Reflections on African Women's Theology - On Mercy Amba Oduyoye

Daughters of Anowa: African Women and Patriarchy

by Mercy Amba Oduyoye   Second Half

In chapter 6 of Daughters of Anowa, Mercy Oduyoye says “The framework of patriarchy is constructed on many pillars. Each requires scrutiny, but patriarchy itself is defective and must be torn down” (153). Within the second half of her book, Oduyoye looks at several of those pillars, including the impact of Western ideology’s influence upon patriarchy. She says “ Traditional norms are enforced whenever they serve to silence women, reduce or eliminate their voices. My observation is that these traditional systems have been strengthened by Western patriarchal structures as national governments and institutions have been formed” (151). The horrific irony of this is exasperated by the prevalence of customary law and ambivalence to civil law. Civil law, constructed from Western models, is limited by lack of provision for important existing structures in Akan society, such as polygyny. Marriage and inheritance for children are often adversely affected by interference of misaligned civil law (161-162). Another angle of patriarchy are the oppressive expectations on African women. Oduyoye says “To expect women to uphold all that is humanizing in African culture and yet deny their participation in the politics of family and nation is like asking them to make bricks without straw (171).

The essay "A Coming Home to Myself: The Childless Woman in teh West Africa Space" which is in the tribute to Letty Russell, is another example of the rich prose with which Oduyoye writes. She shares her personal experience of internalized oppression and shame of the familial and cultural expectations for childbearing and most importantly her journey to acceptance and affirmation of God’s love and call for her life, a call without biological children, but with great potential for creative generation of life. Our reading of this article stems from a question I asked in class about how to care pastorally for women within such a communally driven identity. Dr. Mombo responded graciously, replying that the individual’s experience of pain and suffering is always there and suggested this article as an example. I’m looking forward to discussion in class about this essay. Oduyoye describes thoroughly the despair and grief she lived with during her reproductive years and shares her testimony of grace and healing coming from God, from a specific experience as well as from her theological construction. I wonder, then, what her advice to African ministers and women elders who counsel women would be.

The ambiguity of reproductive potential and reality of infertility are at odds within a woman’s experience. Female autonomy means that we are told we choose whether we want to have children or not. But, in a society that views the choice of childlessness as abnormal, how much choice do we really have in our desires? I envy my friends who have come to the decision to be childfree due to a genuine desire to not have kids. My soul longs for that level of confirmation. But, instead, I am left with fibroids, in a similar way as Mercy, and thanks to access to more testing ability than the actual medical understanding of what’s going on, I am aware of multiple chronic conditions contributing to infertility and access to only vaguely understood interventions that did not work. My passion for reproductive concerns stems from my own experience… one that includes walking down state-assisted hallways with limited access to care as well as walking down privatized hallways with access limited only to your checkbook and your privileges in society. Both were hallways of shame, fear, and grief. 

Why back to school? grad school reflection

Since the beginning of my discernment, my call to ministry has been to ease spiritual suffering. I continue to passionately believe that the environmental, social and physical suffering in this world will never heal if we do not first address the spiritual suffering. If our sense of self and sense of community were fully realized, how could we live in voluntary ignorance and destructive apathy? After 6 years of answering that call in chaplaincy, I wish to grow as a caregiver and scholar. Participating in the cultivation of theologically and pastorally trained leaders is a natural progression of my call to ease spiritual suffering in the world. To do this, I am seeking a PhD program to study and expand my base of knowledge in pastoral theology, cultural anthropology, psychosocial theories and pedagogy. As a pastoral theologian and scholar, I want to expand the conversation in postmodern theology and to make it applicable to today’s society, especially within the realm of fertility and infertility.  The school I'm applying to has a progressive postmodern voice that is important to me and to accomplishing these goals.

The path to finding a spiritual calling can be an interesting one, but looking back, each step along my path led me with a clear and passionate purpose towards the work I now do. Even before I could name it, discovering meaning and purpose defined my life’s path. The spiritual abuse I received as a child in a fundamentalist Wisconsin Synod Lutheran church steered me towards science and as far away from religion as possible. However, by studying and working with science, I discovered that religion is not the only place cognitive dissonance lives. During that journey, I found my best conversation partners were with progressive Christians.

