Reflections on African Women's Theology - On Religion and Health 2

Some reflections on readings for seminary class: Global Theologies of Women of Color 

African Women, Religion, and Health Ch. 9-13

Ch. 9 – “Women Poverty, and HIV in Zimbabwe: An Exploration of Inequalities in Health Care” by Sophia Chirongoma

Chirongoma introduces the reader to the reality of living in Zimbabwe as the health of its citizens is threatened by poverty, insufficient health services, malnourishment, and the continuous spread of HIV/AIDS. She calls upon the church to provide the presence of God and Jesus in the lives of those suffering. She suggests they emphasize sharing one another’s burdens and “seeking corporately to correct injustices that deny access to health care or food security for the poor” (184). My favorite part of her theological reflection was her Christology for women. “Women and all those who suffer from deprivation should find encouragement and consolation in Jesus as the caring compassionate healer who is outraged by the injustices of poverty, violence, inequality, and sickness” (183). Having read Carroll Watkins Ali’s Survival and Liberation this week, I see similar themes of survival and liberation within the stories of these African women. , I’m thinking about the Christology Watkins Ali lifts up from Jacquelyn Grant’s work. The Christ who saves souls is inadequate for people in the midst of suffering. Jesus must be made real through not only being a compassionate healer, but also a co-sufferer. Chirongoma calls the church in Zimbabwe to represent such Christology. Just as in Watkins Ali and Grant’s work, pastoral care and church care in such settings is not only to ease the physical suffering, but to accompany and walk with those who suffer

Ch. 10 “Women and Peacemaking: The Challenge of a Non-Violent Life” by Susan Rakoczy, IHM

Evelyn Underhill became an inspiration to me during my own time in the wilderness, rediscovering what my faith and God looked outside of my fundamentalist and harmful upbringing. She intrigued me on many levels, but mostly the pursuit of spiritual and theological understanding on her own terms. The way Rackczy summarizes Underhill’s transformation into pacificism exemplifies what I continue to admire about her. Seeing faith life as a journey, a process that is ever unfolding as our own self-realization develops was transformative to me and helped me return to Christianity. Without her influence, one that wasn’t only cognitive nor only affective, but both, I probably would have never entered seminary. Pacifism is a concept that I struggle with and cannot claim as my own, despite, admiring so much of its goals. I struggle with it because pacifism would not participate in the culture and society, the capitalistic systems within which I live. I cannot claim to be a pacifist if I participate in the structural destruction of others.

Ch.  13 "Navigating Experiences of Healing: A Narrative Theology of Eschatological Hope as Healing" by Fulata Lusungu Moyo

Such a beautiful piece, one with depth of expression combined with theological thinking. Moyo and I disagree upon some fundamental metaphysics, about the nature of God and creation, but the conclusion we get to is similar… healing takes on multiple forms and we may or may not have control over the form of healing that takes place. I would love to hear more of her musings about prayer and  faith healing vs. miracles. She summarized the premise of chaplaincy and chaplain training in pastoral care when she speculated what kind of healing, what kind of prayer would Solomon have requested if they had only thought to ask. Death is a communal event in some ways, but it is also a personal journey, one that is taken alone, or at least, between God and person. As a hospice chaplain, I’ve helped many people who believe in faith healing and miracles process what it means when death still comes. It is not easy and definitely shakes up faith in God, but mostly faith in oneself. I see myself giving this article to people who struggle in similar ways, to see how one woman processes such a journey.

Reflections on African Women's Theology - On Religion and Health 1

Some reflections on readings for seminary class: Global Theologies of Women of Color 

African Women, Religion, and Health Ch. 4-6

From the beginning of this reading, I was reminded of our class discussion last week and previous weeks as well. Sarojini Nadar quotes Teresa Okure in the beginning of her essay, describing the unique style of theological study for African women, whose “primary consciousness in doing theology is not method, but life and life concerns- their own and those of their own peoples” (78). These readings are striking contrasts to the political philosophy I’m reading in Cosmopolitan Theology and the history of Pastoral Theology in another class. In fact, after discussing last night Homer Ashby’s Our Home Is Over Jordan: A Black Pastoral Theology (2003), I Nadar’s concern that scholars are just not GETTING it when it comes to truly liberating the texts of the bible. Ashby tries to reimagine the exodus story in new ways for African American Christians to rally together in solidarity. While an admirable exercise and a compelling book in other ways, his deconstruction of the biblical text lacks depth when addressing the displacement and genocide of the Canaanite people. The stark honesty that the African women theologians are demonstrating needs to be heard by more academics, by people who influence the ministers and churches that live out the interpreted example of these texts. Women who experience, witness, and anticipate misogyny, sexual violence, abuse of body and of mind, NEED to have the troubling texts of the bible addressed. Women NEED teachers demonstrating that the Bible is not just for the oppressor. The stories of the bible relate to their lives and speak to each of them in their experience.

