Once upon a time…
Once upon a time there was a certain miller who bit by bit had fallen into poverty. He had nothing left but his mill and a large apple tree which grew behind it. One day the miller went into the forest to cut wood.
We look especially at the first line of a fairy tale because it tells us the state of affairs. It pronounces the diagnosis of the culture as much as it describes the condition of the story. (Here All Dwell Free: Stories to Heal the Wounded Feminine by Gertrud Mueller Nelson)
Once upon a time…
An amazing tale (whether fairy or not) begins in Genesis 1 and 2. It is rife with beauty and imagination, powerful meaning and theology. We’d love for the fairy tale to continue; for these first two chapters to be our happily ever after. But because the story is so good, because it piques our imagination and our deepest longings and hopes, we keep turning the pages. It’s not too long before we happen upon Genesis 3. And truth be told, this is the part of the narrative that has captured our attention, our imagination, our patterns, our pathology for hundreds if not thousands of years. It is Genesis 3 that has done (and undone) much as it relates to men and women, the powerful and the marginalized, our imagery of God, our experience of shame, our understanding of evil. It is Genesis 3 that feels so familiar and so laden – with a tree, an apple, a serpent, a woman, a man, accusation, guilt, misunderstanding, disappointment, banishment. What if there was a different way to tell it? What if we could start again?
Once upon a time…
Adam and Eve walked freely through the Garden, discovering every creature and naming each one. They explored every plant, flower, and yes, tree then named all but one. Given such, neither happening upon a tree with beautiful apples nor a serpent that talked would send them reeling. You have to wonder if they were surprised at all. What else would they have known? What sake of comparison could they possible proffer? Why would they, even for a moment doubt or question anything around them given that their entire reality was subsumed in amazing creativity, endless generosity, and an embodied love in the God with whom they walked in the cool of the day? If we can even begin to imagine this setting, this freedom, this love, then it seems we can also imagine anew the dialogue between Eve and the serpent.
Once upon a time…
1 Now the serpent was more crafty than any of the wild animals the LORD God had made. He said to the woman, "Did God really say, 'You must not eat from any tree in the garden'?"
Is “crafty” bad? Other translations say shrewd, clever, or even subtle. I don’t think I’m alone in making this nearly instantaneous judgment when the serpent appears on the scene. But I wonder what would happen if we didn’t, if we, like Adam and Eve, had a bit more curiosity about yet one more of the Garden’s miraculous beings as it appears on the scene. And likewise, must we jump to “temptation” when Eve is asked this relatively innocent question by the serpent? Let’s get through at least a few more sentences before we let the plot get (taken) away from us…
2 The woman said to the serpent, "We may eat fruit from the trees in the garden, 3 but God did say, 'You must not eat fruit from the tree that is in the middle of the garden, and you must not touch it, or you will die.' "
Eve answers the question placed before her – simply, clearly, appropriately. Over time (not shockingly) we’ve moved from the serpent’s textually-stated craftiness to an even more acute and explicit stating of Eve’s. We’ve been taught that she is cunning and conniving in her response – adding to God’s words, doing her own interpretation (not so shocking when we acknowledge her as a co-namer with Adam), and setting wheels into motion she can’t undo. Really? Listen anew. With a fresh and untainted perspective, with a moment to breathe and imagine, we might just hear Eve do nothing but respond in conversation – with awareness, context, and even consequence. It continues…
4 "You will not certainly die," the serpent said to the woman. 5 "For God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil."
Truth be told, I still don’t find anything all that evil, crafty, or cunning taking place here. The serpent speaks the truth, nothing more. Truth be told, if we fast forward the story, once the fruit was eaten Adam and Eve did know the difference between good and evil, their eyes were opened, the reality in which they had been living and that they had named, would now change. Not a temptation. Questions. Answers. Responses. Rather, a conversation.
6 When the woman saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom, she took some and ate it. She also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate it.