My healing did not solely happen by leaving the place of abuse or by discovering a replacement faith system. Through secular counseling, I learned how to pull apart my emotions and thoughts, how to distinguish self from group, and how to empower myself and others to live fully. Through earnest and honest seeking, I discovered the joy and peace that the spiritual experience brings. Spiritual direction, monastic retreats, and many other experiences also helped heal my connection with God.

Then, after all that, seminary helped me dismantle and deconstruct hidden precepts and assumptions not only about religion, but about life. I began seminary with a passion for biblical interpretation, seeking to dismantle not only the misconceptions I was raised with, but also to address the assumed authority and power scripture has. My past may have taught me that scripture was the key, but seminary taught me that history of church, theology and even pedagogy are just as key.

Seminary is  a place of crucial integration. By increasing contextual awareness and understanding in many subjects, a person with a call to help others turns into a beautiful  kaleidoscope of skills.  However, my time in CPE and working among professional ministers and chaplains revealed a genuine lack of theological integration with the pastoral care they give. How people view God affects how they view themselves and the world.  As pastoral care providers, I feel we are called out not only to have a clear understanding of our own theology, but also how it relates to traditionally held beliefs. Often, when people have holes or inconsistencies within their theology, it can be due to lack of language to describe their feelings and thoughts about it.  As we listen to people, we should be able to reflect back confusing thoughts with different and hopefully clear language. In order to do that, however, we must do the work of theological construction and integration long before the conversation happens.

Many who seek such understanding attend seminary and labor through CPE, hoping and anticipating some of the theological and spiritual fog will clear. I help with Mid-Year Consultations for CPE residents and each year I’m assigned to a student from an evangelical background, often with a theology that creates separatism and exclusivism. The struggle and pain this brings them is hard for me to observe. I have no desire to convert the world to my way of thinking, but I do desire to ease these spiritual leaders’ suffering. I desire to aid them in exploring the struggle that exists for a theology that may give comfort in some ways, but cause conflict in other ways.  I want to help them discover not only how to fill their own theological gaps, but also how to minister to the diverse world compassionately and competently.

Professional chaplain gatherings also revealed to me several things.   I observed that many chaplains who teach and lead come from faith traditions rife not only with visible cognitive dissonance, but also with moral conflict. In addition, I noticed that chaplain leaders from progressive faith backgrounds often redirected or avoided uncomfortable theological subjects by encouraging religious diversity and focusing on psychosocial or ethical theories.  The field would benefit from more leaders who bring integrative and constructive postmodern theology not just to the discussion table, but to the practitioners in the field. I desire to expand my knowledge of theology and how the work in pastoral care interacts with it. My passion is for the postmodern voice, one that is steeped in understanding modern logic, but acknowledges that to authentically reflect reality, the voice of experience and context must always be heard.

Currently, my ministry entails working in hospice as a chaplain and bereavement educator. The time spent as a child ministering with my grandmother in nursing homes and to elderly church members imprinted not only an awareness of, but also a comfort around physical limitations and end of life.  So, here I am, walking the path with many, a path we all will or have taken: facing our own limitations and mortality. My personal limitations currently involve fertility, conception and pregnancy. When I faced accepting infertility, I had to search deep inside myself for the balm to my spiritual suffering. I had no ready way to process it.

My Master’s thesis combines feminist and process theology, so it should be no surprise that the language of co-creator is comfortable for me. It makes sense for a woman with a biology degree and healthy suspicion of power structures to want to find a theology that not only supports but empowers the individual. Accepting that I am unlikely to conceive life felt like I was sacrificing the very foundation of my faith system as a co-creator, not because I cannot envision other ways of creative being, but because the sacred unique creation of life is no longer within my grasp.

When I studied biology and biochemistry, they fed my desire to understand and revel in the mysteries of life as a creative and distinctive process. It laid the foundation for my understanding of who we are and how we relate to God and the world. What happens when someone with such a foundation finds out that she is not part of the cycle of life?  A piece of writing or the influence I have on people's hearts or minds is not the same as creating life. We must acknowledge the unique and complex process of creating life and the sacredness of such creativity. We cannot deny that all life is sacred and that the ability to create it is sacred as well. Therefore, the loss of such a sacred identity means infertility is not just a loss of function, but a complex web of experience. Infertility is not just a disorder or a dysfunction, it is not just a loss of anticipated future, and it is not just a loss of identity. It is all of the above combined with constant ethical and moral dilemmas, decision making that determines the rest of one’s life, and continual exposure to familial as well as societal pressure and judgment.

