully play in. Growing up, this was also the time of the year when baby calves would be born. All of these returning signs reminding us all that a new season of life is once again dawning.
As the seasons change, new life proclaims that light not darkness and life not death have the ultimate word. So as the sun rises on Easter morning and shouts of “alleluia” permeate the air, the resurrection of Jesus opens the sky to the glory of new life. In the words of Clarence W. Hall, “Easter says you can put death in the grave, but it won’t stay there.” In other words, Jesus’ life, death, and ultimately resurrection change the world. Jesus’ death transforms the world. It rouses a deaf world to the brokenness that is set before it. Jesus’ death opens our eyes and ears to see those who are in need in this broken fractured world. Jesus’ death beckons us to “love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us” even when that is easier said than done. Jesus’ death calls us to “do justice, love kindness and mercy and walk humbly with our God.” (Micah 6:8 NRSV) In our Easter shouts of “Alleluia,” we proclaim our trust in the promise of this one who God sent into the world for each of us. “For God so loved the world that God sent God’s one and only son into the world for each of us (John 3:16)” God sent God’s son not to condemn the world, but to save it. “This is how much God loved the world: He gave his Son, his one and only Son. And this is why: so that no one need be destroyed; by believing in him, anyone can have a whole and lasting life. God didn’t go to all the trouble of sending his Son merely to point an accusing finger, telling the world how bad it was. He came to help, to put the world right again.” (John 3:16-17; The Message) This amazing scandalous redeeming love springs forth with the promise of life eternal as we proclaim “Christ is risen; He is risen indeed. Alleluia!” Tara Ulrich (@diakonia78) is a single ELCA Lutheran girl called to the ministry of Word and Service who loves the prairies of ND! Jesus-Follower/Author/Sister/Friend. She blogs at prayingontheprairie.blogspot.com Show me your bible and I’ll show you an anthology of pain, struggle, death, rape, heartbreak, loneliness, example after example of the absolute worst of humanity. Show me your newspaper and I’ll point out the same. Where is the God of our faith during seasons of desperation? Where was He when the US bombed Syria, when civilians, children, are being slaughtered in the street? Is He with the missing girls of DC? Did He comfort the many trans women as they lay dying by the hands of unknown assailants across the US? Does He stop by the homes of those affected by lead in their water or calm the fears of those dependent upon the Affordable Health Care Act to live, who worry that at any moment their medicine or treatment could be out of reach? And what of the artist? The poet, the musician, the painter, who depends upon the national endowment to sustain their life’s purpose and add beauty to the world we live in; does He hear their whispered prayers?
Are you there God? It’s me, Stevi. Angry, sad, hurt, confused, scared me. Show me your bible and I will show you the story of Hagar; the story of a servant girl who was forced by her mistress to sleep with her master, became angry with her mistress and subsequently mistreated by the same. She is so like me. Doing her duty and fulfilling a purpose she never asked for, and did so even when she was in a delicate and vulnerable state. No wonder she was mad at Sarai. Sarai who was not yet Sarah the revered mother of old, no, she was Sarai the impatient. She was Sarai the oppressor, the abuser, the user, the sly, the slick, who else would come up with that kind of scheme? Sarai the desperate, that’s who. And Hagar hated her for it. We don’t know much about Hagar either. We don’t know if she was a slave due to a debt or if she was sold by her own family. We don’t know if she came from a lineage of slaves or was a foreigner kidnapped and sold to Sarai. What we do know is that she didn’t have a choice in her pregnancy. And when Sarai mistreated her, she ran off. But then an Angel appeared. The angel told her of Ishmael, which means God Hears, who was to come forth from her womb. God had heard of her misery and sent an angel to intercede. She still had to return to the mess she was running from, for her destiny was forever linked to it. (Sound familiar?) She had to submit to bring forth the wild man, the father of descendants too numerous to count. She had to return so that she could gain what was hers. So now, show me your bible and I’ll show you a collection of stories about redemption, passion, love, forgiveness, power, and hope. Show me your newspaper and I’ll show opportunities to live out our destiny as the children of God. Show me a mirror and I’ll show you Hagar in the reflection. Living in a world I often want to run from, knowing my destiny is tied to it. And God does see me, hear me, is indeed with those who suffer, who die, who cry, who are wounded and weary. And because He so loved this world, His creation, that He would give his own life, God has called us to the fight too. He has called us, His beloved, to share his message in the midst of the mess. He is the God who sees, and knows, and loves, then and now. I have seen the one who sees me, El Roi, and He is with us, even until the end of the age. Stevi is a lover of God and people, a wife, mother, and writer, not necessarily in that order. You can catch her musings on facebook, twitter, and at dearstevi.wordpress.com. “Hope has two beautiful daughters; their names are anger and courage. Anger that things are the way they are. Courage to make them the way they ought to be.” -- Saint Augustine
