In answer to your question

Yes, I used to put God
in a box, but it turned
out to be a Jack-
in-the-box, and God
kept jumping out
and scaring me
at the most inconvenient
times. One day he
jumped all the way
out, leaving me
with this empty tin
cube, red paint peeling.
I finally threw it
away. God remains
at large.

PNWQWTC in retrospect

PNWQWTC—now that’s a mouthful of letters that almost defeats the purpose of acronyms. Its meaning is equally impressive; it refers to the Pacific North West Quaker Women’s Theology Conference, another mouthful. The trick is to say it all without having to stop for a breath.

Actually, I was quite impressed, and I found myself frequently stopping to take a breath, wanting to absorb everything. It’s now been several weeks since my participation in the conference. I arrived with great anticipation, but not knowing what to expect. Although these conferences have been happening every two years since 1995, this was my first time.

On June 13-17, 2012, 62 women mostly from the North Pacific Yearly Meeting (unprogrammed) and North West Yearly Meeting (programmed) gathered at the Menucha Conference Center in northern Oregon, overlooking the Columbia River. We spent the time listening, talking, eating and playing together around the theme of “Inviting, Contemplating and Enacting Grace.”  Highlights for me included the following:

--Making new friends. I was worried my natural shyness might kick into full force among so many people I didn’t know, but something about this particular gathering encouraged openness and honest interactions. I not only made new friends, I found some kindred spirits.

--Listening to the Spirit speak through so many people. Each day considered a particular aspect of grace, with two plenary speakers, and enough time to hold the words in the silence and respond verbally. I felt my understanding of and appreciation for God’s amazing grace expand.

--Home groups. We were all carefully placed in small groups that met every day to further discuss the topic, get to know one another, share needs and dreams, tell stories, pray, and, in the case of my home group, laugh. A lot. I loved the way we learned to move gracefully between laughter and silent waiting.

--The place. Not only the comfortable accommodations and good food, but the natural setting nourished me. Every day I was able to get up early, walk alone in the woods, and watch the sun come up over the Columbia River.

--Getting to contribute. I was invited to give the Sunday sermon, and I was led to talk about gratitude as our response to God’s grace. I feel renewed to live my own life in a spirit of gratitude.

In one of the times of evaluation, a woman expressed a concern that we not use the word “theology” for the conference, that it made it seem too heavy and ponderous for what we were experiencing. While I respect her opinion, I couldn’t disagree more. As we brought together our stories with words from the Scriptures, as we reflected and argued (just a little), discussed and waited in the silence for a word from the Lord, we were God’s people, doing the work of theology.  If at times it seemed more like “the play of theology,” right and good. We’re learning to know God together, to grow in our relationships with God and with each other, and trying to find a truer articulation of our faith, despite the differences among us. In fact, the very differences serve as a creative catalyst for more honest reflection, and give a context for love to grow. This is, indeed, “doing theology.”

Some simple thoughts on grace

In June the Pacific Northwest Quaker Women’s Theology Conference will gather women from Canadian, North Pacific and Northwest Yearly Meetings at a retreat center in Oregon. This will be my first time, and I’m looking forward to the experience.  This year’s theme centers on grace.  I find myself pondering grace a lot these days, asking, among other things, about the Quaker perspective on grace. 

As preparation for the conference, we were asked to write a short essay on grace and submit it to the conference web site.  Here’s my offering: 

Last Saturday we began an all-day elders retreat with an eclectic contemplative exercise.  I find the combination of traditions grace-filled. In this case we combined the medieval labyrinth walk with Ignatian prayers of examine and a dab of Quaker silence thrown in.  On the way in to the center of the labyrinth we meditated on the desolations in our lives (all that currently separates us from God), and on the way out we pondered our consolations.

The desolation that quickly came to mind was disappointment in my lack of vocational discipline—my inability these days to write or pray with any regularity. I’m disappointed in myself.  And I can’t help but feel that God is also disappointed in me. Instead of letting the deep joy of these callings energize me, I’ve become strangled by guilt at my lack of productivity. As I walked I confessed and lifted this up to God.