 I want to develop a way for pastors and chaplains to approach this rapidly growing area of spiritual discernment among individuals and families. I want to make the language of fertility issues normalized and eliminate the negative repercussions of shame and guilt. Above all, I wish to find an integrative postmodern theology that not only provides comfort to the infertile, but also provides a spiritual and ethical compass during a difficult time. I have my own thoughts and experiences, of course, but I want to dig deeper as a scholar and as a chaplain to add this particular context to the training of our pastoral leaders.

My call to ease spiritual suffering continues to evolve and I greatly desire to be a postmodern theological and pastoral voice in our world. I wish to not only contribute to scholarship, but also to the transformation and growth of pastoral care providers. The PhD program at this school combines the crucial elements of respected scholarship with the spirit-filled mission to cultivate competent and compassionate pastoral leaders. I request approval for admission to the PhD program for Pastoral Theology and Pastoral Care.

Choice C: Neither Evil Queen Nor Innocent Maiden

I love watching these old fairy tales I learned thorugh Disney's distorted eyes be reinterpreted and given twists to keep the story fresh. Watching Snow White and Huntsmen sparked reflection about gender roles and Disney princesses. The most basic theme to draw from this movie is that the only power females have are purity and beauty. And the ultimate power is to have both. Purity and beauty is the inspiration for men to war, for people to unite, and the only way hope transcends despair.

That in and of itself is enough to make watching a beautifully put together story torture. But I started wondering  what the allure was for watching Disney princesses as a young girl. I remember the stories taught me a very twisted view of gender roles, one that I thought empowered me and made me truly stronger and more powerful in my submissive and secondary status.  Brute strength and domination were okay for men, because, really, they can’t help themselves. I was taught to almost feel sorry for the simple and primal natures of man and celebrate how women can be above such earthly things.  Women gain power and control through purity and beauty. The catch is, of course, neither of these things are always in our control, are they? A man can force himself on a woman and her purity no longer exists and preferences for physical beauty are at the whim of those who control public favor. And while men and boys are comparing themselves against an impossible caricature of physical strength bringing them power, women are striving to perfect some ideal of beauty and/or purity that society told them would also bring them power.

Today, we recognize, yet are still trapped within, the twisted and tangled  sexualization and objectification of such roles and desires.  But, as a young girl, I wasn’t thinking with my hormones, I was thinking with my heart and my mind. I wanted acceptance and love. I wanted respect and attention, and I was learning how to achieve those things through mimicking the role models given to me. In Snow White, the two women are both beautiful and gain power from the inspiration such beauty gives those around them. However, the impure Queen has an insatiable appetite for strength over men and being in control,  while Snow White is the epitome of purity suffering through darkness and wins the hearts of men through selfless acts of sacrifice and goodness.  The righteous and pure woman who has beauty and desires to never have power will be given the most power and respect. Snow White did not earn her throne, it was given to her by those who felt she was worthy, while the Queen stole the throne from the King by killing him.  A woman who is empowered is impure and evil. Snow White's more acceptable journey into queendom is through maintaining her innocence despite temptations and exposure to reality. She woos men of all kinds with her innocence and beauty, the power she holds with these  traits conquers the evil of an empowered decisive woman destroying the kingdom.

 Keep your head down, work hard, be pretty but not slutty, be selfless and compassionate to the point of self-harm, and never expect any good to come to you… and then all the riches of the kingdom, all the loyalty of men and society will be yours. How in the world does that make sense? And, yet, ask many of the women raised on these Woman's Day post-World War Two emphasized gender roles, and they will recognize this twisted sense of shame and subversive empowerment.  Not that this illogic doesn't run farther back into the past, but these are the current interpretations.

 

So they can put Snow White into pants and armor, they can even give her a sword so the huntsman can spank her behind with it, but the story doesn't really change. Women have their roles to fill and men as well. Women and men can both have power, but the only good power women can have is through beauty and purity, never through intelligence, strength, or control, all of which will corrupt girls and women. That is the lesson these stories teach us.

