as a small sidenote (some writing is coming, eventually):


i can't believe how 2008 was so equally terrible and wonderful.

o holy night

i have always loved the christmas song/hymn 'o holy night', particularly the last lines of the first stanza:
a thrill of hope
a weary world rejoices
where yonder breaks
a new and glorious morn

but as i heard it sung in several different services this year, i was struck by the last verse, and how much the last verse made me think of all the liberation and feminist and womanist theology i've been exposed to over the last few years.
see:
truly he taught us to love one another
his law is love and his gospel is peace
chains shall he break, for the slave is our brother
and in his name all oppression shall cease...

amen, amen. (let it be so)


may you feel a thrill of hope this christmas, in the midst of your weariness
and may you experience a liberation from oppression, whatever form that takes in your life.
this, i wish, for you & for me,
becca

yay BSM!

BSM made the paper! Check out the article here:
http://www.philly.com/philly/living/20081217_Not_have__not_have-not__but_have_a_seat.html

and check out pics here:
http://www.philly.com/philly/gallery/20081217_Not_have__not_have-not__but_have_a_seat.html?index=1#photo

so, my spiritual 'home' made its way into the philadelphia inquirer...i think it's hilarious that the writer keeps calling it a "hipster church", but the last line of the piece, a quote by Dennis Jones, pretty much sums it up.

if you're ever in philly, come check us out
315 S. Broad, between Spruce & Pine
(across from the Kimmel Center)

peace & a 'home', i wish for you,
becca

(un)safe & (un)sound: a text & a poem

“ [The Kingdom of God is] also like a man going off on an extended trip. He called his servants together and delegated responsibilities. To one he gave five thousand dollars, to another two thousand, to a third one thousand, depending on their abilities. Then he left. Right off, the first servant went to work and doubled his master's investment. The second did the same. But the man with the single thousand dug a hole and carefully buried his master's money.
After a long absence, the master of those three servants came back and settled up with them. The one given five thousand dollars showed him how he had doubled his investment. His master commended him: 'Good work! You did your job well. From now on be my partner.'
The servant with the two thousand showed how he also had doubled his master's investment. His master commended him: 'Good work! You did your job well. From now on be my partner.'
The servant given one thousand said, 'Master, I know you have high standards and hate careless ways, that you demand the best and make no allowances for error. I was afraid I might disappoint you, so I found a good hiding place and secured your money. Here it is, safe and sound down to the last cent.'
The master was furious. 'That's a terrible way to live! It's criminal to live cautiously like that! If you knew I was after the best, why did you do less than the least? The least you could have done would have been to invest the sum with the bankers, where at least I would have gotten a little interest.
Take the thousand and give it to the one who risked the most. And get rid of this "play-it-safe" who won't go out on a limb. Throw him out into utter darkness.'”
Matthew 25:14-30, The Message


Safe and Sound

I followed every rule, ever since I can remember.
Carelessness was a serious matter, so I was taught.
I learned to consider, to weigh, to sharpen
each thought, word, or deed
against the whetstone of reason and possible consequence.
Perfection was expected, no, demanded,
with no respite, no allowance for error.

And yet, I still disappointed him. Again and again.
I tried so anxiously, so fearfully
to determine what I should do, how I should change.
All my trying
was never enough.
Never enough.

So when he announced his trip, I was relieved.
The absence of his pervading presence would be a respite
I had never experienced before.
But then he called us to his counting room,
carefully laid out the piles of coins,
and gave his instructions.
I was shocked, confused.
The lone coin that he placed in front of me
made a sad, pitiful clink as it hit the wood.
I could feel his eyes on me, and for a moment I felt
as if he wanted me to look at him
full in the face. Reason told me that was preposterous
so I stared at my hands in my lap,
ashamed that I was only entrusted with one coin.

He left in a flurry and over the next few days
we talked and argued and thought
about what to do with each of our investments.
I kept my plan a secret, for the first time sure that I knew exactly what to do,
exactly how to please him.
While they went and risked complete loss,
betting all with little indication of reward,
I found a spot on the edge of the property.
It was yards away from the footpath, but by a remarkable tree
that flowers every year for weeks and weeks
longer than any other tree in our country,
the legend goes.
And I dug a hole that was just the right depth
and just the right distance from the tree.
And I buried that coin, safe and sound,
in a locked iron box.
I put up just the right signs for where it was buried,
signs only I would know how to read.

Why am I out here, then, you ask?
Why am I sitting, blind, in the darkness
my hearing worn raw by the all the wails
and the scrape of tooth against tooth?

