Same kind of Christian as me?

Some people are of the opinion that one needs to be a certain age or have a certain amount of “life experience” before they earn the right to write a memoir.

I’m 25 and wrote my first memoir at 22. I’m contemplating writing a second.

The only reason I’m considering this is because the kind of memoir I am interested in reading does not exist. At least not that I know of.

There are a plethora of memoirs out there about finding faith, losing it, and the grueling process of finding it again (see Addie Zierman’s When We Were on Fire, Elizabeth Esther’s Girl at the End of the World, and Rachel Held Evans’ Faith Unraveled for some awesome examples). But one thing these women have in common is their faith journey began in a church from early childhood. If you know me at all, you know that is not my life.

I want to read more books about people who chose Christianity after growing up in an environment that was staunchly against it.

I want to read more books about people who continue to choose Christianity despite the inevitable bumper-car effect of old cultural mores clashing with new ones; of old lingo that doesn’t jell with a new spiritual vocabulary; and the Pariah Syndrome that comes with being one of few people in your church with this particular background, which you are not ashamed of, but refuse to talk about because you are a person who desires to make friends, not some Show and Tell presentation.

If those books exist, I have yet to find them. It is my hope that if I were to write a book like this, it will bring other people with similar experiences out of the woodwork and into my favorite coffee shop to talk to me.

As of now, the people who share or at least relate to these experiences live in my laptop, not in my city. They can be found in organizations like Christians for Biblical Equality, but they live all over the world, not down the street.

The idea of “biblical equality” started with the idea that women can and should be able to lead people as male pastors do. But I want to take this definition further and expand it for people who worship differently than the “mainstream” Christian does: people who find standing during worship songs uncomfortable (and sometimes the lyrics tacky); people who feel squeamish when asked to pray out loud before a group; people who long for community but feel excluded because they aren’t extroverted or “outwardly spiritual” enough.

“Biblical equality” can mean that your worship is as valid and meaningful as my worship. I don’t see this idea expressed often enough.

I’m currently working on a piece that I hope to submit to a popular blogger as a guest post, so it won’t appear on my blog yet. But I hope to use it as a starting point for the maybe-memoir I might write. Because when it comes to improving community and making all members of the body of Christ feel welcome, there’s not enough paper in the world to discuss it.

There's a fly in the soup; there is patriarchy in my religion

As the information under my picture suggests, I am a fan of people who devote their lives to unpopular causes. Perhaps I should add: even if I disagree with them.

I applaud actress Kirsten Dunst for speaking up about femininity and the definition of womanhood (even if I don’t entirely agree with how she defines these things):

I feel like the feminine has been a little undervalued. We all have to get our own jobs and make our own money, but staying at home, nurturing, being the mother, cooking—it's a valuable thing my mom created. And sometimes you need your knight in shining armor. I'm sorry. You need a man to be a man and a woman to be a woman. That's why relationships work.

I occasionally read PluggedIn movie reviews. It’s sponsored by Focus on the Family, but the reviews can be snarky and funny. I take issue with their response to Ms. Dunst’s words:

“[Dunst’s] viewpoint is increasingly challenged these days, and it's harder and harder to see the proper path forward while still holding tight to the past, to the traditions God Himself initiated.”

Read their full article here. Some of the comments are excellent.

My head is spinning as I try to remember where in the Bible it states that all women must be stay-at-home mothers and let their husbands be the sole breadwinners. I don’t even recall where it states that all women HAVE to become mothers. As a soon-to-be-married woman who doesn’t want kids (for now), it troubles me to think of the reactions I might face when I try shopping for a new church where my fiancé lives. Any attitude suggesting women have to be this or that is an automatic dealbreaker.

I cannot understand how it’s “unbiblical” for marriages to be treated as partnerships, where each couple makes decisions that are best for them and their families; why it’s considered unreasonable in many conservative circles for men to help out with chores and child-rearing; why a woman choosing to have a career is accused of neglecting her children. I went to daycare as a kid while my mom worked; I think I turned out okay. When my dad got sick and had to retire, mom took over financially. Do ultra-conservatives somehow believe they are above that possibility?