 As a young girl, I already realized that those stories of princesses were a fantasy that did not match reality. I already had learned that we do not always control things such as beauty and purity. I learned hard truths that gender roles others may want us to have are not conducive to survival or real life. Women must take care of themselves, must protect themselves, and make decisions that are not always sweet and innocent. But, oh, how I longed for them to be true! I longed for there to be a dashing Prince Charming that would take all my cares away, if only I could live up to that ideal of perfect beauty and purity. And, oh, how easy it was to embrace the simplicity of such a way of thinking, a way that explains why it felt like no one loved me or paid attention to me… because I'm not pretty, special or sweet enough. Such twisted logic provides meaning and purpose without having to do any real thinking.

 The question is, then, how do we fight such pervasive models within society? Like a cigarette ad implying that smoking will bring you sex appeal and fortune, these gender roles both are persuasive and appealing -- even though they make no sense.

While it may seem that media has all the power over our self-image, the most influential voices in our heads and hearts are those we know, those who tell us repeatedly the same message. Our families, especially our parents may help lay the foundation. However, those of us that do not meet other's expectations will often seek out those examples that model who we feel  most comfortable being. We are not passive sponges that can only take the feedback that is offered to us; we are able to take active roles in developing who we want to be. Granted, fears of judgment and rejection are mighty strong barriers, but they are not impenetrable. And there are choices that are out of our hands,  parts of our lives we are just born with or which are determined by others.

I had no choice  in second grade when my counselors pulled me from the advanced math curriculum but kept me in advanced reading. Instead of addressing the issues of my home life, they saw my flagging grades as a sign I'm not interested or perhaps even capable of keeping up with advanced math. But I did have a choice later in high school, when I took the advanced and accelerated math classes and finished high school with college credits in calculus. The class was overwhelmingly male and we all fit stereotypes of nerds and geeks in one way or the other.  But we thrived in a place where we were encouraged to be different. Such an experience helped me to embrace parts of myself other experiences told me were not important or desired in young women.

 Another instance where  I stepped out of my comfort zone, the role as the klutzy non-athletic bookworm, began in college. I took a self-defense class to for practical reasons and discovered true talents and skills in martial arts. I spent my entire life up to that point convinced that I would never be accomplished in any sport or exercise, that I not only lacked the coordination, but also the discipline and desire. But witnessing the 4 women with black belts teaching the class, realizing each one not only was a misfit physically, but also highly skilled and confident in her art, made me realize I could be as well.  Years later, I proved my decades old self-image wrong by obtaining my black belt.

Grief overwhelms me when I think of the tug of war that every child and adult experiences between self-definition and society's definitions. It's not by any means a new struggle. And I'm afraid that it will never disappear, either. But, oh, how I rejoice when I see a child discover the strength of her difference, realizing that which sets her apart is not embarrassing or shameful, but helps define her as important and valuable.

 

Still, the world has changed since I was a child. Embracing diversity and uniqueness are traits present in our society. There are many groups out there that support our struggle for self-definition free of society's pressures. For example, The Princess Free Zone encourages parents and other adults to let their children define their own gender roles instead of assuming the standard is what they are or want to be.

 

 

So while reasons for my grief still exist, there is also hope- hope that we can surpass the easy route of assumption and judgment and embrace values that hold up our unique complicated selves as important and valuable. 

Re-Gifting the Spark: A Theology of Co-Creation for the Infertile

My last entry described a process I went through after a moment of grief I had upon watching the movie Brave. That moment not only helped me to let go of some of my guilt for stopping fertility treatments, it also helped me contemplate how to find my place as a co-creator when my body cannot create life. It is a question about identity, but it is larger than gender or sexual identity.

The reason I love the images of co-creation in theology is that it is active, life affirming yet in an empowering way, not one of dogma and doctrine. Many popular theologies are passive, waiting for or learning how something or someone acts and interpreting how we should react. My identity as a co-creator with God, as a crucial part of creation but also only one piece of an infinite puzzle, means that I am actively seeking my way in the world, actively seeking meaning and purpose, and also actively living my faith, promoting the goodness I desire to see in the world. What challenges this type of theology is in the more corporeal aspects of creation, the primal and practical aspects of survival in a very vibrant and visceral world. The desire to conceive and birth new life is about as primal and visceral as it gets.

