Emerging Women

What does it mean when the common label given to a group of people is a negative description imposed upon them? At a recent seminar on poverty reduction for Haiti I attended, the presenter’s historical overview of Haiti was interrupted by the woman sitting next to me. She mentioned that she would greatly appreciate it if he would stop referring to people as slaves. Those were men and women who had slavery forced upon them, not people whose core identity was that of being a slave. Slavery was a horror they had to endure, not the essence of who they were. The presenter thanked her for bringing that distinction to our attention and proceeded to integrate her suggestions into his talk.

We all use labels to self-identify and make sense of our world. They are unavoidable and often necessary. As a culture we have attempted in recent years to move away from offensive labels or ones that objectify others. Reducing a woman to a particular body part is far from acceptable speech. And no one would ever categorize victims of sexual assault merely as “the raped.” No, we attempt with our words and labels to respect people and focus on positive categories. Yet the negative label of oppression, “slave,” is still in common usage. Even in a presentation on how we can overcome the negative effects of slavery the term is so common its usage is assumed – until someone challenged it and forced us to consider the implications of our words.

This woman’s request forced me to consider the negative label we as Christians use all the time – “the lost.” I’ve heard from a number of people who have had that label imposed upon them that they find it highly offensive. They do not appreciate having others insist that at the core of their identity they are mistaken, misguided, or just plain ignorant. They dislike being seen in terms that generally imply that they are a project to be saved not a person to be loved or respected. I understand that we as Christians do hold certain theologies of sin and redemption, but perhaps we need to seriously consider the impact our use of labels has on the very people we are trying to reach. That may mean abandoning the practice of assigning labels to people who are not like us altogether. And maybe, just maybe, it may mean getting to know, love, and respect people as people.

In the discussion on Children’s Books, Amy wrote -

Julie, you mentioned staying away from the reward/punishment style of raising children. What do you use instead and do you have a particular way you church applies this to its children’s programs? I’ve noticed recently that our kids ministry uses a lot of candy/sweet rewards, especially to offerings. It’s a competition of boys vs. girls. Not that a little candy is horrible thing, but I wonder if there’s a more effective way of teaching our children to give just because it’s the right thing to do, or out of true compassion for missions, etc.

For those of you who have never heard of the debate about rewards and punishments let me give a bit of a background. This is a discussion that is popular in alternative parenting circles, some education circles, and is making its presence known in Children’s Ministry settings. While there are many people writing about the subject, the most well known author is Alfie Kohn. His book Punished by Rewards is the most prominent treatment of the subject (and the source of much emotional debate). Here’s the brief summary of the book to help give a framework for this question -

Our basic strategy for raising children, teaching students, and managing workers can be summarized in six words: Do this and you’ll get that. We dangle goodies (from candy bars to sales commissions) in front of people in much the same way that we train the family pet.

In this groundbreaking book, Alfie Kohn shows that while manipulating people with incentives seems to work in the short run, it is a strategy that ultimately fails and even does lasting harm. Our workplaces and classrooms will continue to decline, he argues, until we begin to question our reliance on a theory of motivation derived from laboratory animals.

Drawing from hundreds of studies, Kohn demonstrates that people actually do inferior work when they are enticed with money, grades, or other incentives. Programs that use rewards to change people’s behavior are similarly ineffective over the long run. Promising goodies to children for good behavior can never produce anything more than temporary obedience. In fact, the more we use artificial inducements to motivate people, the more they lose interest in what we’re bribing them to do. Rewards turn play into work, and work into drudgery.

Step by step, Kohn marshals research and logic to prove that pay-for-performance plans cannot work; the more an organization relies on incentives, the worse things get. Parents and teachers who care about helping students to learn, meanwhile, should be doing everything possible to help them forget that grades exist. Even praise can become a verbal bribe that gets kids hooked on our approval.

Rewards and punishments are just two sides of the same coin — and the coin doesn’t buy very much. What is needed, Kohn explains, is an alternative to both ways of controlling people.

This approach forces us to rethink discipline, competition, and parenting strategies. I first encountered these ideas when I was studying methods of Children’s Ministry. The discussion there revolved around two main issues. One was the tendency to use rewards/bribes to get kids to do things in church (memorize verses being the most prevalent). We saw the impact that such systems had on actually reducing love and respect for the Bible and its utter long term ineffectiveness in retention of those verses (much less basic understanding thereof to begin with). We also explored how the language of behaviorism has infiltrated of presentation of the Gospel (mostly in evangelical settings). Often people are asked to follow Jesus in order to receive the reward of heaven or avoid the punishment of hell. Long term studies that track and compare how people are called to faith (behaviorism influenced decisions or gradual inclusion into the family) have shown that the psychological issues and faith struggles are much greater in those who were given a reward/punishment option. (not that heaven and hell are not real, but that they should not be what manipulates us into choosing to follow God).