I loved how each chapter begins with a re-telling/re-imagining of a biblical text. My initial reaction to Chapter 5’s opening poem surprised me. I realized that my Americanized (and patriarchal) image of Psalm 23 always implies Jesus as the representative of God, the Shepherd. To see the entire psalm retold, lifting up the incarnation of God’s love and care within another, within a woman scholar, took me off guard. But once I got over that reaction, and the bits of shame that my fundamentalist upbringing still influences my perspective, I LOVED it. Now I want to use that psalm to lift up so many other women (and men) who have shepherded me as representatives of God’s love and care.

Related to Chapter 6, I contemplated my role as healer of souls. As a chaplain, I greatly appreciate the concept of a ritual of cleansing and healing after traumatic violence and violation of rape. I wonder how US culture receives such ideas. I am concerned, though not surprised, that men who act so violently are allowed to participate in the regular life of the church, village, and country without any need for cleansing or healing. While women need ways to process and heal from violence and domination out of their control, the dis-ease of the people continues to fester and grow if society does not see the  need for men to heal and reconcile this within themselves.

Reflections on African Women's Theology - On Passionate Compassion

Some reflections on readings for seminary class: Global Theologies of Women of Color

With Passion and Compassion

I loved this reading. To hear so many different voices whose passion shines through is inspiring. The power of the words of these women scholars derives from the wisdom acquired through marginalization, suffering, even abuse. To hear one proclaim hope in a future free from suffering when she, herself, is suffocating within a reality of oppression, is to hear the Christ-event incarnated, to hear the prophets of God call us to solidarity.

So many quotes stand out, but the opening page of the first essay, “Church Women of Africa: A Theological Community”, describes the situation of the church so succinctly. “The Christian church has suffered and is suffering from a growing cultural alienation because evangelization has not been that of cultural exchange but of cultural domination or assimilation” (3). I knew from that quote, these women, speaking from their own unique worldview, are prophets to the entire Christian world and that I would learn much from their wisdom. At first, the premise of the book to base a Woman’s theology of the church upon the Bible made me uncomfortable. I grew up in a fundamentalist misogynistic church that “claimed”, as so many evangelical churches do, to be directly inspired by the bible. But later, the authors explain that the source of theologizing is not only the Bible, but that “revelation has to be interpreted and applied to our contemporary situations and experiences,” including the particular experience of women (8).

In the second essay, by Dorothy Ramodibe, she posits that women and men cannot work together to build a church based upon the examples of the past and the structures that keep women suffering inequality and injustice. Ramodibe asks “Which church are we building?...Women want to change the church and not simply “improve” it. Women want liberation of the church from men” (15). And, “men also need liberation from their prejudices of masculinity” (20).

Therese Souga, in the third essay on the view of African women on Christ, writes “Christ is the true Human, the one who makes it possible for all persons to reach fulfillment and to overcome the historic alienations weighing them down” (22). This Christology describes a limitless hope for not only personal transformation, but also community transformation. “False images of women persist in the church in Africa and in turn produce certain negative kinds of behavior. Should not Christology question these images in order to question the real situation of African women and subject it to a critical examination in the light of Jesus Christ?” (25). Christology should not just be about confession of faith and forgiveness of sins, it must use the model Jesus provides as a lens through which to look at our everyday lives, to witness, name, and act upon injustice.

            As we continue to reflect upon the influence of women theologians in church and academia, I am inspired to approach each reflection, each project, with the zeal and love for God and God’s vision for the world that these faithful scholars demonstrate.

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. 

When female clergy get harassed, why is it not called discrimination?