Adam and Eve walked freely in the garden. They had the power to define and shape every reality around them. Because of such, the act of eating whatever they came upon does not seem out of character, as though some evil event has just occurred, tipping all of creation on its axis. The only thing different about this fruit was that it came from the one tree they had not named; which, in many ways, would only increase their God-given curiosity and hunger. How could they have had any way to understand their behavior as “wrong,” “shameful,” or “bad”? They would have known nothing of any of this. Even God’s earlier words to them, telling them not to eat of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, would have been an odd and easily-ignored request. It would be like a much–loved infant being given the rules of the house – a house in which she is provided for, safe, completely entrusted into the care of a parent. When she is told to not touch the hot stove she hears the words and even the warning, but can’t possibly understand the consequences or the ramifications. Nothing bad has ever happened. No pain has ever existed. No punishment has ever ensued. Adam and Eve, like this child, function in a world that has never betrayed them; a world they have never betrayed. How could they possibly know?
And if they did not, how does this change the way we see them, the way we’ve interpreted them over the years? Our telling of the story has significance. And how it begins makes all the difference. Once upon a time matters.
The same is true in our own stories. We have often had our own lives interpreted one particular way for so long that we have no ability or imagination to see them any other way. And, not coincidentally, the way we tell our own stories is often very similar to the way we’ve (been) told about Genesis 3. Our stories are filled with craftiness (usually interpreted as our own), temptation (usually interpreted that which we’ve succumbed to), shame, evil, guilt, etc. What would happen if, just like with the Biblical narratives, we did the good and hard work of re-imagining; of re-telling some of our own age-old stories in ways that leave room for curiosity and the possibility that we might just not be as “bad” as we’ve always believed? Our own once upon a time matters.
And once upon a time is never the end of the story, is it?
[We] enter "a fairy tale world" but quickly discover that this world offers no "retreat from reality," nor does it invite us to a world of shining bliss. Rather, anguish and darkness are the fairy tale's prevailing tone--the anguish of a lost paradisiacal happiness and the inevitable darkness that enters every life (Here All Dwell Free, Gertrud Mueller Nelson)
Once upon a time does not quickly segue to happily ever after. Just like all stories, the plot thickens...
I’ll write more, but before I do, I want to let this re-imagined once upon a time abide for just a little bit longer. Just as I want to understand Genesis 1 and 2 in a different way, a way that offers me a taste of equal valuing in God’s eyes, of freedom and empowerment, of defining my own reality; so Genesis 3. I deeply want to see and experience Adam and especially Eve in a redeemed, non-evil, non-tempted, non-“it’s the woman’s fault” way. It might just change how I look at the story that follows – and my own. That feels important.
I’d love to hear your thoughts about hitting “refresh” on this text.
What are the risks inherent in not making the serpent quite so clearly (and quickly) the villain?
How do you understand Adam and/or Eve differently if you don’t jump to temptation quite so quickly?
How might you re-imagine God’s interactions with Adam and Eve as a loving, all-protective parent vs. a disappointed, disobeyed one?
Where are the texts in your own life that are so laden with evil or temptation (in other words, your mistakes and sins) that you’ve never been able to imagine anything other? Is it even remotely possible that you might be able to change the once upon a time in your own story?
I hope so. Once upon a time really does matter.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Monday, September 22, 2008
Naming re-imagined: "It is good."
In the 1st chapter of Genesis, the first creation story, God co-missions Adam and Eve to subdue and rule over all they see around them; in effect, to name - to define and call forth all that is. Naming is hugely significant; in such we define our reality, clarify ourselves in relation to people and things, and come to understand our place in the world. In the first creation story this ruling, this naming, was a co-mandate, a privileged task given to Adam and Eve. God understood the importance of naming; it would not only give meaning, definition, and character to all that, but would enable them to give the same to each other and even to themselves. In naming we come to see ourselves as distinct, differentiated individuals.
In the 2nd chapter of Genesis, the second creation story, Adam is alone when the commission to name is given. As he names he discovers none like himself, “no suitable helpmate,” and Eve is then created. And even after her advent into Eden, Adam’s exclusive naming continues: he names her. In the second creation story, Eve’s meaning, definition, and character is determined by Adam. Woman does not take part in defining reality. Because she does not name, she cannot (nor can Adam) see her as distinct and differentiated. She is defined by her name-er. Not surprisingly, it is this second story that has permeated our theology. This loss of co-naming has perpetuated a reality that women have not defined, but instead have been defined by.