Most people don’t like to discuss this issue because it forces them to consider different parenting/ministry styles than what they grew up with. The logic is that, it worked for me/I’m okay why waste energy trying to change things. But studies have shown that such a system of behaviorism does more harm than good. I like the idea of rethinking our strategy for motivating people, but I fully admit that I am still trying to discover practical strategies for implementation. I have started to evaluate what the ultimate goal of all of my interactions with my child is. Am I encouraging her to be the kind of person I want her to be (good, kind, loving), or am I using my power over her by giving or witholding my love in the form of rewards and punishments in order to get her behavior to be the way I find most comfortable?

Before I mention a few suggestions Kohn gives as alternatives, I would like to here from you all. What is your reaction to the rewards/punishment issue? What do you see as good alternatives?

Each week at Midtown Christian Community we rehearse the Lord’s Prayer together. I love the connection this prayer brings to Christians throughout the centuries, and I revel in the almost poetic way it names so many of the things that are important to my faith in the here and now.

Recently I have been thinking about what the Lord’s Prayer would sound like in the context of my church and our current culture. Last week I finally put pen to paper, metaphorically speaking, and tonight we read the result responsively as a congregation. It proved to be a moving experience. It is quite long, so I have provided a link to The Lord’s Prayer for Midtown at my personal blog if you care to read it. Christ be with you.

The touble is with being a late comer, is that you risk posting something which has already been discussed before. I’ve had a look back and can’t find anything, but apologies if this post is more like deja vu to some of you!

I’ve been spending time reading Dan Kimball’s book They like Jesus but not the Church which I’m really finding interesting. I’ve blogged a little more in depth about this on my blog. What I really wanted to ask here is what do you think of when you hear the words Church, Christian and Jesus?

If I’m honest when I hear the word church, I automatically think of bricks and mortar, not the body of Christ. Christian makes me think of a follower of Christ, but I always wonder in what sense they follow him. Jesus, what can I say? Absolutely amazing guy, Wow – I can’t take in all of the mercy and grace. My lord.

It would be great to hear what some of your thoughts are. Also if you are interested Dan has an article on the subject in the latest issue of outreach magazine

It’s Good Friday, the darkness before the dawn for the Christian church. The day that the Catholic Church feels most vulnerable, with every tabernacle bare of the Blessed Sacrament and Christ’s comforting presence.

After the joy and comfort of the Pesach Seder that marks Maundy Thursday, the altars are stripped bare, the Blessed Sacrament is moved to the altar of repose, and darkness, grief and vulnerability mark the Church until the candle of hope is lit, at the beginning of the Easter Vigil. The Catholic Church embodies these phases beautifully with the Triduum – essentially one liturgy over three days marking each part of the story and the emotions that ensue.

I go to Tenebrae (Latin, “darkness”) each morning of the Triduum, which is essentially Matins and Lauds, including the sung Lamentations of Jeremiah, psalms, readings, and an ending sequence that is spine-tingling. On Saturday, the Oratio Jeremiae is sung. It is a beautiful way to begin each day of the Triduum and focus on what lies ahead.

Today, Good Friday, is a day of brutality, grief, silence, numbness – and fear that the light of tomorrow’s Easter Vigil may not come. In a superb sermon today, the celebrant spoke of visiting Rwanda, how there are some events that are beyond words, that we must grieve, but offer the action (in Catholic terms, mass) that Jesus has given us: “Take, eat; this is my body, which will be given up for you.”

A few weeks ago, my friend Jan and I were discussing Christ’s words from the cross, as she was writing some meditations for some Lenten concerts she was organising. “My God, My God, why hast thou forsaken me?” took up most of the conversation, as we talked about Jesus’ emotions at that moment, and I said, in a flash of intuition:

“Jesus was angry. Jesus was angry at God.”

As I listened to today’s sermon, that conversation came back to me. We always talk about the grief of Good Friday, and well we should. But why is it that we always avoid the *anger* in those words of Jesus? We say, “See, he felt forsaken, so it’s ok for us to feel that way. He’s taken it on for us,” or we talk about his momentary doubt. But we never talk about what one author calls his “anguished reproach” of God, the fury unleashed in Jesus Christ Superstar’s Garden of Gethsemane:

I only want to say
If there is a way
Take this cup away from me
For I don’t want to taste its poison
Feel it burn me,
I have changed -
I’m not as sure as when we started
Then I was inspired…
Now I’m sad and tired
Listen, surely I’ve exceeded
Expectations
Tried for three years
Seems like thirty
Could you ask as much
From any other man?
…
Why, why should I die?
Oh, why should I die?
Can you show me now
That I would not be killed in vain?
Show me just a little
Of your omnipresent brain
Show me there’s a reason
For your wanting me to die
You’re far too keen on where and how
But not so hot on why
Alright I’ll die!
Just watch me die!