But no matter which path you choose, there is disdain to be met at every turn. The disdain for women who choose to be stay-at-home mothers is also backlash in the face of feminism. It has to stop.

I can’t deny that these attitudes have a direct impact on my faith and the way I relate to Jesus. Even though I firmly believe Jesus valued women (he saved the life of one about to be stoned for adultery, per Old Testament law, after all), if other Christians who claim to represent him cannot allow for equality in their definition of womanhood, then the result is simple: the church will have no women.

Respect, dignify, and above all, listen to individual women and their stories, or we leave the church. Engage with us in discussion and consider the impact of our leadership skills, or we leave the church. Maybe not all of us in droves, but this particular woman will pack her bags if things do not change.

I know this wouldn’t happen on a large enough scale to wake people up. Sadly, there are plenty of women perpetuating anti-feminist viewpoints, because they have never been taught what feminism is supposed to be: a radical notion that women are people; an idea that goes beyond politics, religious differences, and social status.

Ironically, I have met more women lately who actively promote patriarchy (like this woman who told me "We don't need feminism in America!"). They look at me like I’m holding a dead squirrel when I dare to admit I am a feminist. That, too, must stop. 

Always have to wear with a cross. Always.

When hate begets grace

A funny thing happened when I got engaged last weekend (cue the squeals!):

I was consumed with so much joy at the thought of spending the rest of my life with a man I’m crazy about (and get this guys, he actually feels the same!) that I forgot to be bitter for the rest of the weekend.

You see, the engagement happened during the 6-year anniversary of being assaulted; the 3-year anniversary of ending the abusive relationship in which that assault occurred; and the 11-year anniversary of when a friend of mine committed suicide. So needless to say, the first few weeks of springtime are not typically joyous for me. In fact, I dread them, for all the memories that come up.

And then – and then! – Fred Phelps, the legendary patriarch of the hate-filled Westboro Baptist “church” passed away. So I’ve been reading up on articles that keep cropping up on Facebook about it, and it seems my internet friends’ reactions fall almost evenly in two separate camps: those who want to piss on Fred’s grave and protest his funeral, and those who insist on extending forgiveness and the hope of salvation to a very, very lost individual.

I, like many Christians, am not without bitterness towards people like Phelps: people who make me ashamed to identify as “Christian” for all the ways that word has been abused. Still, this man was someone’s father, grandfather, brother, husband…and it saddens me that it’s not obvious to more people how protesting his funeral isn’t justice; it’s only sinking to his level of depravity. I find myself increasingly inspired by people who are choosing to extend grace and mercy on his behalf.

But I can’t have those thoughts about Fred without doing some soul-searching about my feelings towards the man who wronged me. I’ve wished for bad things to happen to him. I’ve wished for the chance to humiliate him. But in the same way protesting Fred’s funeral won’t undo the emotional damage caused by holding up signs saying “God Hates Fags,” wishing terrible things on my abuser doesn’t undo what he did. And it certainly doesn’t make me a happier, joy-filled person.

It’s giving him permission to live rent-free inside my head. And there’s something about the counter-protests like this one, plus getting engaged, that makes me think “Ain’t nobody got time for that.”

It’s time to start living. Time to accept that the past can’t be undone, and the memories may still sting, but they don’t define me or determine the happiness I can choose to feel. Time to start planning my wedding!

"We don't need feminism in America"

I was about to have another one of my “Sarahbeth might be closeted liberal” moments earlier today, based on my reaction from this blog a friend of mine shared on Facebook. The blogger describes herself as being “Christian, anti-feminist, pro-patriarchy.”

Oy vey. My heart definitely lurched into my throat when I read that.

But then I stepped away from my laptop for a moment (smart move) and realized my outrage has nothing to do with possibly being “liberal” or not.  Or conservative, really. What do those labels actually mean? My outrage stems from the complete ignorance of what feminism is, based on the ways it’s being perverted in the media. It has an ugly side, like all well-intentioned movements do. We can argue until we’re blue in the face about whether feminists should support abortion, or be stay-at-home moms, what have you. But Christian or atheist, male or female, I cannot understand why it’s so hard for us to agree on the fact that women are people, and as such, they deserve to be dignified.