I could go into great detail about why this occurred, the cultural realities through the ages that created a hierarchy of order placing man at the top, then women, children, animals, and finally, the earth at the very bottom. But this space is not for that critique. Instead, what I’d rather consider is what might happen if we re-imagined a created world in which a woman’s naming is a given, is assumed, is requested and sought; where a woman’s naming creates meaning, definition, and character not only for the reality in which we live, but for ourselves.
Before I go further, let me state how important it is that we not only understand, but also not abandon the second story. It has its own element of “naming.” In it we can recognize and define what has been lost with the absence of a woman’s mandate to co-name. In many ways, we regain that voice by reading this story anew and seeing clearly the way it’s been misunderstood and misused; by naming that this trajectory began in our very first story (within the Judeo-Christian tradition), our earliest embedded memories, the beginning of the beginning; by re-naming it in ways that offer it and all of humanity a re-entry into Eden.
To name is to define and shape reality. For eons women have accepted male naming as a given, especially in the spiritual realm. The fact is, for a long time now men have been naming the world, God, sacred reality, and even women from their own masculine perspective and experience and then calling it universal experience. As a feminist culture critic, Elizabeth Dodson Gray points out, this naming tended to benefit men’s needs and concerns and in lots of cases to oppress women. Was it such a wild thought that women might start naming God, sacred reality, and their own lives themselves? (The Dance of the Dissident Daughter, Sue Monk Kidd)
There is opportunity here to re-create, to re-enter Eden, to re-tell the story, and to re-name not only ourselves but the God with whom we walk(ed) in the cool of the day.
Eve walked through the garden with Adam and saw what he did – for the first time. She was not escorted, her arm held politely, with Adam introducing, informing, teaching, or shepherding her through all lay before them. No. She walked freely, humbly, authoritatively, with awe, intuition, and primal knowledge flowing from her. All that surrounded was hers, theirs, equally. Everything to “rule and subdue,” to name was hers, theirs, equally. Together, equally, woman and man walked through the Garden; side by side, in unison, in mutuality, in freedom and joy, in shared and differentiated relationship with God.
Did they have disagreements about what to name a particular animal or plant? Did they cast lots to make the final call? Did they take turns? Did Adam’s choice have the most weight? Or did they just know and trust one another and the beauty and extravagance within which they walked – enough to hear, see, and name with complete acceptance?
We must re-imagine in this way…and then some. We must consider anew and with great creativity how these scenes might be re-envisioned and re-named again and again. We’ve heard these stories for thousands of years, and nearly always the same way. We must re-tell them and re-place ourselves within them – not as we’ve been told, as has been assumed, but as we only dare to dream. And then we must let the tapes roll forward, re-playing each and every scene and narrative that follows, recognizing that everything begins to change within and because of this first story.
To understand why the Eden story is so important we have to remember the extraordinary way origin myths operate in our psyches. In a way humans are not made of skin and bone as much as we’re made of stories. The Eden myth perhaps more than any other floats in our cells, informing our vision of ourselves and the world. (The Dance of the Dissident Daughter, Sue Monk Kidd)
And for me, the ramifications are vaster and more profound than I can possibly contain within this post. The power to name changes everything – past, present, and future. Though this is a blanket statement, women through the ages have had everything named for them. Their reality has been defined outside their own power or influence. There has been little to no distinction of women apart from men and the pursuit (or even intimation) of such has been wracked with tension and pain from the beginning. Yes, more and more frequently we now seek and even find such, but often at great cost, great pain, and great un-naming of all that we had once known.
What if we claim the first creation story as our own and step boldly into what God offered, invited, and intended in these earliest of texts? How might we name and define ourselves? How might we name and define our worlds? And how might we name and define our god(s)? Undoubtedly, in all three of these realms, new naming (and perhaps even re-calling names that have only been whispered by brave women through the ages) would occur.
