Somebody somewhere asked for my list of feminist theologians. It was very late. Wine was involved. So here a preliminary list for what it’s worth.  If you have some recommendations, please add them to the comments below.  I know there are more good people on my own shelves and beyond. This list is comprised of authors who were writing from a primarily binary/CIS-gendered place and represent a snapshot in time – early in the movement.  It also is woefully lacking in authors of color.  I look forward to hearing about what you are reading.

Early, Important Texts:

Sexism and God-Talk: Toward A Feminist Theology by Rosemary Radford Ruether (1983). This is really a seminal text for feminist theology. She opens up a whole world of thinking, not just about patriarchal language. She explores the masculine that is embedded in our most fundamental theology around Jesus as Savior.  It is mind-blowing thing to read – even today.

God and the Rhetoric of Sexuality by Phyllis Trible (1978).  Trible does are wonderful job of unpacking the hermeneutics at work in privileged biblical interpretation and theological application by bringing the hermeneutics of suspicion into full expression.

Metaphorical theology: Models of God in Religious Language by Sallie McFague (1982). Read anything you can by Sallie McFague.  In this book she looks at the line of metaphor and other symbolic language in various rhetorical field, following religious language through dogma creation and images of God the Father.

Moving into the 2nd Generation:

Just a Sister Away: A Womanist’s Vision of Women’s Relationships in the Bible by Renita Weems (1988). This book has been an excellent exegetical resource for me.  She truly gets into the minds of the biblical characters and describes in helpful ways how those relationships can inform the work and lives of black women in the church.   

Reimagining God: The Case for Scriptural Diversity by Johanna @.H. van Wijk-Bos (1993). This book gets at the heart of biblical language and how it has shaped our thinking around the people in the Bible and the Trinity itself.  Now only does she open up the gender question, but she also looks at traditionally ascribed roles for the divine.

She Who Is: The Mystery of God in Feminist Theological Discourse by Elizateth A. Johnson (1992).  Coming from the Roman Catholic tradition, Johnson really opens up the nature of symbol and names feminine metaphors in her search for what she calls “emancipatory speech.”

The Power to Speak: Feminism, Language, God by Rebecca S. Chopp (1989).  Chopp builds on the foundation of hermeneutics of suspicion and lays out metholodogical problems such as women’s access to particular language and spaces to transform discourse.

En la Lucha: Elaborating a mujerista theology by Ada María Isasi-Díaz (1993). This book brought words like “mestizaje” and “ethnomethodology” into my understanding.  I especially appreciate how Isasi-Díaz makes direct links between academic praxis proposals and the real lived experience of Hispanic women.

Changing the Subject: Women’s Discourses and Feminist Theology by Mary McClintock Fulkerson (1994). This is pretty heady stuff. But she lays out a beautiful analysis of various epistemologies at work at play in feminist work across a broad theological spectrum, drawing examples from Pentecostal and Presbyterian women.

Authors I recommend (based on journal articles I’ve read):

Kwok Pui-Lan
Rita Nakashima Brock
Delores Williams
Margaret Aymer-Oget
Frances Taylor Gench
Susan Brooks-Thistlethwaite
Serene Jones

A meditation offered at the annual Seven Last Words of Jesus Good Friday Service (East Bay Interdenominational Ministerial Alliance)

The Third Word

When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved he said to his mother, “Woman, here is your son.” And then he said to his disciple, “Here is your mother.” And from that hour the disciple took her into his own home. (John 19:26-27)

How did we get here? How did we get to this place? How is it that we come here to stand at the foot of the cross with Mary and John and hear these words: “Woman, behold your son.”

What earthly good is it for us to experience this moment? Isn’t there enough pain in our world already? Don’t we struggle enough in our lives? Isn’t there already more than enough suffering?Haven’t we already seen too many sons and daughters, brothers and sisters go to their deaths too soon? Violence, disease, hopelessness – don’t we all know too many friends whose lives are weighed down by too many griefs? Some days it seems like all we do is live Good Friday lives. None of us here wants to hear these words, to see this cross, to once again be part of this suffering.