Intelligent people understand that just because some loudmouth politician who calls himself a Christian is against gay rights (not just marriage, but against a homosexual being fired simply for being homosexual) does not mean all Christians agree with him.

Intelligent people understand that one negative encounter with someone of a different race does not mean all people of that race are bad.

Intelligent people understand that the militant “feminazis” (a term I abhor) do not represent all feminists. We are not out to supplant men, oppress them, or degrade them. Those who do are missing the whole point.

My heart wants to react violently when I hear people say, “We don’t need feminism in America!” I’ll be honest and admit that I’m hesitant to use expressions like “war on women” because life for women in this country is not nearly as oppressive as, say, women in the Middle East who are assaulted with acid for the crime of wanting to be educated. We are so blessed to not have to face that kind of persecution here.

But that doesn’t mean life is ideal for women in America. There are scores of men who are running Congress who make extremely damaging remarks about domestic violence, which influence society’s view of it as a whole. Those attitudes ruin lives. They destroy the dignity of women’s souls. They hurt women, their children, and create an attitude of shame that directly affects the impact they leave on this world. You cannot operate out of shame and expect to live a productive life. Sadly, more often that not, men with the utmost privilege, who cannot fathom what it’s like to be judged by their clothing choices or their decision to work outside the home, are the ones promoting these attitudes.

But it’s not just men. Women like the creator of that blog have also bought the lie that the entire feminist movement is damaging and irrelevant because politics have gotten in the way of simply affirming humanity. Can we please go back to the beginning, when it was decided that a movement was necessary to affirm the humanity of women??

We need feminism in America. We need feminism in churches. We need feminism in every corner of the world where there is even one iota of injustice. We need men who strive to dignify the women in their lives: their wives, mothers, daughters, sisters. We need feminism to teach women that they are more than vaginas. More than sex objects.

We need feminism, period.

On choosing conflicting battles wisely

This is one of the most obvious understatements in the world: human beings are complex and often downright frustrating creatures.

Self-exploration and defining your place in the world is difficult enough without having to deal with unsolicited and misguided opinions thrown in your direction. As multi-faceted people, our internal battles are all over the place.

This is a brief, non-exhaustive list of issues that have made me want to hit my head against a wall on several occasions:

The idea that Jewish background + Christian beliefs automatically = Messianic Jew (it doesn’t. It’s a bit more complicated than that).

That being a Christian, period = hating gays, believing atheists have no morals, forcing beliefs on the nation by turning them into laws.

That feminism = bra-burning, man-hating, always pro-choice, anti-shaving extremist (I’ve had the privilege of meeting a handful of married, stay-at-home, religious, self-described feminists. They are real. I promise. And we all generally want the same thing: to be treated like human beings).

That English major = future English teacher (nope, not me).

That author = famous and made of money (HAHAHAHA…not even close).

That self-published author = not a 'legitimate' author (self-published books are on Amazon like all other “legitimately published” books. If it’s made of paper or downloadable via Kindle and you paid for it from a major distributor, it’s a book, dangit).

That being raped or assaulted always = brutally attacked by a stranger hiding in the bushes, because it can never happen in a relationship with someone you actually know (more on that here)

Your own list may look similar, or completely different. It’s easy for me to lose patience, to write off the people who question me as completely ignorant or even stupid. There are battles, and then there is the battle to pick your battles, because you simply can’t afford to lose it every time someone misunderstands an aspect of your life.

I’ve decided to pick three of the above “battles” as educational fields; my defining markers in life: Being a Christian, because that’s who I am; rape culture awareness/feminist issues, because those have affected me personally; and misconceptions about being an indie author, because that is my chosen profession. Even one of those issues results in a fully loaded plate, and I wish I didn’t have such a random lot to choose from.  I felt like a freak for a while, until one day I realized that no one’s life is lived completely in a vacuum. It’s okay to stand for multiple things, and the best way to stand for something is to be an effective teacher of it.

I’m always curious to learn more about how people deal with ignorance regarding who they are, or what they’ve been through. Now is your chance to educate me: what are your battle fields?

Selfish with a dash of good? Or vice versa?

Leaving my internship yesterday, I heard a voice call out “Hey Sarahbeth! Can I borrow a dollar?”

