Thoughts on Subverting the Norm--layer 7: outsider

I am beginning to get at what I feel is the main reason (of many reasons) why I was led to attend Subverting the Norm 2 (and I only realized after I'd already committed to going, that I had "been led.") This is difficult to explain, and I hope this post makes sense.  I'm a pretty straightforward person, and I'll be as clear as I can, but when one talks of one's own shadow, it can be incredibly difficult to bring clarity to the issues.  Please understand that it can be painful to be vulnerable, and I'm being as courageous and open as I know how to be.

A major pattern throughout my life has been "feeling like an outsider."  Very few people have ever outright HATED me, but I've never been popular.  I've never been someone who fits in. Since Kindergarten.  I can remember the other girls in class not playing with me and wondering why.   And later on I managed to internalize that "why" and make it something that was more my fault. (The classic feminine response--whereas the classic masculine response is to externalize their pain.) I rationalized that I must be intentionally withholding myself; I scanned the environment, perceived I was different, and needed to protect myself by censoring certain parts of myself when I was in that particular environment.
There was always something I needed to censor myself for.  I'm the only girl not allowed to play with Barbies.  I'm a Pentecostal in a non-Pentecostal environment.  I'm a female in a mostly male environment. I'm the only one who doesn't understand all these pop-culture references. I'm the only one who can't afford to go out partying all the time.  I'm the only college-educated person. I'm the only undergrad. I'm the only parent who has chosen Attachment Parenting.  I'm the only skeptic ...on and on... I have never found a group that was close enough to my identities to allow me to feel fully safe.  It's just something I've learned to live with.  (The closest I got, in all fairness, was The Mustard Seed Christian Fellowship in Lawrence, KS.)

The way I usually respond to this feeling of non belonging is by trying to be of service. In an odd way, helping others is one technique for distancing oneself from them.  Being the humble servant allows you to hide, even though everyone can see you serving. (My Sun is in the 6th house).  (And I'm a practical person anyway, I get antsy when I'm not being productive. But that's another story...)

About a week before the Subverting the Norm conference, I began to get really anxious.  "What have I done?  Signed up for a stupid conference at the height of the semester's busy season?  I must have been crazy. This is ridiculous.  A huge waste of time and money, and nothing will come of it. Another dead end, I'm sure of it.  Oh well.  Too late now.  I'll just have to swallow my disappointment, accept the emptiness of life once again, and move on."  I was getting buyer's remorse... in advance!

My dreams and my intuition told me, though, that what was really happening was I was stirring up all those old painful places of rejection again. I've gained enough wisdom in life to know that this is a good thing, even though it's hard.  In one sense, what was really going on was, my heart decided it needed to be triggered, to try to reenact my wounds, but with a better ending this time.  For this, all I needed was a conference, any conference, it didn't matter the content.  A Large Group of People that could potentially reject me and make me feel marginalized and worthless, but hopefully this time I could forge my way through creating new reactions and feelings.  (I've reenacted this attempt many, many times in my life... so part of me was really skeptical that anything would be different this time.  But my life has been going through SO much transformation lately, I dared to have a tiny sliver of hope that maybe... something would happen this time...)

To be continued!

Thoughts on Subverting the Norm--layer 6: art, smart, and heart

On Saturday of the conference I had the incredible pleasure of meeting one of the conference presenters, Barry Taylor. It was a short, mundane conversation before his presentation, to discuss how to set up the stage for him.  Nonetheless, he managed to make an impression on me.  I had never heard of Barry before this event, but I found him extremely likable.  (And I'm not just saying that because he has a British accent, though I'm a real sucker for accents!)  He exudes a strength of heart that feels like it has seen much darkness and lived to shine on anyway. (I know almost nothing of his life story, but that was the impression I got.)  His presence was so accepting, so balanced, so authentic, so mature.  I hoped some of his quiet fire would rub off on me.  I wished he were my uncle so I could see him every Christmas.

His presentation was unique from all the others that I saw.  He wasn't painstakingly eloquent, obsequiously academic, or pretentiously anti-normal.  He was just solid as a rock in being himself, and that was enough for him, so it was enough for us.  He stood up there and just talked about art.  Art!  He admitted that he's not an art historian or anything --he just likes art.  He showed us pictures from the repertoire of two of his favorite painters.  It was like we were all invited into his living room, and he was showing us some of his most beloved paintings, and what they meant to him.  Along the way, profound philosophical insights peppered his talk, with astuteness that took my breath away.