Yesterday I attended a Hospice Foundation of America webinar on hospice/end of life care and diversity which another hospice hosted. It had some really great panelists who explored several areas where hospice is limited in terms of cultural diversity including the cultural barriers blocking access to Asian, Latino, and African Americans in particular. They also discussed the problem of patients and families being intolerant or even openly hostile towards other races, religions, etc. How does the hospice protect and respect their workers while also providing care to such patients... particularly for small hospices with limited staff.

The example was given of white supremicists with offensive material around the house, constantly spouting bigotry and refusing care from non-caucasians.... or Caucasians and African Americans refusing help from people of Latino or Middle Eastern origin. The list of intolerance goes on including sexual orientation and gender.

What is interesting, however, is that the intolerance that chaplains face was never brought up. Mainly, I think, because our services are optional and can be turned down for no stated reason. What I realized yesterday, however, is that there are people I see that I side-step the truth about my ordination to on a regular basis. There are people who interrogate me, my credentials, whether I'm a real preacher or not, who decline prayer or any talk about God, who tell me exactly what's wrong with female preachers, my home denomination, and lecture me on their version of "The True Faith", who seek me out as a last resort for funerals because they have no church ties but don't really care for the female preacher, who approach me with suspicion, distaste, and sometimes open hostility. But it's okay, because it's their right to believe whatever they want in terms of religion. It's okay for them to demean me, act as if my degrees and training mean nothing because I don't have a penis. It's okay to be turned down, degraded, and judged because it's part of their faith system. Funny, I remember slavery being a part of people's belief system too.

I'm not complaining just to be whine-y. I'm describing the undercurrent of negativity I encounter with my job. Discrimination by gender occurs in other fields in subversive ways, of course, but not in the openly hostile way that is allowed in ministry and religion. It's something I accepted when I chose ministry, especially hospice where people are from older generations and ideas. And I am really good at making friends with people who secretly believe I'm going to hell. I understand their faith system, having lived it as a child. I see the good in people, the common plight of loneliness and isolation, fear of the unknown, and I work with wherever they are. In fact, I have been trained first in seminary and then in CPE residency to set aside my own identity and make their life the primary concern when I'm with them. And I learn to love them (most of them, any way) and accept them for who and where they are. I don't expect or even want the same in return. Sure, the handful of people who are genuinely grateful feed my spirit. But it's not affection I really crave, it's respect.

I have dozens of stories where sometimes intentionally (and sometimes just because I'm genuine) I change the mind or heart of someone who believes my work is tainted by my vagina. And because I understand on a very personal level what most of their beliefs are, I'm pretty darn good at it... while being true to who I am, of course. One that stands out is a close family friend of a patient for whom I did a funeral. This man grilled me for 10 minutes before the funeral about my church background, training, etc. in an openly hostile and suspicious way... emphasizing his disbelief a "true church" would let a woman at the pulpit, let alone be ordained. After the service and my sermon, he came up to me and shook my hand and said "Boy, I'd love to have you preach at my church. blah blah blah..." While I didn't lie or say things I didn't believe in my sermon, I did talk in a language he understood one way and I know to be true in many different ways... in many different faiths, not just his own. It was gratifying on a certain level and completely offensive on the other (the list of offensive parts are WAY longer than the gratifying part).

Honestly, that stuff doesn't get me down as much as it makes me want to fight back even more. For instance, I keep thinking how good it would have felt to say to that man, in very direct terms, what I thought of his interpretation of scripture and christianity. There are days where I'm just plain tired of it all. And I'm reminded of the countless stories of women entering fields dominated by men and the repercussions of it. I'm also reminded of the constant barrage of hostility (subversive and overt) that people of any marginalized group experiences. For those attacking or making offhanded comments, it's usually not personal. But for those being attacked, it's personal down to their very identity as a human being.

As I was contemplating all this last night, I realized that one of the aspects of the hospital setting (vs. hospice) that I enjoy is that there is a greater variety of generations and belief systems. I was more likely to find people that are willing to pray with me. I had profound conversations with people who were everything from atheist to orthodox jew. I also had compatriots who journeyed with me and I could share my bad experiences with them and let it all go. Non-clergy often don't understand the same way clergy and esp. chaplains do.

Compared to who I was in seminary, I feel like a completely different person. I know who I am and I'm not ashamed or feel defensive. I know I have nothing to prove and so many things to offer and give to these patients and families who still receive me. That doesn't make any of the negative things go away, however. And it's something I choose to live with, for better or worse.