I looked up to see a somewhat disheveled man standing in front of me; possibly homeless but hard to tell. At first I was confused how he knew my name, but he probably read it off my custom-printed bag. In that bag was a hefty chunk of cash from my four babysitting jobs that I planned to take directly to the grocery store, in addition to a very expensive Macbook.

The man was only asking for a dollar; not a huge expense on my part. I could and should have given one to him. Yet all I could think was, I can’t let my guard down and risk having my stuff stolen.

I offered him some of my Ramen noodle stash instead, which he politely declined. Getting into my car, I felt like a failure as both a Christian and a human being. I could have done more, and I chastised myself for living in a world where concern for one’s personal safety trumps compassion; where being a single woman alone in a city means automatically fearing any man that approaches, even if his intentions aren’t malicious.

But is it really about safety? Or is there underlying prejudice that prompts us to say “no” when asked to give? Or when we notice people whose lives are radically different from our own?

I don’t always remember to lock my doors when I get in my car, but I lock them when I pass a cluster of teenagers in downtown Denver, always thinking It would be so easy to unlock the passenger door at a stoplight and grab my laptop/purse/whatever. Once, during a discussion group at church, a student was talking about how selfish we can be when there’s an opportunity for outreach: did Jesus not call us to serve others, no matter the personal risk to ourselves? My instinct was to protest, “You don’t understand! You are not a woman who looks ten years younger than she actually is; the world is not as dangerous a place for you, of course it’s easy for you to say that.”

Thankfully I wasn’t the only one thinking this, and the discussion turned into a battle of the sexes: the men kept insisting we (the females) were more concerned about ourselves than others in need, while the women kept insisting that Jesus would never advocate purposefully putting ourselves in danger if we didn’t absolutely have to.

On the drive home I stopped to allow more cars into my lane than usual, as if trying to atone for my selfishness before; once again deceiving myself into looking at salvation as some kind of points-based system. In the end, I am just one person with good intentions who often falls short. I can only do so much. But I feel guilty just the same.

Facebook and the bizarre new culture of grief

The last thing I want to do is take Facebook too seriously; it’s an isolated portal of communication that can only display so much of a person, so it’s inaccurate to judge people solely by the content they choose to post.

However, it does add up. People create patterns and expectations based on their shared information. Even friends I love dearly in “real life” have been hidden on Facebook because I simply don’t care about 99% of what they deem share-worthy. Most of the time, it’s nothing personal.

But I cringe every time I see a personal prayer request – for several reasons. It’s bad enough that “I’ll pray for you” has become a conversation-closer with good intentions that is rarely followed through; these are the posts that typically garner the most ‘likes’ and comments, and I’ll bet that most of them come from people who otherwise don’t give a damn about the rest of your life, except when there’s an opportunity to be a part of something that breeds attention. It’s for the same reason people tend to dress up ordinary encounters they had with someone who recently died, because death and grief create a backwards celebrity status.

I’m a strange person who considers the intimacy of prayer in the same way as marital intimacy: you don’t share the details with a great number of people. Just your significant other, your close friends and relatives, maybe a counselor or mentoring figure. I highly doubt those are the only people who have access to your Facebook account. So when you are asking an artificial community of ‘friends’ to pray on your behalf, what are you really asking for? Why does your grief demand a spotlight?

Personally, I’m terrible with remembering prayer requests. I’d much rather be asked to do something tangibly helpful, like make soup for someone who is sick. It’s possible that my discomfort with publicized prayer requests is linked to my changing conviction about the purpose of prayer, period: I don’t necessarily believe in praying for specific outcomes to problems anymore. Doing so makes me feel like I’m treating God as a personal genie, which I don’t believe he is. If someone is ill, I’ll pray that the doctors do their best performing courses of treatment. I’ll pray that the sick person is giving strength and resiliency, regardless of the outcome of their prognosis.

I think of Facebook-shared prayer requests like the cliffhanger ending of a TV show, because it sets up expectations of fulfillment. You are creating an audience for your troubles, and the voyeuristic tendencies of most people may keep them wanting to know what happens. And if the end result is not what you wanted, what then? Then your grief has been made public, which sets a precedent that leaving a condolence comment suffices for genuine sympathy. It doesn’t.