I must admit, I have a hard time with visual art sometimes.  It can be hard to figure out how to interact with it.  That's why I appreciate when someone who seems to "get it," like Barry Taylor, can come alongside and help me experience it the way it was meant to be experienced.  (I probably assume too much, though, when i say "...the way it was meant to be experienced," as if there's only one acceptable way to experience a piece! Maybe I should say "...help me experience it with a depth of insight" or something like that...)

When he spoke of the shadows in Caravaggio's paintings being infused with the personalities of hundreds of other subjects (not his exact words... something to that effect), I was struck with the spirit of the art.

And his explanations of Mark Tansey's works transformed my initial confusion at the monochrome impressions into true awe for Tansey's brilliance.

When Barry juxtaposed the painting called "Doubting Thomas" by Caravaggio with "Doubting Thomas" by Tansey, I cried.

It's one thing to be touched by an artistic presentation.  It's another to come to realization of a personal transformation based on that presentation.  I had a very meaningful affirmation occur in me, due to Barry's presentation; to describe it, I'll need to explain a struggle I've had.

I majored in Piano Performance and Music Composition during my undergraduate degree.  I thought I was going to go into an artistic career, but I've long had doubts plague me related to "my" art. (Not that I consider myself at a level to wear the label of "artist"!)  On one hand, I love the high-brow world of art; I feel comfortable there, having been classically trained.  On the other hand, I have a lot of low-brow in my heritage and personal experience.  I write classical music, but I also write songs in a more popular vein.  I've long had a hard time reconciling these energies within myself.  Many people have told me I should put more efforts into being a singer-songwriter at some sort of professional level, but one (of many) internal restraints for that idea has been this stereotype from who-knows-where that singer-songwriters are not academic.
If I have any vanity in me left, it is fueled by the attempt to appear smart.
The point of art, though, from my perspective, is to create an emotional experience that moves one beyond the realm of analytic thought.  Logically speaking, there doesn't have to be a problem between the two elements of being "smart" and being "emotional," of course, but for some reason, this has been an issue for me.
Barry's exposé of Tansey helped move me forward in that battle a few steps.  Here is an artist who is using texts from philosophers superimposed upon each other, to create backdrops for his pieces.  His works reference history, theology, sociology, philosophy.  He could in no way be labeled as un-intellectual, and yet his art is still powerfully emotional.  His example gives me a bit more courage to go ahead and be smart, and make art, both.

Finally, I can't explain what this has to do with anything, but Barry's presentation, for some reason, also clicked something in me. I decided to collect all the disparate areas I've spread my life out, and be unashamed about how complicated and multi-faceted I am.  I've kind of been living multiple personalities and trying to keep them unaware of each other-- a singer-songwriter here with one pseudonym, a dream interpreter there with another pseydonym, my private music teaching studio here, my astrology interests there, and so on.  It's almost like I have a deep belief that nobody could accept or understand me if I prove to be more than meets the eye.  Or a belief that people only want to interact with 2-dimensional figures who fit their schema based on first impressions and labeling.  Maybe some people want to relate to others that way, but I don't think all people do.
I don't know how this will all end up looking, but my first step in that regard has been to try to bring out the newly integrated voice of Abigail onto this blog. Stay tuned as I work it out.

Thoughts on Subverting the Norm 2--Layer 5: Why Churches?

After yesterday's post, I want to hasten to clarify, lest I portray the wrong idea-- I do not feel like I had a bad childhood.  Nor am I ungrateful for the upbringing I had.  My parents are awesome.  They loved us kids, sacrificed for us, and nurtured us. They did an amazing job with what they had, and through it all, they stuck to their beliefs.  And considering that their beliefs were rather in the minority in society, I admire their courage for sticking to them.  The fact that I feel called to walk a different path should not be taken to mean that I scorn the path they started me on.  So much of what they taught and modeled is still strengthening and empowering me today.  Love you, Mom and Dad! (Whether or not you're even reading this.)

Now, back to the question of why I attended a conference about "Can Post-Modern Theology Live in the Churches?" when I am moving away from "churches."