"Give him a chance," they said. "Hope for the best," they encouraged. "Don’t overreact," they chided. All around me, well meaning Christians repeated phrases they themselves had been told. At first, I tried to listen. I repented to God for my anger towards my brothers and sisters that voted for him. I focused on trying to imagine why and mustered up some compassion, even. But still, the anger returns. And returns. As a white woman in a small town in the Pacific Northwest, I have not had to come face to face with many of the injustices and atrocities that have occurred in other parts of the world. For a long time, I sat under teachers and pastors that simply reinforced my limited view. I felt safe in these parameters set before me, and for years, any time my conscience tried to convince me otherwise, I shoved my ‘flesh’ down into shameful submission. My idea of hope at this time, was centered on my own comforts, safeties and salvation. But then, God smashed that idol. In the span of ten years, I lost a baby, my health, my church, my closest friends, my house and my American Christianity. These losses opened my eyes to the greater reality of the world. Death, medical debt, betrayal and homelessness happens to the just and the unjust. This necessary stripping away of false comforts and ideologies opened up my heart to a greater compassion and camaraderie with fellow sufferers I had never felt before. It opened my eyes and ears to the voices from the margins. It awakened me to a life that was not about self-rightness but the messy work of self-sacrifice. Hope now, has a new meaning. It is not about me. Not about my white feelings or my deliverance. It is not about my comforts. It is not about the approval of the church. My hope is wrapped up in the deliverance of others. My hope is in the imago Dei of all peoples to be respected and heard. My hope is in the true gospel to deliver. Fueled by the righteous anger of systematic injustices, encouraged by the brave words and actions of Jesus. My hope now has feet. Anna Tesch has been married for 16 years, is the mother of three in betweeners, a daughter to supportive parents, a sister, an aunt, and a friend. She works for her local school district, volunteers in an organization providing food for low income students, cooks while listening to records, cuddles babies in her church and writes as a recovering evangelical. She is developing her skills as a photographer and a mixed media artist. You can find some of her work here and follow her on twitter here. Tracing the history of white power and privilege in the United States, and how it is relevant today.It’s time to learn our own history, white people. For real.
This month of created content follows #BlackHistoryMonth with a sardonic reference to the sad refrain that often crops up in white people circles during February; the pathetic query — “but, but…what about a white history month?” To read more click here. The practice of Lent has been a newer experience for me. The emphasis in my evangelical church was always on grace and “Resurrection Sunday”. Penitence had a very bad rap. However, the more I learned about Lent, the more I began to see that growth can occur and even a spiritual clarity through the practice of restricting oneself from things. The things that we abstain from are not inherently bad. Sugar, alcohol, meat, and social media all have their place in the celebration and enjoyment of life. When abused however, they can become controlling and unhealthy not only to ourselves, but others as well. In the giving up of these things that we take pleasure in, we oft come face to face with our weaknesses. Anyone that has suffered from sugar withdrawals knows what I’m talking about.
When I think of the meaning of this word, weakness, I think of the inability to perform or to carry a heavy load, a fragility and a tendency to break down. As a Christian, this makes my stomach churn. Like a movie, immediately what comes to mind is all the times I’ve been told in the church that this is my identity as a woman. Prone to being overly emotional, erratic, limited, inferior, delicate and manipulative. This teaching of weakness in the church has been used to silence and suppress many. I felt shame every time I experienced a strong emotion, spoke ‘out of turn’ or disagreed with men in leadership. When feeling triggered, I turn to Jesus and his radical example in scripture, hoping to redeem this word, weakness. In John 13:3-16 we see what this looks like: “Jesus knew that the Father had put all things under his power, and that he had come from God and was returning to God; so he got up from the meal, took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel around his waist. After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples’ feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around him. Do you understand what I have done for you?” he asked them. “You call me Teacher and Lord, and rightly so, for that is what I am. Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you. Very truly I tell you, no servant is greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them.” Before posturing himself in service, we are reminded of Jesus’ power and his identity. Evelyn Underhill recognizes the beauty in this in her piece, The Divine Condescension when she writes: “And indeed it is above all when we see a human spirit, knowing its own power, choose the path of sacrifice instead of the path of ambition: when we see human courage and generosity blazing out on the heroic levels in the shadow of death; the human agony and utter self-surrender of Gethsemane, the accepted desolation of the Cross, that we recognize a love and holiness which point beyond the world.” Jesus is showing us something here about weakness by first calling attention to power. Power and the ways it is demonstrated in the world we live today is repugnant. It is self-serving, exploitative and brash. It seeks to control, separate, and ostracize ‘the other’. The power Jesus demonstrated is in such a stark contrast as it served ‘the other’, was redemptive, exalted the voices silenced by societal structures, brought people together and provided a place of belonging. It was a power marked by surrender. So, it is during this Lenten season, I find that the weakness I am faced with is not actually the one that historically has been imposed upon me. I reject that misguided teaching within the church. In fact, the weakness I have come face to face with is the tendency to use my own power and privilege for self-interest, self-protection, self-soothing, self-loathing, and self-serving. Instead I am challenged to first recognize the power and privilege I hold in this world, and to strategically lay it down on behalf of the many others that are marginalized, alienated, discriminated against, and even silenced. This is what I am practicing and still learning and I hope that other Christians who hold differing forms of power and privilege will follow Jesus’ lead and do the same. Anna Tesch has been married for 16 years, is the mother of three in betweeners, a daughter to supportive parents, a sister, an aunt, and a friend. She works for her local school district, volunteers in an organization providing food for low income students, cooks while listening to records, cuddles babies in her church and writes as a recovering evangelical. She is developing her skills as a photographer and a mixed media artist. You can find some of her work here and follow her on twitter @AnnaBreeT. |
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