Real community should be there for you, in person, assisting you with your real needs (Jews have perfected this practice, called “sitting shiva”). Don’t settle for the falsehood of Facebook grief, because while most people may feel passing sympathy for you, they will likely forget once the next engagement post starts making headlines.

This former seminarian life

What a crazy week it's been...I have completely re-routed my life plans for the next few years. It feels slightly insane, but I also have a strange, unfamiliar sense of peace now that has been sorely missing in my life for the last several months.

It has occurred to me that maybe I'm not supposed to be a counselor after all, and that I definitely should not have pursued that degree at a conservative Christian seminary. In the same way that it's never a good idea to make drastic changes to your hair while experiencing depression and anxiety, it's probably not a good idea to pack up your life, move 3000 miles away, and start a degree that you never expressed interest in before, at a school you know next to nothing about. The lesson I learned? Look before you leap. And be willing to let the people who know you best help direct you. They are often able to see things that you can't.

I have some nagging feelings regarding the fact that I will probably live the rest of my life with "just" a bachelor's degree. But where is that guilt coming from? It's pressure I put on myself, mingled with a skewed idea that somehow my intelligence is measured by the initials after my name. Well, deep down I know that's not true. And I don't have "just" a bachelor's degree; I worked my ass off for it, and I enjoyed doing it. I gave grad school a try for a year, and it wasn't for me. There is no failure in that. There is also a lot less debt to pay off, and that's a huge plus!

I have learned something else about myself, too: I do not thrive well in bubbles. Christian bubbles, political bubbles, any kind of restrictive environment where everyone around you shares basic core beliefs, and you find your worldview shrinking, not growing. Not every Christian is cut out for seminary. What was unique about my experience at Kent State was how challenging my environment was. I was surrounded by peers who were burned out on church because they were only exposed to negative examples of Christianity. This motivated me to try and live more authentically, especially when I decided to write a conservative column for my campus newspaper. There was a definite sense of being "watched." And it convicted me in the best possible way.

My on-campus church group met twice a week, and that is where I felt "fed." That was where I grew. The key, I think, was having a healthy balance of church life and secular life. That was non-existent at seminary, when most of my time was spent in the library writing exegetical papers, and in class, wanting to beat my head against my desk listening to other students talk about "the lost," and how we as Christians have all the answers.

I can honestly say that seminary brought up way more questions than answers. That's not a bad thing. Most importantly, it was as if someone was holding up a mirror of my old self, the one who thought all the answers to the world's ills were tucked neatly in Scripture. Obviously, it's not nearly as simple as that. I wish I hadn't had to pay (read: borrow) $20,000 to learn that lesson, but I'm not sorry I did. Education is never a waste.

Thanks to a few searches on Google, I learned that spiritual burnout is a real issue. It can make devoted Christians jaded at best; atheists at worst. I'm nowhere near relinquishing my faith completely, but I definitely feel burned out. Jesus is someone to know, not someone to study. When seminary schooling reduces him to merely a homework assignment, when Bible verses are used as platitudes in times of real struggle, and when I'm feeling frustrated and wondering what attracted me to Christianity in the first place, then the right thing -- the only thing -- to do is leave seminary. Because my faith matters to me still. I need to spend time with God on my own terms again. Spiritual discipline is not "homework," and I don't think it's fair to be graded for it.

So what will I do now? Well, I do have an English degree. Maybe I'll look into publishing or editing positions. I wish I were the kind of person who could see this new road as another new adventure, but I have way too much OCD for that. In the mean time, there is a stack of books in my bedroom calling my name -- books I haven't had time to read because I've been swamped to my ears in books about Freud and Pauline epistles. And they seem to be saying,

Welcome home, SB!

Christians for Biblical Equality presents: Rape Culture in the Church

The following post is what I talked about during my presentation on rape culture for Christians for Biblical Equality. Delivered the entire message without tearing up, throwing up, or tripping in my heels. AND I got to sign some books. Success!

You may be wondering what is meant by the title “Rape culture in the church.” To start, let me just explain what “rape culture” is, for those who have never heard that term before. Rape culture is living in a society that excuses rape by placing the blame on the victim. Rape culture is perpetuating a cycle of irresponsibility for rapists who are in relationships with their victims, which is more common than you think. We often tell women that because they consented to sex before, they can’t say no, now. We teach men that sex is a right, and one that is theirs for the taking, especially in a marriage where a man is considered the head of the household, according to Christian tradition.