Woman, behold your son.

Well I’m sorry, but I don’t want to behold. I don’t want to because I know that if I look up to behold, I know what I’ll see. I know that I’ll see what Mary did when she looked up to behold her son. When she looked up, she looked into the eyes of death; the eyes of failure. What she saw were the eyes of hopelessness and loss.

Woman, behold your son.

The truth is, though none of wants to admit it, we need this moment between mother and son. We need to see Mary for the radical leader that she is. We need to see because as she leads us to the foot of the cross where none of us ever wants to go, we know she doesn’t want to go either. What mother would?

Surely she remembers the angelic visions that invited her to take up mothering before she was ready – when she said: If that’s what God wants.. then here I am, servant of the Lord.” Surely she must have remembered when she and Joseph took Jesus to the temple and the prophets stood there and said amazing things about his future… and also hard things. Surely she was remembering a wedding where they ran out of wine. And she pushed him a little bit and said – “You can take care of this and make it an even better party.”

No. I can’t imagine that Mary or any mother or father would want to be there. And yet, as Jesus’ mother, it’s exactly where she needs to be – and it’s exactly where we need to be. As Mary leads us to the cross, she is telling us that why we need to go.

Because it’s there in the midst of rejection we will find love;
it’s there in the midst of suffering we will find healing;
it’s there in the midst of violence and pain we can find peace;
it’s there in the midst of fear and grief where the seeds of faith are planted deeply.
It’s there that her faith and ours becomes real.

But maybe most importantly of all, we need this moment between Jesus and his mother because Jesus needs it too. He needs to know that his mother will be cared for. He needs to know that although he didn’t always do right by her, here in his last moments, he’s got to try to make it right.

I’m sure he was remembering too – remembering that not too long ago, when his mother came looking for him, like many adult children, busy with their own lives, he brushed her off. I’m sure he remembered when he said: “Who are my mother and my brothers?” when he told her that the world had a greater claim on him – that all men were his brothers, all women were his sisters, his mother. And while we can thank God for that because Jesus includes us, too, how much that must have hurt her mother’s heart. And surely Jesus remembered in that moment on the cross.

“Woman, behold your son.”
He said to his disciple: “Here is your mother.”

We need this moment at the foot of the cross because we need to hear these words – because these are the only words in these seven that force us to look at the cross and to look beyond it.

We need these words because as mothers and fathers watch their beloved children grow and change, as grandparents celebrate the possibilities of their grandbabies, we know there will be suffering. We know there will be pain. We know there will be mistakes made, consequences paid. But when we stand with Mary at the foot of the cross we know we don’t stand alone.

“Woman, behold your son.”
He said to his disciple: “Here is your mother.”

So yes, we will go with Mary to the foot of the cross. Because there will find our strength, and our hope and there we will find what it means to be called by God and to answer that call with a resounding YES!

Resisting Palm Sunday

Posted: March 29, 2015 in Uncategorized

A sermon preached at First Presbyterian Church of Oakland
March 29, 2015

As 21st century Christians, I’m not sure we know what to do about Palm Sunday. To be sure, here at First Church, we have our traditions which lead us directly into Holy Week – beautiful symbolic practices which have us beginning our service with celebration and ending it with a hint of the devastation to come. But when we go home, what then? How do we take this day and bring it into our everyday lives? Should we?

Maybe Palm Sunday is meant to simply be a transitional Sunday – a day that helps us move liturgically from one season to the next. Holy week, then, is the church’s long dark night of the soul, an obscure tunnel through which we must pass every year so that we can come out on the other end and celebrate the joy of Easter morning.

I’m not kidding. For many of us, Holy Week in general feels too hard. The brutality, the grief, and our various understandings of why the crucifixion happened in the first place – all contribute to our confusion and discomfort. When there’s so much suffering and struggle in our own lives, in our community, who wants to hear about the horrible pain and suffering of Jesus. When we are told that God is merciful, slow to anger, abounding in steadfast love, what do we do with the nagging in our souls that makes us as: Why would such a thing happen to God’s own son? Why should we focus on that when the healing and teaching of Jesus are much more helpful, much more hopeful for our lives?