The limits of space and time press on me – already, just over 1000 words in. The desire to name even what this post summons in me is powerful. If unlimited and truly free to name at will all of creation, I would be unbridled, untamed, unlimited. I would go back through every story – from Genesis to Revelation – and re-name what I’ve been told (and what my daughters have been told) in new, redemptive, powerful, and transformative ways. (That is, in large part what this blog site is for!) I would go back through every one of my own stories – from birth to today, at 47 years old – and re-name what I’ve experienced in new, truth-filled, un-censored, beautiful, and freedom-filled ways. I would listen to the stories of countless women, those I know and millions around the world – and celebrate wildly as they boldly and authoritatively re-name themselves, their worlds, their god(s).
I must stop, at least for now, knowing that the thrill, privilege, and responsibility of much re-naming and re-imagining remains in posts yet to follow. For now, here’s what I ask you (and myself) to consider:
What has been lost in accepting the 2nd creation story as the sense-making/reality-naming one?
How do I now re-create a world in which the 1st creation story is at least an equally abiding template through which I understand my role, my importance, my relation to men, my value to God?
Where have I accepted the names I’ve been given, the names that have been given to my reality?
Can I begin to imagine the name I’d give myself if it was up to me?
Can I begin to imagine a god that I have named from my own perspective, experience, and reality vs. a god that has been imaged, understood, and experienced through nearly exclusive naming by men?
Here’s a start…
Genesis 1: 27 So God created humankind in her own image, in the image of God she created them; female and male she created them. 28 God blessed them and said to them, "Be fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it. [Name what you see and experience!] Rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air and over every living creature that moves on the ground." 29 Then God said, "I give you every seed-bearing plant on the face of the whole earth and every tree that has fruit with seed in it. They will be yours for food. 30 And to all the beasts of the earth and all the birds of the air and all the creatures that move on the ground—everything that has the breath of life in it—I give every green plant for food." And it was so. 31 God saw all that she had made, and it was very good.
Will you name? The privilege, opportunity, and power is yours and mine. Imagine it! It is very good!
Women will starve in
silence until new stories
are created which confer
on them the power of
naming themselves.
Sarah Gilbert & Susan Gubar
Next up: Genesis 3 and the possiblity of re-imagining the serpent, The Fall, the woman...
In the 2nd chapter of Genesis, the second creation story, Adam is alone when the commission to name is given. As he names he discovers none like himself, “no suitable helpmate,” and Eve is then created. And even after her advent into Eden, Adam’s exclusive naming continues: he names her. In the second creation story, Eve’s meaning, definition, and character is determined by Adam. Woman does not take part in defining reality. Because she does not name, she cannot (nor can Adam) see her as distinct and differentiated. She is defined by her name-er. Not surprisingly, it is this second story that has permeated our theology. This loss of co-naming has perpetuated a reality that women have not defined, but instead have been defined by.
I could go into great detail about why this occurred, the cultural realities through the ages that created a hierarchy of order placing man at the top, then women, children, animals, and finally, the earth at the very bottom. But this space is not for that critique. Instead, what I’d rather consider is what might happen if we re-imagined a created world in which a woman’s naming is a given, is assumed, is requested and sought; where a woman’s naming creates meaning, definition, and character not only for the reality in which we live, but for ourselves.
Before I go further, let me state how important it is that we not only understand, but also not abandon the second story. It has its own element of “naming.” In it we can recognize and define what has been lost with the absence of a woman’s mandate to co-name. In many ways, we regain that voice by reading this story anew and seeing clearly the way it’s been misunderstood and misused; by naming that this trajectory began in our very first story (within the Judeo-Christian tradition), our earliest embedded memories, the beginning of the beginning; by re-naming it in ways that offer it and all of humanity a re-entry into Eden.
To name is to define and shape reality. For eons women have accepted male naming as a given, especially in the spiritual realm. The fact is, for a long time now men have been naming the world, God, sacred reality, and even women from their own masculine perspective and experience and then calling it universal experience. As a feminist culture critic, Elizabeth Dodson Gray points out, this naming tended to benefit men’s needs and concerns and in lots of cases to oppress women. Was it such a wild thought that women might start naming God, sacred reality, and their own lives themselves? (The Dance of the Dissident Daughter, Sue Monk Kidd)
There is opportunity here to re-create, to re-enter Eden, to re-tell the story, and to re-name not only ourselves but the God with whom we walk(ed) in the cool of the day.