Rape culture is also making jokes about rape. When I was a freshman in college, it was an inside joke in my sorority to say “It’s not rape if you call pin rank” (“Pin rank” referring to the order in which the pledges were initiated). This wasn’t referring to actual rape, but was used as an extreme expression to show the amount of power and authority the older pledges had on the newer ones. To my knowledge, no one thought anything of it, and I laughed along as much as everyone else did.

This topic is very personal to me, because I myself am a statistic of rape. Rather than beat myself up, I channeled my anger and grief into my self-published book, Someone You Already Know, which tells the story of two teenage victims and their efforts to understand each other. One character was raped by her boyfriend; the other by a stranger. It wasn’t written as a Christian book, but I intended for it to be a teaching tool for classrooms and churches.

Now you’re probably wondering, what does this have to do with the church? If you’re active on Facebook and other forms of social media like I am, you may be familiar with a certain blog post regarding female modesty that went viral this summer. It was written by a woman named Kim Hall, and in her post she talks about looking through her sons’ Facebook friends’ lists. She is writing to their female friends asking them to “cover up” so her sons don’t stumble. She writes, “Once my boys see a suggestive photo of you, they can’t un-see it.” To be fair, this woman’s intentions were good: modesty is a forgotten virtue in our culture that must be brought back. But Kim Hall is not the only Christian going about this important subject in a way that shames women. We Christians care a great deal about modesty, but we teach it in a way that is completely backwards.
I want to tell you that it is not a woman’s responsibility to prevent men from lusting. Not to mention, telling women to “cover up” for the sake of helping out their brothers in Christ is demeaning to both sexes.

First, it implies that women’s bodies are shameful and something to be hidden, which they’re not! Remember that Adam and Eve were originally naked in Eden. It was after the Fall that the body was viewed through corrupt lenses; but there is nothing inherently shameful about our bodies to begin with. Secondly, this mindset implies that men are barbaric beasts who are slaves to their hormones. It implies they have no self-control, and need to rely on women to take responsibility for them.

Men, I don’t know about you, but I’m highly offended by the implication that your brain is next to your balls. If men become animals and lose all self-control at the sight of a suggestively-dressed woman, and seemingly have no ‘choice’ but to either lust after her, or assault her, then what we’re saying is that the default status of all men is "rapist."

Think about it this way: we all know better than to take things that don’t belong to us. We know better than to trespass onto someone else’s property. Such actions have serious consequences, and rarely do we tell the person whose car was broken into that it’s their fault for not hiding the GPS under the seat, or in the dash. But when it comes to rape, there is something unique about this crime where it’s easier to excuse the perpetrator. We blame the woman’s skirt. We blame the fact that she was drinking. We insist she should have known better. Why her, and not the rapist?

So now, you may be thinking: okay, rape culture is a problem, but what does this have to do with the church? The answer is simple: the line between “She caused him to stumble” is not a far cry from “She was asking for it.” The reality is, women are just as likely to be raped in burquas as they are in string bikinis. This happens every day in the Middle East, especially right now in Syria.

I’ve had well-intentioned Christian friends preach modesty during Bible study, in a way that suggests “Only you can keep your boyfriends’ minds in check.” Well, my ex-boyfriend raped me when I was wearing sweatpants: not my first choice of ‘asking for it’ clothes. So clearly, sinful behavior is a deliberate choice. It’s not something one ‘stumbles’ into by accident. The relationship began when I was 17, an age where I thought I knew everything, and it ended when I was 22. He was a leader in the young adult group at his church; if you knew him, you probably looked up to him, as I did. He told me he was “making me into a woman,” and because he was a leader in his church, this raised an important question for me: what kind of womanhood is expected of me as a Christian?

It’s time the church starts taking responsibility for one another by changing the way we see each other. We are created in God’s image, meaning we are creatures with inborn dignity. Men AND women should care about modesty out of respect for their own bodies, a vessel that should not be revealed to just anyone. What would it look like if we taught our sons and daughters to view each other as dignified human beings, instead of ‘stumbling blocks’?