I wonder if the disciples, when they looked back over the few years they had with Jesus asked themselves much the same questions? Follow me! Could mean a lot of things, but I doubt if Andrew and Philip and Peter and the rest of them thought it would mean ending in despair in Jerusalem! But when Jesus called those fishermen, when he healed women and children, when he invited rich and poor alike to follow him, it didn’t take long before they realized that he expected all those who would follow him to get down in the muddy reality and muck about with him.

So when they finally came to the city, It was a huge moment for them all. They were finally bringing the healing work of Jesus to Jerusalem. At last, they were taking their liberating work beyond the farmers and small town people. They were ready to expand the work of radical inclusion, reaching the lives of those who lived nearest the Temple, but still remained on the fringe of acceptability- those whom the powers in Jerusalem considered the unclean dregs.

It shouldn’t surprise us that the disciples, the crowds, even Jesus were excited. All they had to do was remember how he healed the crazy one who lived in the cemetery, how he brought Peter’s mother back from near death, how more than 5000 people were fed by 5 loaves and 2 fish, how at every turn, he worked to break down oppression and to heal suffering. The crowds of people who followed them into Jerusalem wanted to testify to their salvation. Those who who never found acceptance anywhere else in Israel found a friend in him. The ones who couldn’t even get permission to make Temple sacrifices because they were so unclean found renewal and hope.

They were bringing their new power, their new sense of belonging, their fully healed and cleansed selves to the only place they could fully celebrate, fully worship the God who made all this happen. They had to return to the home of their faith – to Jerusalem.

In the midst of all their excitement, it seems like they all forgot what life with Jesus had been like. In this moment – when it looks like Jesus is being welcomed to the throne of power, it seems that nobody remembers what Jesus had been about from the beginning.

This may actually be the hardest thing about Palm Sunday – because if we are truly honest – we have to see ourselves in the crowds of followers – followers that included the people who were nearest and dearest to Jesus’ heart – followers who had learned from him, even helped him. It means we have to admit that like his disciples and like those crowds from the villages and towns, we’d rather have a glorious and transcendent Christ who leads us magnificently through the city streets with joy; who magnanimously (and magically) fixes all our problems, making a new kingdom by wiping out the old one with a sweep of his royal arm.

The truth is – if we are going to enter into Palm Sunday at all, if we are going to engage in any Holy Week practices, we need to begin by acknowledging the truth that as much as we might wish it otherwise, most of the time, the life of a disciple is not filled with Palm Sunday glory. For the disciples, following Jesus meant getting their hands dirty. It meant dramatically changing their understanding of holiness to include relationships with prostitutes, tax collectors and lepers. It meant spending time counting heads and looking around to find food on hand, hauling that food around, and making sure every last one gets fed AND THEN sticking around to pick up the trash.

Following Jesus meant walking and walking and walking from town to town, doing the hard work of making the good news real. Then, as Presbyterian preacher and teacher Tom Long put it: just when they think they’re entering Jerusalem to claim glory for King Jesus, they have to go into town, muck around in a stable, looking suspiciously like horse thieves and then try to wrestle the darn thing back uphill where Jesus waited. (Tom Long, “Donkey Fetchers”, Christian Century)

When Holy Week feels too hard, when our questions about the brutality, the grief, the crucifixion bring us only confusion, when there’s so much suffering and pain all around us, we can remember and give thanks that Jesus didn’t come to move someone else out of power so he could rise in the same oppressive system. He came to show the world that rising to power means being raised up on a cross. We can remember and celebrate that Jesus didn’t come to rule over the people, demanding absolute obedience as a sign of support for his reign. He came to save by breaking the chains of political and religious oppression.

But most of all, we need to remember that Jesus didn’t come into Jerusalem, into our very hearts because he wanted to lord it over us. He came as one of us, to save the world by inviting the world – inviting us to share his power and to work side by side with him in the realities of a world that would rather rest and relax in the status quo. Even now, he invites us to join him on the road to Jerusalem. Knowing that when we do, we’ll be joining him on the road that leads to the cross.