Can you hear me now?
Ahh, General Convention. That triennial behemoth of Episco-nerds gathered together, mostly to argue (lol jkjkjkjk...but only kinda).
Let me start by saying I had a great time, overall, despite some serious pain due to fibromyalgia and migraines. I got to catch up with some absolutely excellent folks that I love and adore. I was able to meet a whole bunch of new people who have now been added to that list for the next time. And I count myself as lucky that recovery time for this ended up being a 1:1 endeavor (i.e. a one week event, and it took 1 week home before I was functional again. If this seems ridiculous to you...welcome to life with Fibro, because that's actually a 50% improvement from my average).
All in all, I enjoyed it enough to go back. Which is good, because there were enough things that frustrated me that signifies I'm probably going to HAVE to go back or risk ignoring an obvious call of the Holy Spirit.
Goal: continue going to General Convention until no one has to feel like a zoo animal just because they aren't "the norm".
As it likely comes a no surprise to those who already inhabit the pews of an Episcopal church, there are a lot of things that just aren't typical to find there. If I ever think for too long that I truly belong, someone always manages to make a comment (even well meaning) that coveys the message that I'm unusual or, to some sub-textual degree: unwelcome. Some days it's something innocuous, like "why do you need to wear high heels when you're already so tall?!?!". Other times, it's a slight, such as continuing to call me a "youth". Often, it's the eye-roll-inducing well wishes of "I hope you get better soon." after discussing my health. The comments of, "one day you'll understand this part of the scriptures. Once you're a parent." get a spot on this list too. Plus, any and all commentary that I "shouldn't worry too much" about the financial life of my church.
This may seem like a long list, but I know that I'm already rather privileged that it isn't a good deal longer. I'm not a racial minority, or living rough on the street, or any of the large number of other things that apparently qualify a person to have scripture hurled at them as a weapon instead of loved as a child made in the image of God. And yes, this does still happen in Episcopal churches, and many other places, too.
But the bottom line is this: any list of things that make someone feel unwelcome in a church is too long a list.
While such comments or actions simply frustrate me, they can be so much worse for others. In this respect, the larger Episcopal church, as evidenced by my observations, still. isn't. listening.
I'm not mad because I feel left out of full equality as a member of a parish. God never left me out. Jesus didn't talk down to me. Not once. Not ever. But I am frustrated, because by leaving me out, by leaving others out, the church, the Body of Christ, has self-amputated vital parts of the body, and by example of the human body, if you cut out too many things: you will die. It may not be instant, and in this metaphor, it's definitely a slow and painful thing, but it is assured.
I heard out of the mouths of many: if the Episcopal Church doesn't start listening to its members who admit they are not well represented, it will lose their valuable perspective, advice, wisdom, and spiritual clarity. I witnessed this said in various ways: by members of the Episcopal church in Navajoland; the bishops and representatives of the Spanish-speaking Province IX dioceses; the diocese of Haiti (the largest single diocese, without any French-Creole translated resources); the delegates and members who identify as Deaf and Disabled; the Official Youth Presence (under 18); the Young Adult Festival (OVER 18); and many others. I heard them all say: "If you cannot do the work to make room for us and our experiences, you will miss out on all the wonderful things we already know, that you may not."
As someone who gave up my language of origin to serve and learn from the church in Brazil, I can personally attest to the fact that, sometimes, English sucks. It doesn't always have the same richness of meaning and subtext as other dialects. It has major flaws, especially in how we talk about LOVE (which seems a pretty fatal flaw when the topic is God...but maybe that's just me). Some things are far more eye-opening when compared cross-linguistically. But, unless we do the work of allocating resources to translations, and the personal work of becoming bilingual to some degree, then we get nowhere.
As someone who battles with both mental and physical long term diagnoses, I've joked before (to those that I know will hold my twisted humor in a safe and respectful place) that, if we see the individual as being comprised of "body, mind, and spirit" then I'm at a major advantage when it comes to faith. See, my body literally gives out on me unexpectedly and often daily. It is unreliable at best, and a severe hindrance on worse days. Likewise, my brain is a known liar, altering the truth of the world and feeding my heart spun falsehoods about my worth, the thoughts and feelings of others, and even my future potential. My brain sometimes gives me "superpowers" and sometimes it has tried to make me end my life. And just when everything seems to be going well, it can so easily get ruined.