When we teach our daughters to cover up to prevent men from lusting, we are telling them that their bodies are shameful. And when we tell men that the control of their hormones are a woman’s responsibility from the way we dress, we are teaching them to view women as temptresses, not human beings. Attitudes like these are further traumatizing for rape victims in particular, who may already blame themselves for what they endured. That’s what society does, but the church is called to be different. The church is called to set an example.

According to RAINN, the Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network, approximately 28% of victims already know the person who raped them. These victims are often sitting next to you in church, and are further shamed into silence by their pastors and fellow congregants, who ignorantly promote a view that modesty is about preventing men from lusting; and should they fail, then rape is not only excusable, but asked for.

How can we better address this issue in the church?

On breaking up with Christian Culture

Life is getting a little intense here in Seminary Land.

If you know me in real life, and have known me since my early college days, you may have been very concerned about the way I'd be influenced at a conservative Christian seminary. It is, after all, a complete 180 from Kent-read-Kent-write-Kent-remember-what-I-did-last-night Kent State. Of all the places in the world to find faith, when so many of my peers finally had the freedom to leave it!

But that's what I did. And I remember quite clearly, in the midst of cold-sweated fear of what my family and friends would think, the excitement of jumping head-first into a brand new world. It was exciting and terrifying like the first day of school. There were many things I embraced, or tried to, back then that I find very uncomfortable now. Ironically, going to seminary for the last year has done a lot to flip my faith inside out, and cause me to wonder what I thought was so appealing about it in the first place.

My theology hasn't changed much; the Gospel message never changes. But my view of church has. And other Christians I'm supposed to be in community with. Church culture as a whole.

Maybe I'm using the wrong words. I don't know if "Christian culture" is what I should be criticizing, or rather, Christian stereotypes. Can one really embrace a religion without its culture? The real problem may be that Christian culture is fine as it is; the flaws I find within it are a result of comparing it to the Jewish culture I grew up with, and miss dearly (is it obvious I still have soul-searching to do?).

I keep forgetting that belief in the Gospel is what makes one a Christian. Nothing else. But the Christian culture thing is problematic: something I find myself rebelling against, because I realize how much pretending is involved on my part. How much fakery and pretension. See, I'm not and never have been the happy-clappy, hand-holding, Christian-ese speaking kind of Christian. I've written before about my distaste for church groups that seem to imply worship music is the only kind of worship, period, and being forced to lead prayers as an introvert...or sit and listen to someone else pray them over me, because I'm too nice to say "I'm sorry, but that makes me uncomfortable. I appreciate the offer, though."

I've endured awkwardness many times in church settings, telling myself it will get better as time goes on. It never occurred to me until recently that it may not be a sin after all to speak up and be honest, but polite, about things I'm not comfortable doing. Things like praying out loud that contradict my personality and the ways I relate to God. Doesn't the beauty of community include diverse worship practices?

I hope the answer is yes. If not, then Church Culture and I may need to go our separate ways, because I am not growing. I am not learning. Instead, I sit pretending to be just as moved as everyone else, but inside I'm wondering what is wrong with me. In the end, I can't pretend to be something I'm not, just because that's what other people expect. That's not authenticity. That's wasting my time. Furthermore, it doesn't allow anyone else the chance of really getting to know me (I'm worth knowing, aren't I???).

I don't know what the ideal solution to this dilemma will be. But, while everyone else is standing and holding up their arms while the worship band is playing, doing what comes naturally to them, I'm doing what comes naturally to me: sitting, and writing in my prayer journal. Because worship goes beyond the bounds of Christian culture stereotypes. Worship is authentic, or nothing.

I am either an authentic Christian, or no Christian at all.

With thanks to the chutzpah of Rachel Held Evans for tackling subjects that many "good Christians" sweep under the rug, thus giving me courage to write a few of my own.

No heritage left behind? Post-"conversion" thoughts

My first book "Confessions of a Prodigal Daughter" has undergone a slight makeover recently. I finally got around to correcting the grammatical errors that aren't uncommon for a first-time, self-published author's debut. This meant re-reading the entire manuscript with fresher eyes, and as I did so, I realized a few things. Mainly, I don't quite have the same strong beliefs as I did when I first wrote it. I'm also more confident in other beliefs that I was still unsure about at publication time.