I was wrong, yet again.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
I returned his investment, safe, and sound, and secure
as the day he placed it in front of me.
I will never forget his words
or understand them.

limbo

every day i feel a deeper and deeper restlessness, a longing for an idealized future that very well may or may not ever exist. the future that begins after may 23, 2009.
and as i try and figure this out, i'm realizing it's different from all the work i've done in the past few years to "live in the present moment". all of that work has centered around letting go of the past in order to not let fears dictate my actions now. i've succeeded at that in some places in my life, and am still failing pretty miserably in others. but i'm aware of all this, and i'm trying.

but now i am stuck in limbo, longing for an idealized future. and it is a future that i honestly believe will be more healthy and whole and enjoyable than the ‘now’ that i am in. so how do i live in the present if i just plain don’t want to? (that's not really a rhetorical question, friends, so feel free to comment-it-up)

‘cause this is what I can see, once I am done with this degree, this school, this social fishbowl:

I see myself living in a house, with wood floors and pleasant housemates and a kitchen. A kitchen where I can make any kind of food any time I want. A bed that’s big enough to share, big enough to sleep diagonally, corner to corner. A house that I can settle into, a place where I can forego posters and christmas lights for framed pieces and funky furniture. A home.

I see myself being free to love and be loved, body, mind, soul, and heart. Love in the hard times and love in the easy-breathing times, and love in the laughing times. Learning to love in particularities. Learning the topography of another’s heart and body, and allowing another to learn mine. A love.

I see myself working at a job, or two, sometimes loving it and sometimes not. Working and then clocking out, going home, to an evening filled with friends and food or ultimate Frisbee or reading or making art or going to a show…to an evening free to fill it any way I like. I see myself having some semblance of a regular income, and living modestly, most likely, but in general just free from the dramatic rollercoaster between infrequent income and infrequent expenses. A job.

I see myself letting art back in, not just conceptually, but literally, devoting time and energy to the creation of images on paper and canvas, to the creation of word-pictures and stories. I see a canvas with oil paint still wet on it, I see a list of poem-, story-, essay-, sermon- ideas just waiting to be written. An artistic passion.

I see myself being able to give of myself to my faith community the way I want to—freely—not torn between that life and a life an hour (and sometimes a whole world, it seems like) away. I can dive in on projects and give them more than a few hours a week. I can approach worship every week with some semblance of energy and not a rushed spirit. An active faith.

now, obviously, this 'vision' and being in grad school are not at all mutually exclusive. i know many fellow students who met their spouses here, i know many students who feel at home here, who come into their own spiritually, etc. but so much about being here, at least right now, feels stifling.

articulating dreams helps. but i have lived with my head perpetually in the clouds for a long time, for other reasons. i value what's happening down here on earth, too.

simple, beautiful, holy dreams, i wish for you,
b

with which i love

been writing a lot of poetry lately, due to a paper that was due last week...
anyway. bits of it will show up here soon, i'm sure. but here's a little tidbit.

'with which i love'

there is a kind of romance
woven into a wild night
where the wind does not merely whistle in the eaves
but sings, wails, moans
where the rain does not merely fall
but pounds
rhythmic
and persistent against the windowpane.

it is a different kind of love
with which i love
a wild, storm-ridden night
than the kind of love
with which i love
a spring morning, grass smelling green
or a summer afternoon by the ocean.

it is an earthy love,
a messy, dark, beautiful love
that matches my heartbeat
to the drumming water racing down glass no dry spaces left
no room at all for anything but
labored breathing
and a windswept admiration for the storm itself.



falling in love with stormy nights, i wish for you,
becca

when i have no words for myself, i say them for you

acknowledging god's presence (ie call to worship) from tonight's service...the text was from Joshua, about the Lord's history of rescuing his people, and the sermon theme was 'deliverance'--how do we become reliable delivery persons and who in our lives 'deliver' when it comes to being there in the tough times.

How easily I let my hand slip from Your grasp
How easily I lose sight of You, distracted
by ghosts and dreams deferred that spring up before me
as I wander this road, feeling alone.
Come & take my hand again
twine my fingers with Yours
Lead me through these wild places.
Sing to me our old love song.
Remind me of where You & I have been
and whisper to me where You & I will go.
Don't lose your faith in me &
I will try not to lose faith in You.
Be here now.


(the last three lines are from a ray lamontagne song 'be here now' that was on a playlist we listened to on our way to philly).

i have heard it said (and agree) that the sermon you hear preached is usually one that the preacher him or her self needs to hear the most out of everyone. i think the same could be said of the things i write for worship or the prayers i pray in worship. i am not in a place right now where i can say most of these words with confidence. but because i am called into this crazy little community, i am able to say these words for you, the one in the pew, because i know you are praying them alongside me when i cannot pray them for myself. an odd thing to say, i know. but true.

a community that bears you up, i wish for you,
becca

because my friends are awesome and funny

and they wrote & performed this awesome song...
hey barack(bring back the fro)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b6MIYfSBRQY

(hee hee)

response to "Letter from a Virginian to Obama"

blog readers:
what follows is a response to an email I got from one of my relatives as food for thought about the election. if you google "Letter from a Virginian to Obama" you will find the email I am responding to. it is too long to post here.
b