Eve walked through the garden with Adam and saw what he did – for the first time. She was not escorted, her arm held politely, with Adam introducing, informing, teaching, or shepherding her through all lay before them. No. She walked freely, humbly, authoritatively, with awe, intuition, and primal knowledge flowing from her. All that surrounded was hers, theirs, equally. Everything to “rule and subdue,” to name was hers, theirs, equally. Together, equally, woman and man walked through the Garden; side by side, in unison, in mutuality, in freedom and joy, in shared and differentiated relationship with God.
Did they have disagreements about what to name a particular animal or plant? Did they cast lots to make the final call? Did they take turns? Did Adam’s choice have the most weight? Or did they just know and trust one another and the beauty and extravagance within which they walked – enough to hear, see, and name with complete acceptance?
We must re-imagine in this way…and then some. We must consider anew and with great creativity how these scenes might be re-envisioned and re-named again and again. We’ve heard these stories for thousands of years, and nearly always the same way. We must re-tell them and re-place ourselves within them – not as we’ve been told, as has been assumed, but as we only dare to dream. And then we must let the tapes roll forward, re-playing each and every scene and narrative that follows, recognizing that everything begins to change within and because of this first story.
To understand why the Eden story is so important we have to remember the extraordinary way origin myths operate in our psyches. In a way humans are not made of skin and bone as much as we’re made of stories. The Eden myth perhaps more than any other floats in our cells, informing our vision of ourselves and the world. (The Dance of the Dissident Daughter, Sue Monk Kidd)
And for me, the ramifications are vaster and more profound than I can possibly contain within this post. The power to name changes everything – past, present, and future. Though this is a blanket statement, women through the ages have had everything named for them. Their reality has been defined outside their own power or influence. There has been little to no distinction of women apart from men and the pursuit (or even intimation) of such has been wracked with tension and pain from the beginning. Yes, more and more frequently we now seek and even find such, but often at great cost, great pain, and great un-naming of all that we had once known.
What if we claim the first creation story as our own and step boldly into what God offered, invited, and intended in these earliest of texts? How might we name and define ourselves? How might we name and define our worlds? And how might we name and define our god(s)? Undoubtedly, in all three of these realms, new naming (and perhaps even re-calling names that have only been whispered by brave women through the ages) would occur.
The limits of space and time press on me – already, just over 1000 words in. The desire to name even what this post summons in me is powerful. If unlimited and truly free to name at will all of creation, I would be unbridled, untamed, unlimited. I would go back through every story – from Genesis to Revelation – and re-name what I’ve been told (and what my daughters have been told) in new, redemptive, powerful, and transformative ways. (That is, in large part what this blog site is for!) I would go back through every one of my own stories – from birth to today, at 47 years old – and re-name what I’ve experienced in new, truth-filled, un-censored, beautiful, and freedom-filled ways. I would listen to the stories of countless women, those I know and millions around the world – and celebrate wildly as they boldly and authoritatively re-name themselves, their worlds, their god(s).
I must stop, at least for now, knowing that the thrill, privilege, and responsibility of much re-naming and re-imagining remains in posts yet to follow. For now, here’s what I ask you (and myself) to consider:
What has been lost in accepting the 2nd creation story as the sense-making/reality-naming one?
How do I now re-create a world in which the 1st creation story is at least an equally abiding template through which I understand my role, my importance, my relation to men, my value to God?
Where have I accepted the names I’ve been given, the names that have been given to my reality?
Can I begin to imagine the name I’d give myself if it was up to me?
Can I begin to imagine a god that I have named from my own perspective, experience, and reality vs. a god that has been imaged, understood, and experienced through nearly exclusive naming by men?