March 20th, 2013. Insomnia.  I had awakened from a bad dream (that I didn't remember, otherwise I'd analyze it!), and was trying to reset my internal clock by looking at the glow of my computer screen. (This is a trick to help you not re-enter a nightmare, by the way.) I checked FaceBook, and one of the posts was from Peter Rollins' page (not that I actually read his books--too Christian for my taste [isn't that ironic]), advertising an upcoming conference called Subverting the Norm.  I read through the description and some of the comments on the page.  Part of me felt like rolling my eyes... another church event... but part of me was curious. One of the biggest problems I've faced throughout my life has been loneliness, and it has become acute lately. Part of that is due to my situation, and will be alleviated when I get a more social job... But part of it is because I've not felt safe talking to anyone about this issue of my faith and beliefs. This conference seemed like it might be a group of people who'd dealt with similar experiences, questions, logical processes, and emotional grapplings as myself.

And yet, these people seemed to be choosing, nonetheless, to stay in The Church.  I guess the question that roared from my heart was, "WHY?" Why why why why why--after you wake up to the fact that The Church is not godde's only way of working in the world, that godde is (probably) not at all like what (today's iterations of) Christianity portrays, that there is (probably) no post-death consequence for choosing not to believe, and so on and so forth-- why would you choose to stay in an outdated system? I understand that many people are economically trapped, since they get paid by The Church, and don't feel they have any other means of providing for themselves and their families.  But for those who don't work for a church...  What brings them back if it's not truth claims? Is it cowardice? Sentimentality? Having a social group? Convenience? Amusement? A passion for reform? What is it?

Myself, I'm almost ready to walk away, and I'd love it if I never had to enter a church or be exposed to Christian-speak again (as unlikely as that actually will be.)  I'll join parenting groups, gardening groups, book clubs, sewing circles, musical ensembles, and so on, for my social needs. Cowardice and sentimentality are not part of my normal modus operandi, so that part doesn't apply to me. (Though I'm deeply compassionate for those who do deal with these personality traits. I have flaws that are much worse than these two.)  I can relate to wanting to reform or reach out to those still caught in their identity traps.  But I have kind of assumed that the best way of doing so is to call to people from the outside, rather than try to deal with the messy process of redefining or re-framing everything inside.  
If it's all made up anyway, why bother?

There were people at this conference from all over the world, many different walks of life.  Why? What brought them together? What compelled them to contribute?  I really want to know.  I got a few great answers from some incredible people at the conference, but I still want to hear more.
What compels you to continue to identify with Christianity?

Thoughts on Subverting the Norm 2--Layer 4: concentric identity traps

I grew up a devout Christian in the Word-of-Faith movement.  From birth, I was steeped in positive confessions, manifestations, Bible memorization, commanding demons, dancing in church, and healing people.  I remember showing my dad a wart on my finger when I was probably only about 5 years old. He said to "curse it in the name of Jesus," which I did; the wart was gone the next day. This was my world.

In Kindergarten I started attending a Christian school at an Assemblies of God church.  To get a tuition discount we became members of the church.  Once when I heard my parents disparage one of the AoG pastor's sermons about redemptive suffering, I began to realize that it's possible to be Pentecostal but not Word-of-Faith.

Because my grandparents attended churches in mainline Protestant denominations, I eventually realized it was possible to be a Christian, but neither Pentecostal nor Word-of-Faith.

The older and more experienced I became, the more nuanced a picture I had of Christianity.  By the time I was in high-school, I had an image of God's Kingdom that was something like this:

And then there were other religions. (I wasn't quite sure where to put Catholics.)

But around all of these, there was this huge exterior circle.  The World.  That's where people went to work, played, ate, slept... and pretty much everything that wasn't going to church and/or worshiping God. (Thank you, Enlightenment, for separating the sacred and the secular.)

 

My circles pretty much saw the world as evil.  Parts of it, like eating and sleeping, are necessary evils.  But the truly important part of life is Christianity. God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit, prayer, evangelism, the Bible, Worship, and so on.  Anything in The World that doesn't prop up the "Kingdom of God" is wholly superfluous.

Along the way, while absorbing these identity concepts, I also absorbed messages of opposition and persecution.  Non-Pentecostals persecute Pentecostals, calling them crazy holy-rollers.