For some people facing infertility, it is enough to realize that they are redirecting their love and energy towards raising adopted children as their own. Or at least that is what people tell me I should feel, so I assume someone must take comfort in it somewhere.

 On that night of cogitation, I berated myself, asking why I couldn't just let go of the birth obsession and focus on how I could love and raise some of the beautiful children in the world? Surely  it is a simple answer for a disciple of Christ, a minister whose life's work is to help reduce suffering in the world. Does it really matter if my children have my DNA or someone else's? Of course not. But…. I still feel betrayed. I still feel like my identity was snatched away from me.  I am not alright with God.

  If God is the ultimate Creator of all life and I'm made in the image of that, why is it I cannot create life and others can? If that is the truth, then I must be flawed, broken, and not truly in the image of God. Is that punishment? Is that deliberate so I make sure to realize that God holds all the power  and I'm really powerless?

Either way, I'm not convinced that the phrase "made in the image of God" really explains who we are or who God is. What I do believe is that our ability to be creative, unique, and complex reflects how creative, unique, and complex the entire universe is.

So, here I am, a person who will not conceive life in my own body. Let's imagine that the potential for life is within me; that potential is creative energy. Yes, I can redirect my creative energy to other forms of creating, such as writing. Yes, that creative energy can be directed towards other relationships and the creation of bonds between myself and others. But how can any of those compare to the energy and process of creating life? I don't believe they are even close. Yes, it all has value, but we must acknowledge the unique and complex process of creating life and the sacredness of such creativity. We cannot deny that all life is sacred and that the ability to create it is sacred as well.

 My undergraduate studies were in biology, especially biochemistry and developmental biology. I spent a lot of time contemplating the origin of life, how life evolved, and wanting to understand the mystery of existence as a sentient living being. My questions were not always so popular to my scientific-minded professors and  I discovered that the fundamentalist church I grew up in is not the only population to live with cognitive dissonance.

 I mention all this because when I studied biology and biochemistry, it fed my desire to understand and revel in the mysteries of life as a creative and distinctive process. It laid the foundation for my understanding of who we are and how we relate to God and the world. What happens when someone with such a foundation finds out that she is not part of the cycle of life, that her unique existence will not be contributing towards the building blocks of future generations? There will be no tangible contribution that will continue on after I'm gone. A piece of writing or the influence I have on people's hearts or minds is not the same as that. It is so different. Notice, I'm not placing a hierarchy of value on any of them, only pointing out that recognizing and valuing  the difference between them is important.

 So, where does that potential for life go if not utilized by my body? Creating life is a different energy than creating ideas or caring for others. One could argue that the particular form of energy for creating life can be transformed into a different kind of energy. That there is a way to change it within myself, like making a specialized cell convert back into an undifferentiated cell (think stem cell). Perhaps it sounds beneficial in the long run. But I'm not sure it is very efficient, let alone even possible.

 So, what I imagine is that this energy to create life is within me, I just don't have the working parts to go through the process. While I have limited control over whether my body can generate new life, I do have control over how that life creating energy is used. Instead of transforming it into the creation of inanimate or intangible things, I want to release it. I want the creative energy within myself to be used elsewhere, within someone else. I want that energy to still be used to create life, the mysterious and miraculous unique process of creating a human being. I don't want to transform it into writing a dissertation or developing better skills as a chaplain. I want the distinctive spiritual energy that sparks life within another to be gifted back to the universe, to be redirected to another who will create a beautiful soul.

  Then as I accept that my genetic material will not be part of the future, I can envision that the spiritual energy, the spark that starts life, is out there, somewhere, conceiving and giving birth to an amazing life. The energy within myself is not wasted or minimized or made to be something it is not. I can choose to gift that energy out to the universe, back to the Creator, and ask that it be give to someone who needs it. I can still be a part of the cycle of life. Yes, it is still as intangible as ideas or feelings, but it makes more sense to me.

 I choose to release the life creating spiritual energy back into the world. When my husband and I adopt, I choose to receive and accept back the miracle of life reflected in someone else's genetic makeup, but perhaps with the spark that I helped form and create.