Here’s a start…
Genesis 1: 27 So God created humankind in her own image, in the image of God she created them; female and male she created them. 28 God blessed them and said to them, "Be fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it. [Name what you see and experience!] Rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air and over every living creature that moves on the ground." 29 Then God said, "I give you every seed-bearing plant on the face of the whole earth and every tree that has fruit with seed in it. They will be yours for food. 30 And to all the beasts of the earth and all the birds of the air and all the creatures that move on the ground—everything that has the breath of life in it—I give every green plant for food." And it was so. 31 God saw all that she had made, and it was very good.
Will you name? The privilege, opportunity, and power is yours and mine. Imagine it! It is very good!
Women will starve in
silence until new stories
are created which confer
on them the power of
naming themselves.
Sarah Gilbert & Susan Gubar
Next up: Genesis 3 and the possiblity of re-imagining the serpent, The Fall, the woman...
Sunday, September 21, 2008
From Silence to Lyricism
These words come from The Dance of the Dissident Daughter by Sue Monk Kidd. With four sections to the book, Awareness, Initiation, Grounding, and Empowerment, it's from the final one, Empowerment, that she offers a few paragraphs titled, From Silence to Lyricism. She tells the story of Sappho, a poet of ancient Greece who
"...was not silent at all but extravagantly lyrical. In Sappho, the Western world heard perhaps for the first time in written history the lush, creative voice of the female. Her lyric voice graced the world with a power that was unsurpassed. While male poets of her day were writing and singing of war, politics, and worldly commerce, the lyric Sappho sang poems about love and suffering, about orchids and crickets and the moon in its roundness. At times her voice was joyful and sublime, other times insulting and ironic, but it was always fired with individual truth."
Monk Kidd continues,
"The silent Sappho came later, as her voice was condemned by patriarchy. In 350 C.E. the bishop of Constantinople ordered her writings burned wherever found. Today, of the more than five hundred poems she wrote, only seven hundred lines or fragments remain...The lyric Sappho is [an] image of an empowered female self. She is the woman in us who takes up her real work, creates, sings her verses to the world."
I want to be that woman - one who takes up my real work, creates, and sings my verses to the world. At the same time, I know of my own resistance to such; the voice inside me that says I have nothing worthwhile to create or sing, that no one would really want to hear me. Again, Sue Monk Kidd speaks to my doubt:
"The first step toward lyricism is simply acknowledging our creativity. Second, we must explore it. Ask yourself, “What is my deepest passion, really? What moves me profoundly?” And let the answer float up from the truest, most vulnerable place in your heart. Greet this answer like it is your own newborn self being placed in your arms. Love it. Bond with it. Feed it. Don’t push it aside, minimize, make excuses, and starve this thing of beauty, because this answer is the window into your creative life."
So, that's what this blog is for: a place for me to answer the question, "What is my deepest passion, really?" A place to serve as a window into my creative life - into the truest, most vulnerable place in my heart.
At least at this point in time, my deepest passion is to re-tell Biblical narratives, particularly those of women, in ways that allow us to re-imagine ourselves as deeply connected to and part of the Divine; to know, celebrate, and live out our profound beauty and power; to know the blessing, strength, and validation generously offered and invited through new images of God and self, to understand who we are as imago dei - amazing, glorious, and silent no more - indeed, lyrical.
Even as I type these words I feel a shudder of excitement; a nervousness, yes, but even more, an awareness that I might just be stepping into what I'm most about. Truth be told, what I most desire to offer other women is what I most desire for myself: to move from silence to lyricism, from edited thoughts and words to freedom and truth, from self-doubt and condemnation to a lived-into-awareness of carrying the Divine within me and offering it to the world around me.
Another quote from The Dance of the Dissident Daughter speaks profoundly to me and articulates even further what I hope to create in this space:
"The ultimate authority of my life is not the Bible; it is not confined between the covers of a book. It is not something written by men and frozen in time. It is not from a source outside myself. My ultimate authority is the divine voice in my own soul. Period."
Because I have come, albeit haltingly, to hear the divine voice in my own soul, I now feel like I can return to the Bible, to the stories it tells, to the women in its pages and let the Divine voice speak anew - through me, through each of them - to women that need to hear, to my daughters that need to hear, to a church that needs to hear, to men that need to hear, to a world that needs to hear.