(Of course, they just don't understand; if they would just get baptized in the Holy Spirit and learn to read the Bible right, they wouldn't say such things.  "Forgive them, for they know not what they do.")

Mainline denominations persecute Evangelicals.

(Of course, they are just blind liberals who care more about a non-Biblical Social Gospel than actually saving souls for heaven, which, clearly, is the most important thing in the Bible.)

Catholics (I finally settled on, yes, they could actually be Christians) persecute Protestants.

(Of course, they are just confused by the traditions of men into thinking that Mary actually has ANYTHING to do with Christianity.) 

Other religions persecute Christians.

(Of course, they are just deceived by Satan into believing anyone besides Jesus could save their souls.)

And all of us are persecuted by The World.

 

(Of course, people in The World just want to revel in their pagan lusts, unfettered by the pesky morals proffered by the loving God who weeps when he's forced to send them to hell for their sins.)

That's a lot of persecution.  You can understand why I grew up feeling so stressed out.

Throughout my childhood, lots of people told me "You'll probably become a pastor's wife someday!"  They probably said that because I was a true believer-- earnest, devout, pious, radiant with zeal and knowledge. I studied the Bible deeply, on my own volition (one Christmas I asked for a Strong's Concordance for my gift. I used that thing a lot!)  I was outspoken about my faith, and I was concerned about people. (Yet, of course, being female, I couldn't actually be a pastor!)  Oh yeah, and I played piano. Perfect pastor's wife material.

But even way back then, I vehemently rejected that prediction over my life.  I felt deeply that I didn't want that role, for reasons I couldn't articulate.  At a profound level, what I was really interested in was... The World. The Real World.  Somehow, I just knew that The World had to be more important than The Church--it is bigger! And I intuitively concluded that if I achieved anything in The Church that did not also affect The World, I would have achieved nothing.

My heart knew what it was doing, even though my mind has been confused about what's going on. It's been a long struggle, figuring my way out of the maze, and I feel like FINALLY I'm able to connect with The World.
I'm here.
In the flesh.
I'm not separating myself, psychologically, hoping for a better existence after death, or some kind of divine protection from the realities of existence. I don't believe what I was told so often, that "nothing that happens here is of importance except for spiritual things."  Contrary to a beloved Christian song, this world IS my home.

 

I see all those Christian identities as mere constructs of human imagination, stories people tell themselves, robes they wear. For varying reasons-- many of them, I'm sure, very good reasons.  But still... Constructs. Fictions.  A math friend of mine once said, (mostly) tongue-in-cheek, "I was never able to go into the humanities because I get the sneaking suspicion they are just making everything up."  That's where I feel I am now, regarding religion. There are so many other ways to interpret the phenomena that Christians hold up as "proofs" of the "truth" of their fabrications. (Imagine my feelings a few months ago when I heard a doctor who studies the mind-body connection say that warts are one of the easiest things to cure using placebo.)

I've dated a few atheists in the past few years, and I find their groundedness so refreshing. When faced with the solid perspective of naturalism, it's easy to look at religion and think "they are freaking making this all up!"

I'm not giving up on spirituality.  But I've decided not to put my identity into a religion.  It took too long, too many tears, too much anguish, to disentangle myself from it.  I feel like my decision is firm.

So why did I decide to make the large sacrifices necessary to attend a conference concerned with how postmodern theology could live in today's churches?  Why bother with churches at all?  Let them die of natural causes, the lot of them, as far as I'm concerned! (...The institutions, not the people!)
To be honest, I'm still wondering that myself.
To be continued... this post is already too long.

Thoughts on Subverting the Norm 2--Layer 3: giving birth

This conference was very much a gestalt (the whole is greater than the sum of its parts).  Many of the effects I'm going through will probably seem unrelated, or merely loosely related, to the actual content.  I guess that fits in nicely with a key phrase from the conference itself, "event, not content."

I'm going to jump all over the place as I scribe my impressions.  Right now I'll turn to one strata of experience that occurred on Saturday.

Somewhere into the first hour of Saturday, my mind began... I don't know how to describe it... I want to say "buzzing."  It was like so many stimuli were demanding my mental attention, there was no way to handle them all.  Kind of like if you're standing in a crowd and everyone is brushing against you, you begin not to feel any one particular person.  It wasn't unpleasant enough to be called "overwhelmed," just kind of like a threshold had been reached. (My friend Michelle might call it a mental orgasm. Ha!)