Many people were shocked by this portrayal of Jesus: we are so often presented with him as going meekly to his slaughter, and how like a lamb going to its shearing, opening not his mouth.

What, we expect this passionate man who had just upset the money changers’ tables in the temple to go to his death without opening his mouth? He did, and boy, *how* did he. That anger, that reproach is embodied in “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”

As a society, as a world, we have huge problems with anger: we see its destructive capability – emotionally, physically, globally, and we try to push it away, down into our Shadow, where we don’t have to face it, hoping that the pressure of everything on top of it will turn it into some sort of diamond – we’ll even take cubic zirconia, thanks very much!

Instead, it blows as explosively and predictably as Old Faithful, the geyser in Yellowstone Park, spraying everyone and everything in its path.

We forget that, as Jesus shows us in JCS’s Gethsemane and on the cross, that an open, honest expression of anger can be controlled, *transformative* and often, the mark of an intimate relationship. Beneath Christ’s anger lie the very human emotions of doubt, fear, pain, and dare we say it – a sense of betrayal: “I have done everything you asked of me, why *this*?” And it is Jesus’ intimacy with God, His complete trust in God’s unconditional love, that allows him to speak so openly of his anger, fear and pain.

We forget that burying anger destroys relationships. What if Christ hadn’t expressed his anger and doubt to God? It would have put up a barrier between Him and God, as surely as it does in human relationships.

So why can’t we face Jesus’ anger with God? Perhaps because facing the fact that the Son of God was angry with the Father would force us to face the fact that *we* are angry with God – somewhere, somehow, to some degree. It would make us examine our relationship with God and force us to drop that barrier with God and let our relationship with Him transform us. And that’s scary. It’s easier to seek the mythical ‘perfect’ relationship that we imagine Jesus had with God, rather than the full, deep, passionate, authentic relationship He *did* have. It’s safer to approach an asymptote than to fully enter into a relationship as our true selves, willing to fall as deeply as it takes to live it properly.

What we must remember is that Jesus expresses his anger from the heart – not to lash out, not to manipulate, not sideways towards someone it isn’t really directed at – and that is why it is transformative: his hands and his heart are open, not clenched. He asks questions such as “Would what I’ve said and done matter anymore?”, and uses words such as “sad”, “tired” or “forsaken”. It’s between Him and His Father, and that’s where He works it through.

And so, He moves forward, towards acceptance and the greater intimacy with God that is His at Easter, uncertainly at first:

Then I was inspired
Now I’m sad and tired
After all, I’ve tried for three years
Seems like ninety
Why then am I scared
to finish what I started
What you started
I didn’t start it
God thy will is hard
But you hold every card
I will drink your cup of poison
Nail me to your cross and break me
Bleed me, beat me
Kill me, take me now
Before I change my mind

but later, with absolute trust after expressing His anger and sense of abandonment from the cross:

“It is finished. Father, into thine hands I commend my spirit.”

May being completely authentic and vulnerable in our relationship with God – from the joy and love to the rage, fear and doubt – give us the courage to do the same.

We’ve added a new church to our list of member’s emerging churches – The Well. This church is new, with its first services/gatherings kicking off on April 15. Those of you who were at the recent Emerging Women Gathering spent time in prayer with Sarah who is deeply involved with this community. They could use all of our prayers as they get started.

I love “The Story of the Well” they have posted on their site -

The Well Community
Albuquerque, New Mexico

A farmer raises sheep. He has two ways to keep them in his pastures. The first option is to build a fence. This will keep his sheep inside, near home, and it will keep other animals out. His sheep are protected from all outside influences.

The second option is to dig a well. Yes, all of the animals in the region will water there, but the sheep will stay close.

People are rather like sheep–and our churches are rather like fenced pastures. But the Man we claim to follow, Jesus, claimed to be a spring of “living water”. I believe Jesus is a well. He doesn’t place fences around his believers, nor does he keep others at arm’s length. Instead, he welcomes everyone to drink freely.

Becky Garrison recently made me aware of an article she wrote for the God’s Politics blog about a very interesting upcoming Easter service. Titled Easter for the Outcasts this is a look at an experiential new perspective on the implications of Easter. From the article – “Transmission, an underground Manhattan church, is working with sex workers and artists to celebrate Mary Magdalene’s role in the gospel resurrection story, her personal relationship with Jesus, her witness on behalf of the risen Christ, and contemporary sex worker issues.” The take on this is interesting (and no it isn’t just a reworking of gnostic ideas).

Read more about the service here.

What are your thoughts? reactions?