So if I cannot 100% trust my body, and I can't always trust my mind, then I am left with only one thing: spirit. It is my faith that keeps me connected to a world that needs me in it. My prayers are what keep me whole when everything simultaneously falls apart. When worldly issues seemed insurmountable, my relationship with Jesus and my unerring counsel from the Holy Spirit did what was necessary to save my life; to motivate me; to give me hope. And to do it regardless of the earthly resources I had. My faith allowed me to give up all I had, to drop it, and to go where I was called to serve. And then do it all again in order to go home for the next call.
I wish "the church" truly knew how wonderful and resilient the faith is for those of us who society often casts off as lesser. Faith untested yields faith un-grown.
So for now, I'll leave you to sit with all of this. Please, ponder it for a while. If it feels uncomfortable, that's okay. It's okay to feel that way for a while. Discomfort is not always the problem, sometimes it is the beginning of a solution. I'll tell you now, there will be a part 2 to this post, because there is so much more to be shared and said. In the mean time, though, I ask that you try this by yourself or with a small group: think of whom you may have left by the sidelines when it comes to big matters of faith. Who is missing? Whose voice is silenced or absent? What bit of the Body of Christ has been amputated in your world? And what would it look like to reattach them?
I figure I'll know our church is progressing toward equality when my absence garners more note than does my presence. This article speaks mainly about this in the context of disabilities, but the quote towards the end by John Swinton sums it up for far more than just those individuals:
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| The Young Adult Festival meets with Presiding Bishop Curry (Photo cred: Episcopal Young Adult Ministries) |
Let me start by saying I had a great time, overall, despite some serious pain due to fibromyalgia and migraines. I got to catch up with some absolutely excellent folks that I love and adore. I was able to meet a whole bunch of new people who have now been added to that list for the next time. And I count myself as lucky that recovery time for this ended up being a 1:1 endeavor (i.e. a one week event, and it took 1 week home before I was functional again. If this seems ridiculous to you...welcome to life with Fibro, because that's actually a 50% improvement from my average).
All in all, I enjoyed it enough to go back. Which is good, because there were enough things that frustrated me that signifies I'm probably going to HAVE to go back or risk ignoring an obvious call of the Holy Spirit.
Goal: continue going to General Convention until no one has to feel like a zoo animal just because they aren't "the norm".
As it likely comes a no surprise to those who already inhabit the pews of an Episcopal church, there are a lot of things that just aren't typical to find there. If I ever think for too long that I truly belong, someone always manages to make a comment (even well meaning) that coveys the message that I'm unusual or, to some sub-textual degree: unwelcome. Some days it's something innocuous, like "why do you need to wear high heels when you're already so tall?!?!". Other times, it's a slight, such as continuing to call me a "youth". Often, it's the eye-roll-inducing well wishes of "I hope you get better soon." after discussing my health. The comments of, "one day you'll understand this part of the scriptures. Once you're a parent." get a spot on this list too. Plus, any and all commentary that I "shouldn't worry too much" about the financial life of my church.
This may seem like a long list, but I know that I'm already rather privileged that it isn't a good deal longer. I'm not a racial minority, or living rough on the street, or any of the large number of other things that apparently qualify a person to have scripture hurled at them as a weapon instead of loved as a child made in the image of God. And yes, this does still happen in Episcopal churches, and many other places, too.
But the bottom line is this: any list of things that make someone feel unwelcome in a church is too long a list.
While such comments or actions simply frustrate me, they can be so much worse for others. In this respect, the larger Episcopal church, as evidenced by my observations, still. isn't. listening.