This state kind of led up to an emotional state that I can only compare to when I was in labor.  (And here, I'll probably lose most of my readers! Sorry!)  Every woman reacts differently to being in labor when it finally sets in, but my emotional reaction was heightened feelings of love.  (Probably all that oxytocin...)  I remember during my labor looking around the room and feeling almost ridiculously in love with everyone I saw, even my (now ex-) husband, towards whom I otherwise spent most of the rest of our marriage feeling scorn, anger, and resentment.  I was so grateful everyone was there, I thought everyone was just beautiful and wonderful, and even though I was working hard through the contractions, I soaked in the presence of the others around me.

That state of mind was similar to how I began to feel on Saturday.  I felt like I loved everyone around me, even though I didn't know them.  I was so grateful and awed by their presences.

And yet, at the same time, just like being in labor, I felt like I was being stretched open.  I started crying several times on Saturday.  I cried a lot Sunday at home too.  Not even sure, exactly, why.  (Of course, I have some ideas, which is why I'm exploring them in this blog series.)  I don't know what I'm giving birth to here, but even viscerally, in my body, I'm feeling like something is being born.  Is this even making sense?

Back to the topic of love.  A realization struck me on Saturday. Love is not always a pleasant, positive emotion.  Pain is embedded into love's very nature.

 

Love wants to unify with the beloved.  That's why it's painful, because achieving unity is impossible to do.  It is impossible for me to merge with you. Love requires a plural-- at minimum a lover and a beloved. If the lover merged fully with the beloved, there would either be no more lover to love, nor beloved to be loved. If love attained its goal, it would destroy itself. The ache of love is the recognition that the object of your desire is actually beyond the object, and into the impossibility of unity.  

The Fibonacci series is about love, because it is about endlessly approaching something that is impossible to attain. The golden mean, pi, and every imaginary number is about love.  Paradox is love. Nothing is love. Godde is love.

 When I looked around at all the amazing people at the conference on Saturday, seeing them, somehow, through eyes of love, the pain of it struck me.  There's no way I could ever get to know all of these people at the depths that love demands. There's no way I could ever even fully know myself and the small circle around me at such depths.  We live imperfectly, in an orientation towards love, but never fully achieving it.

Thoughts on Subverting the Norm 2--Layer 2: theology of privilege?

Several times in the conference I heard the question come up in various forms: "Is Radical Theology a theology of the privileged? Can it work for the downtrodden, the poor, the unfortunate?"  I think I have some small ideas to contribute on that topic.

I'm living in Emporia, KS, because, after the divorce, my ex moved to France, and I needed to be close to my mom for help with my two babies.  I live far below the poverty line.  I'm currently studying towards a degree that (I'm hoping desperately) will provide me the opportunity for a job that will lift me out of poverty.  While working.  While raising two children aged 2 and 5.  I don't even get weekends to catch up on anything, since the ex is gone.  Someday I might post my story, to provide explanation for why I am where I am.  For now, my point is, in certain lights I could be considered one of the poor, the downtrodden, the unfortunate.
Well, perhaps not, because I'm white, and I have a college education.  So I'm not as far down as I could be.  But I'm far down enough to, I think, be able to claim experiential knowledge of need and lack.  Maybe I can serve as a bridge.

One thought that comes up from my opening question:
Actually, ANY theology, philosophy, or academically-informed orientation to life is a theology of the privileged.  We only have time or energy to work out some kind of systematic approach to interpreting life if we aren't slaving away all day just to bring in the bare essentials of survival.  I've been feeling guilty lately, because I never read anymore.  I think I've read maybe 3 books in the past 5 years.  My time is just so filled with making ends meet, when I sit down to read, it's hard to focus.  (And I have it fairly easy compared to the horrible life conditions of some, thanks to our country's social safety net, and the loving help of many around me.)  So whether it's radical theology or any other kind of systematic theology, or philosophy, or whatever, a life of the mind is usually only possible if the life of the body is somewhat secure.  (And I realize there are exceptions.)