Considering the book is barely two years old, it surprises me how much has changed since then. But living at seminary will do that to you. As a "baby Christian" explaining how my spiritual turnabout happened, I wrote as if I was trying to convince myself that Christianity was the ultimate fulfillment of Judaism. This is what my new Christian friends told me, and it made me feel slightly better about myself. I didn't have to compromise as much as I thought. Christianity and Judaism cross paths with each other in history: no one can argue that. The change would not be as radical if, say, I was going from Judaism to Hinduism.

But the "Jewish Christian" or "Hebrew Christian" label never sat well with me. In fact, I didn't really understand why it was so important to hold on to something -- anything -- Jewish in the first place. Never in my life have I ever been a "religious Jew." I suppose it had more to do with appeasing my family and remaining Jewish friends; I didn't want them thinking I went completely off the deep end.

Then seminary happened. My immersion into Christian culture has been, shall we say, not so graceful. "Christian-ese" language, and pretty much everything having to do with Christian culture, drove me nuts. And that makes sense, considering I spent most of my life making fun of it. Now I'm a Christian, and I'm supposed to forget how it made me feel to hear people talk about me being a "non-believer," as if I didn't believe in anything, and hearing phrases like "bathed in the blood," which just sounds cult-ish and creepy to people outside the church? This language was so off-putting to me then, and it still is now. In addition to not knowing what any of it meant, it also implied an air of exclusivity: "First you join our club, then we'll let you know what we're talking about."

Okay, so it's not like Jewish culture doesn't have its own "air of exclusivity," with words like "kvetch" that sound like a sneeze to gentile ears. What can I say? I know I'm biased.

I started to long for my Jewish culture again -- because there's more spice and history in words like "chutzpah" than in any other "ism" I've heard in church (personal opinion). Quite honestly, I miss having Jewish friends: to joke with, to commiserate with, to bond with. But to miss the culture is to ultimately miss the religion itself: something I didn't completely internalize until my father got really sick this summer, and I had to fly back to Ohio. It felt like a metaphorical return to my roots: something I owed to myself after trying to assimilate in foreign territory for so long.

Long story short: it just isn't that easy.

Some of my Christian friends at seminary will still try to convince me I can have it both ways: they try to tell me I'm a "completed Jew." I've been called a heretic for strongly disagreeing with that wording. Only those who have grown up Jewish, or studied the religion immensely, can understand just how much one gives up when they decide to embrace Christianity. I don't regret this decision at all, because I love the Christian theology of God becoming man so he can relate to me on my level. I love that so much, I am now willing to accept that such a theology is incompatible with Jewish theology. Maintaining a love for Jewish culture and being a descendant of Jewish heritage are one thing, but spiritually speaking, I know I cut myself off.

It's irrelevant to me that Jesus didn't intend to create another religion when he started his ministry. Judaism and Christianity evolved in separate directions anyway, and that is the reality we must work with.

It's not enough to convince a Jewish person that Jesus is the real Messiah: the Jewish teachings about sin are different from Christianity's, as are the doctrines about the afterlife, suffering, etc. It makes me angry how "Messianic Jews" (in my experience, the people who use this title are actually full-blooded gentiles who "have a heart" for Judaism) dismiss all that, as if it's all so simple. It's not. Theology -- any theology -- is already messy, but combining two religions as one is even messier. Not to mention impossible.

Of course, people who disagree are free to believe what they want. I just have to put my foot down when it comes to the evangelism tactic that Jews can become Christian and not lose Judaism. Yes, talk about Jesus' Jewish ancestry and what he set out to do, but couching Christianity in Jewish terms is deceptive, plain and simple.

I still wonder about the "What is a Jew" debate, and how much of Judaism, if anything, I can still claim as my own. But that doesn't mean I can't still appreciate it for what it is, and "visit" my roots by rereading my collection of Jewish books. It feels good to be somewhat more at peace with what I believe, even if complete contentment is highly unlikely in this life. Such is the summary of every conversion story: you can't ever leave your heritage behind.