Even before I reached the center, I sensed the quiet voice of Jesus saying simply, “My grace is sufficient for you.”  I felt his smile and began to relax from the inside out.  He reminded me that it’s not what I do for him that gives me value.  He loves me.  As I am.  And his grace is all I need.

“My grace is sufficient for you, Nancy.  Follow me.”

And I was reminded that not only is God’s grace sufficient, but that “There are no limits to the grace of God, who will make sure you will always have enough of everything and even a surplus for good works.”

I know I will continue to struggle with feelings of inadequacy and the pressure to be productive. I’m a child of my culture. But on a deeper level, I’m a child of God, and I’m growing in grace and in the knowledge of Jesus.  That’s my hope as I walk the very real labyrinth of life.

In the next few weeks, I will continue to ponder and post thoughts on grace. I invite responses as I explore a Quaker theology of grace. Non-Quaker responses are, of course, welcomed.

Wrestling with inclusive God-talk

I struggle with inclusive God-talk.  The word ambivalence describes how I feel. It’s a good word, a word that includes the idea of a dual between values and the resulting confusion. That’s me.  I value knowing that God is not a male, and I value the theologians and seminaries that want to communicate this to the wider body of Christ.  But I also value beauty in language.  My editing hand slashes unmercifully at clunky constructions, in my own work and when I’m editing someone else’s article. As a poet, I know that form has to embrace and embody meaning if a good poem is to result. Both/and, not either/or.

It’s the form part that bothers me when I read something like, “God communicates God’s will in God’s own time to God’s people.”  When I complained that there was just a little too much God in that sentence, a theological friend piously replied, “Can one ever have too much of God?” 

Well, no….I guess not.  But that’s not the point.  It just sounds so awkward—almost ugly—to say it like that.

I remember well when I first became fanatical about applying inclusive language to people. I happened during the sermon one Sunday morning years ago. As usual, my restless spirit seemed to be putting up a block against the barrage of words, my definition of preaching at that time in my life. The pastor was urging us to be “mighty men of God.” I knew he was meaning all of us, men and women alike, and I was trying to mentally accommodate the language.

For some reason, I just stopped trying that morning and began paying attention to the images in my head. As we were encouraged to be men of prayer, the picture in my brain was of a group of white men, dressed in business suits, kneeling in prayer. All the mighty men of God were just that, white men in business suits.  I watched the images come and go through each point of the sermon, and every reference to men carried its corresponding male image.

Realizing that for our pastor, the word “men” was a collective plural noun that automatically included women, I tried putting women into the pictures in my head. It didn’t work. I simply could not force my brain to picture women under the covering label of men. I was nowhere in the images that Sunday morning.

I realized that this was part of my problem with church and sermons, that the intuitive sub-conscious center of my brain, the place where the pictures are born, was not cooperating with my efforts to apply the male words to myself. That’s why church made me so tired and restless (or at least that was one of the reasons; immaturity may also have had something to do with it).

So I applaud efforts to make language about people inclusive, although this becomes awkward at times. I also applaud efforts to be more accurate in our language about God. So why do I struggle so much with inclusive God-talk?

Since the books of the Bible were originally written in patriarchal contexts, it’s not surprising that so much of biblical language portrays God with male images, “Father” and “Son” being primary examples.  But the deeper revelation behind the stories and images whispers the mystery of God who is transcendent and Spirit and so far beyond language that words can only falter and trip.

The book of James marvelously illustrates the gender issues that surround our understanding of God.  In one of my favorite images, James calls God “the Father of lights,” the giver of all good gifts (1:17). A decidedly male image.  But James follows this with a description of what this Father of light does for us.  He gives us birth through the word of truth.  There you have it!  A Father who gives birth!  God our Father/Mother. Creator/birth-giver.  Source of all life.

This doesn’t settle my dis-ease with modern amorphous God-talk, but it does make me smile.  And it reminds me that this mystery runs deeper than words.