However, I DO think that this kind of theology could be a difficult sell to those lacking education or privilege.  Positivism is simply easier to understand.  All the psychological responses that postmoderns are trying to get people to see beyond (externalizing a god figure, clinging to belief, rationalizing systemic injustice, and so on, and so forth) are pretty normal psychological responses for anyone who's human.  They just seem intuitive, and, therefore, normal.  Getting people to question the responses that arise within them unconsciously, could be difficult without some kind of academic thought habits to appeal to.

What I think people of lower privilege CAN understand, though, is a suffering God and a God of solidarity.  Maybe the majority of humans can't follow the logic of Nietzche or Caputo.  But we can tell someone suffering that God is suffering with them... and that might make sense. (Though it raises the Problem of Evil...)  And we can tell them that when humans band together and work together to solve our problems, that is when God is most present... that might make sense.

Myself, I'd just prefer not to bring God into the conversation at all. Makes things messier than they already are.  I'd just prefer to demonstrate love, solidarity, and the bringing about of justice for the marginalized.  But we see from statistics that religion is growing, not diminishing, among that demographic.  We can't go among them and just not address their culture, which is becoming more religious.  So maybe we do have to work to ensure that dangerous, structure-enforcing interpretations of religion are questioned, and that "subversive" interpretations are offered.  I'm not sure how that is possible, again, because positivism is much easier to grasp.  But we might have to settle for some compromises along the way.
Sometimes it could just be a matter of finding clever ways to turn things on their head.  The simpler the better.  For example:

Maybe we don't have to argue about how God is weak, etc.  Maybe we can just point out another way of seeing things in a specific situation, and, if it's simple and powerful enough, "you can never un-see it."

Also, education would help. A lot.

Ultimately, I want to think that the goal is not necessarily to get the poor and marginalized to (dis)believe the way we do.  The goal is to get the poor out of poverty, and to give the marginalized a voice.

Thoughts on Subverting the Norm 2--Layer 1: meeting the unknown

I got back home at 1:15 a.m. this morning from the Subverting the Norm 2 conference in Springfield, MO.  My heart and mind are full, and I am trying to process what happened to me.  There are so many layers to my experience there, it will take awhile to unpack.  This has fueled a desire to begin blogging regularly.  More on all of this later.  I'll try to post a blog every day until everything I want to say is out.

But to kick it off, here's a story.

The reasons I went to the conference are numerous.  The practical purpose of being there was to help set up and run the audio/video equipment and record the sessions that occurred in the ballroom.

On Friday, between two of the sessions, as I was fiddling with the audio equipment, a cute little old man came up to me and asked if he could plug his phone into the powerstrip by my feet.  Of course I said yes.  He chatted with me about almost forgetting his phone before leaving, and how absent-minded he could be.  I empathized with him, stating that I, myself, had forgotten important items more often than I care to recall.  I said, "I just console myself by saying, 'I'm not stupid. My mind is just on higher things!'"  He chuckled.  I then took a tangent and told him that my grandfather is a handwriting analysis specialist, and one of the things he has said is that people whose handwriting is low and round are often practical people who do well at handling material details, while people with lots of upward points in their handwriting enjoy probing "higher" mental realms.  My charming conversation partner said he thought that was interesting, and said, "You should see my handwriting."  Then he wandered away, and I went on with my work.

I did not find out until a couple hours later that I had been chatting with the super-rock-star of the conference... Jack Caputo!  (Not sure why everyone called him "Jack" Caputo, when it's "John," but whatever.) I thought that was kinda fun, and I was actually a little embarrassed when I realized what had happened.
This experience brings up a few ideas for me.

First, a question.  If I'd known how influential and famous he was, would I have interacted with him differently?   Hell, no.  I'm not a star worshipper.  I believe firmly in the equal "profanity" of all human beings.  In fact, if someone is famous, I immediately have some visceral suspicion towards him/her. (More on this later, this is one of the layers I need to unpack).

Second, might this experience be a kind of metaphor for how humans might relate to godde/the ineffable?  We don't know it was "a godde thing" until after the fact.  Meanwhile, it's just part of going about our normal lives.  (The Matthew 25 story about people not knowing they were serving Jesus when they were serving their neighbor, and blah-de-blah-de-blah...)  The sacred is infused into everything.

That's all I have time for right now.  More to come.... Thanks for reading.