Daunting? Yes. But it is time for me to "simply acknowledge [my] creativity..." I must "let the answer float up from the truest, most vulnerable place in [my] heart...[not] push it aside, minimize, make excuses, and starve this thing of beauty..."
May I (and all of us) be like the lyric Sappho. May she be "the woman in us who takes up her real work, creates, sings her verses to the world."
From Silence to Lyricism. May it be so.
Oh...and my next post? Starting from the beginning: Genesis 1-2.
"...was not silent at all but extravagantly lyrical. In Sappho, the Western world heard perhaps for the first time in written history the lush, creative voice of the female. Her lyric voice graced the world with a power that was unsurpassed. While male poets of her day were writing and singing of war, politics, and worldly commerce, the lyric Sappho sang poems about love and suffering, about orchids and crickets and the moon in its roundness. At times her voice was joyful and sublime, other times insulting and ironic, but it was always fired with individual truth."
Monk Kidd continues,
"The silent Sappho came later, as her voice was condemned by patriarchy. In 350 C.E. the bishop of Constantinople ordered her writings burned wherever found. Today, of the more than five hundred poems she wrote, only seven hundred lines or fragments remain...The lyric Sappho is [an] image of an empowered female self. She is the woman in us who takes up her real work, creates, sings her verses to the world."
I want to be that woman - one who takes up my real work, creates, and sings my verses to the world. At the same time, I know of my own resistance to such; the voice inside me that says I have nothing worthwhile to create or sing, that no one would really want to hear me. Again, Sue Monk Kidd speaks to my doubt:
"The first step toward lyricism is simply acknowledging our creativity. Second, we must explore it. Ask yourself, “What is my deepest passion, really? What moves me profoundly?” And let the answer float up from the truest, most vulnerable place in your heart. Greet this answer like it is your own newborn self being placed in your arms. Love it. Bond with it. Feed it. Don’t push it aside, minimize, make excuses, and starve this thing of beauty, because this answer is the window into your creative life."
So, that's what this blog is for: a place for me to answer the question, "What is my deepest passion, really?" A place to serve as a window into my creative life - into the truest, most vulnerable place in my heart.
At least at this point in time, my deepest passion is to re-tell Biblical narratives, particularly those of women, in ways that allow us to re-imagine ourselves as deeply connected to and part of the Divine; to know, celebrate, and live out our profound beauty and power; to know the blessing, strength, and validation generously offered and invited through new images of God and self, to understand who we are as imago dei - amazing, glorious, and silent no more - indeed, lyrical.
Even as I type these words I feel a shudder of excitement; a nervousness, yes, but even more, an awareness that I might just be stepping into what I'm most about. Truth be told, what I most desire to offer other women is what I most desire for myself: to move from silence to lyricism, from edited thoughts and words to freedom and truth, from self-doubt and condemnation to a lived-into-awareness of carrying the Divine within me and offering it to the world around me.
Another quote from The Dance of the Dissident Daughter speaks profoundly to me and articulates even further what I hope to create in this space:
"The ultimate authority of my life is not the Bible; it is not confined between the covers of a book. It is not something written by men and frozen in time. It is not from a source outside myself. My ultimate authority is the divine voice in my own soul. Period."
Because I have come, albeit haltingly, to hear the divine voice in my own soul, I now feel like I can return to the Bible, to the stories it tells, to the women in its pages and let the Divine voice speak anew - through me, through each of them - to women that need to hear, to my daughters that need to hear, to a church that needs to hear, to men that need to hear, to a world that needs to hear.
Daunting? Yes. But it is time for me to "simply acknowledge [my] creativity..." I must "let the answer float up from the truest, most vulnerable place in [my] heart...[not] push it aside, minimize, make excuses, and starve this thing of beauty..."
May I (and all of us) be like the lyric Sappho. May she be "the woman in us who takes up her real work, creates, sings her verses to the world."
From Silence to Lyricism. May it be so.
Oh...and my next post? Starting from the beginning: Genesis 1-2.
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