  I find this concept also helps me contemplate how I will talk with my future adopted children about how I became their parent. I will not just say that I had love to give and chose to give it to them. Instead, my body could not make a baby, but my spirit sent out not only the desire to have a child, but the actual spark that helped create a child's spiritual self. OK, I won't say it like that, but that is what I will mean. I gifted my creative spirit to another so they could be born, or so another child could be born for someone else who greatly desired a child. And maybe, just maybe, the energy that sparked my own children's lives will be from me.  Either way, the potential for life is not really wasted. My power as a co-creator is not diminished because of an inability to conceive. Perhaps this perspective doesn't make sense to anyone else but me. Perhaps someone has already said it better than I. Or perhaps when I go back to school and analyze it under a hermeneutical microscope, there will be no shred of logic, no shred of philosophical thought that will back this idea up. I don't mind. Because it works for me. Because I now feel affirmed and reassured of my role as a co-creator once more.

A bit of humble pie

Humility. It’s been on my mind recently. An opportunity to learn about another woman-in-ministry’s journey reawakened an area of spiritual practice that I haven’t thought about in a long while. It’s funny how people tend to forget the progress they’ve made and remember only the parts they still struggle with. That is me, to a tee. The same time I learned some of this woman’s story, I also came across at work the Greenleaf Center for Servant Leadership. While I liked the ultimate message of humility, I also struggled with the language. Nothing like patriarchally-secure privileged white men to think the language of servitude is okay. Not that it isn’t okay in some contexts, but to be flung around so casually is a bit harsh on the ears of my soul.


This aversion led me to dig deep into my intuitive memory to find the time and place where I became comfortable with words such as humility and obedience. Deep within the soul-soil, I found the seeds planted by one of my spiritual mentors, Joan Chittister. I’ve never met her, but like so many others, her words speak to my spirit. I recall reading her commentary on the Rule of St. Benedict as I received spiritual and discernment direction from a Benedictine monastery. I desired greatly at the time to come to peace with the hurt and sense of betrayal by “the church”. My distrust and pain were so great, I was not sure I could respond to my call to ministry.

Even with a recent and drastic slimming down of my library, I could not find her books. So, I googled her and the word humility. Google found a reprint of an essay by her in the National Catholic Reporter. The essay is titled “Pride and Humility: A New Self-Acceptance” and is in her book Heart of Flesh (which is somewhere on my bookcases).

In it, she reviews the 12 principles Benedict lifts up and she asserts that the Rule he wrote reveals Benedict had a feminist soul and attempted to temper the violent patriarchy of medieval Europe with his book. Wow. Not your typical commentary on monastic rule books.

One of the things I like but also think is a bit dangerous in today’s world, is that she dissects what each principle means for women and for men separately. She bases this on the contemporary assumption of feminist theology that while Man’s ultimate sin is pride, Woman’s ultimate sin is self-deprecation (see Valerie Saiving’s work dissecting Niebuhr). Within her book, which is subtitled “A Feminist Spirituality for Women and Men”, the context is set and the reader understands it. However, the essay standing alone in a national newspaper does not have that context. The reader could easily assume that she sees separate and distinct gender roles and just seeks to redefine them a bit. Gender role differences are always a sticky area to discuss. They exist, but are not inherent. They will never disappear completely, but we as a gender will never be completely defined by them, either.

Outside of academia, I am not a person that spreads the gospel of feminist theology… well, not overtly. I’m finding that within chaplaincy, at least, the influence of the presence of the feminine is transforming it in wonderful and positive ways, even without aggressive persuasion. The metaphor within The Incredibles pops to mind… While Mr. Incredible’s superpower is to smash, muscle and intimidate, his wife, Elasti-girl’s superpower is in being flexible. Their names resemble the power differential in our society and their superpowers resemble the roles society brings about for us. Bringing in that flexibility to chaplaincy and a very clinical healthcare system, is important.

Back to humility, it is not a bad word for feminists and Chittster demonstrates it. She helps us remember that while we must assert our power as women, we must also reclaim the true meaning of humility and give up this false humility that society forces us into. It’s a very powerful piece and I highly recommend it to you as I will this new colleague.