I'm not mad because I feel left out of full equality as a member of a parish. God never left me out. Jesus didn't talk down to me. Not once. Not ever. But I am frustrated, because by leaving me out, by leaving others out, the church, the Body of Christ, has self-amputated vital parts of the body, and by example of the human body, if you cut out too many things: you will die. It may not be instant, and in this metaphor, it's definitely a slow and painful thing, but it is assured.
I heard out of the mouths of many: if the Episcopal Church doesn't start listening to its members who admit they are not well represented, it will lose their valuable perspective, advice, wisdom, and spiritual clarity. I witnessed this said in various ways: by members of the Episcopal church in Navajoland; the bishops and representatives of the Spanish-speaking Province IX dioceses; the diocese of Haiti (the largest single diocese, without any French-Creole translated resources); the delegates and members who identify as Deaf and Disabled; the Official Youth Presence (under 18); the Young Adult Festival (OVER 18); and many others. I heard them all say: "If you cannot do the work to make room for us and our experiences, you will miss out on all the wonderful things we already know, that you may not."
As someone who gave up my language of origin to serve and learn from the church in Brazil, I can personally attest to the fact that, sometimes, English sucks. It doesn't always have the same richness of meaning and subtext as other dialects. It has major flaws, especially in how we talk about LOVE (which seems a pretty fatal flaw when the topic is God...but maybe that's just me). Some things are far more eye-opening when compared cross-linguistically. But, unless we do the work of allocating resources to translations, and the personal work of becoming bilingual to some degree, then we get nowhere.
As someone who battles with both mental and physical long term diagnoses, I've joked before (to those that I know will hold my twisted humor in a safe and respectful place) that, if we see the individual as being comprised of "body, mind, and spirit" then I'm at a major advantage when it comes to faith. See, my body literally gives out on me unexpectedly and often daily. It is unreliable at best, and a severe hindrance on worse days. Likewise, my brain is a known liar, altering the truth of the world and feeding my heart spun falsehoods about my worth, the thoughts and feelings of others, and even my future potential. My brain sometimes gives me "superpowers" and sometimes it has tried to make me end my life. And just when everything seems to be going well, it can so easily get ruined.
So if I cannot 100% trust my body, and I can't always trust my mind, then I am left with only one thing: spirit. It is my faith that keeps me connected to a world that needs me in it. My prayers are what keep me whole when everything simultaneously falls apart. When worldly issues seemed insurmountable, my relationship with Jesus and my unerring counsel from the Holy Spirit did what was necessary to save my life; to motivate me; to give me hope. And to do it regardless of the earthly resources I had. My faith allowed me to give up all I had, to drop it, and to go where I was called to serve. And then do it all again in order to go home for the next call.
I wish "the church" truly knew how wonderful and resilient the faith is for those of us who society often casts off as lesser. Faith untested yields faith un-grown.
So for now, I'll leave you to sit with all of this. Please, ponder it for a while. If it feels uncomfortable, that's okay. It's okay to feel that way for a while. Discomfort is not always the problem, sometimes it is the beginning of a solution. I'll tell you now, there will be a part 2 to this post, because there is so much more to be shared and said. In the mean time, though, I ask that you try this by yourself or with a small group: think of whom you may have left by the sidelines when it comes to big matters of faith. Who is missing? Whose voice is silenced or absent? What bit of the Body of Christ has been amputated in your world? And what would it look like to reattach them?
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| Perhaps you are familiar with a particular sheep-based story on the importance of finding the ones who belong with us... |
SO well said, Rachel.
ReplyDeleteI especially love the insight about the spirit being the most reliable of those three personal resources, body, mind, and spirit.
I am following lately a daily excerpt from Henri Nouwen, who is strong on how to rely not on
our untrustworthy emotions but on the solidity of the Holy Spirit.
Good insights about inclusiveness. I am still in Haiti, and am living in the same reality that you experienced in Brazil about the importance of languages. Yes, google translate can give some instant idea of what is being discussed. But that gets old very quickly. The choice of one primary language over another in the room has a strong significance. Who will be getting the actual messages, and who will be getting the warmed over general and confusing messages? This is a good reminder that we Episcopalians are not "there" yet, even if we think we are.