Disclaimer: Please forgive the imposition of my preaching and much more than my "two cents"; none of you asked for a response to this letter/email, but I couldn't help but write something, and if you'd like to read it, here it is. I'm also afraid to send this, knowing that I might be risking some hurt feelings over disagreeing about politics. That's not my intention at all. My intention is to throw another voice and opinion into the conversation that this entire country is having--and that includes opinions like mine and opinions like the Virginian. So, read on if you're interested in where I stand, but know that you might disagree with me (a lot), and that's totally okay. Our family is knit together with more than feelings or agreement--we are knit together by love, which is not just touchy-feely warm fuzzies but the deep strength and courage it takes to support each other, day in and day out.
With great love and respect,
Becca

I guess I'm "outing" myself to write this, and T., this is nothing against you personally at all, just a response to the letter itself: the letter makes me very angry. It gets to the heart of what I hate about politics--the nitpicking over facts and people that we will never be able to be sure of, and why should we rely on a random lawyer from VA? I am sure that an equally incisive and biting litany of offenses could be written about John McCain (not to mention Sarah Palin). We don't know anything about either candidate's character, and most likely never will--that kind of knowledge comes with knowing a person deeply and intimately for years--seeing them day in and day out. We can only guess at Obama's character, and drawing lines between "spinning the facts" and the depth and worth of a man's character is ridiculous given the context in which both candidates are working: the political sphere of America, which is incredibly cutthroat and malicious. All presidential candidates have to be smooth talkers to get to that level of power (what does that tell you about the nature of our political system?) and McCain most likely has been just as "deceitful". Also, I'm sure that none of us would be able to stand up beneath the immense scrutiny and pressure that would come up against us if we were in that powerful a position. We would say things we perhaps didn't mean, or leave things vague that we don't have time to explain, or heaven forbid we might change our minds. And to play the messiah-president card here as a response (as many people do) I think is foolish; we put a ridiculous standard to our president: that he or she must be equally perfect and equally "just like us". Presidents and presidential candidates are "just like us"--they are human beings, fallible and flawed. Are they better educated than most of the national population? Yes. Do they know the government and judicial systems better than most of the national population? I certainly hope so. Other than that, they are men and women, influenced by the same things that influence us: power, desires, fears, and hopes.

I do not want a "war hero" for my president. I do not want someone who is so blatantly rude to his opponent during the debates, someone who grabs at any negative hint of an insult to throw at his opponent. I do not want someone in office who thinks war is a good idea, whose policies may just increase the divide between the poorest of the poor and the richest of the rich. I do not want a president who would vote against the right of women to have governance over their own bodies, or a president who would discriminate against homosexuals in their right to publicly confirm an already monogamous, loving, committed relationship. I do not want another old white man in the white house who cannot relate to the faces (and cultures, beliefs, wounds, hopes) that make up this country, faces and people who are as varied as the rainbow.

Lastly, the likening of Obama to Hitler is preposterous and offensive. There is nothing greedy or envious that is moving me to vote for Obama on Tuesday. I am moved to vote for Obama for several reasons, but the foremost being that he claims he will work to help the poor, to tax those who have the most, and give breaks to those who have next to nothing. One of the ways we can live out Jesus' command to feed the starving, clothe the naked, help the needy is by doing just that. Obama's willingness to dialogue with other nations' leaders, especially our enemies, is a radical move against the culture of fear that pervades our society. 'Love your enemies', Jesus said.
Jesus was not just a cool prophet whose words were a theoretical treatise. Jesus was an incarnation of the very depth of God's heart, and his words, if acted upon, could bring about the kingdom 'as it is in heaven' that we mumble-pray each week. Heaven is not just golden streets way up in the sky, a faraway place where 'one day' every wrong will be made right and there will be no more tears. It is that; one day wholeness will be restored and humanity redeemed. But it is also more than that. It is something that we have the power to realize on this earth. Part of that realization is living out Jesus' words in our own individual lives. And I do this the best I can, which means I fail, a lot. But I try. And if somehow we could agree on some policies that might attack poverty, racism, and oppression on a national scale, that would be remarkable. Working for 'the kingdom' is something done on a personal and corporate level. For the first time I am seeing a candidate who seems to understand and work toward that. Note that I say 'seems'; I am not an optimist by any means and am very well aware that I may be incredibly disappointed. The possibility for disappointment is great, regardless of the candidate.
But I am scared of what may take place if McCain and Palin are elected; I am afraid that their governing of this country will perpetuate and continue the spiral towards fear, insecurity, greed, and selfishness that this "great" country is already so good at embodying. I believe that the principles on which this country was founded are noble, and I believe that this country could be truly 'great'; but as we stand we are a nation that is a bully, a nation that claims to have wonderful opportunities open to everyone but in reality continues to oppress people of color, continues to discriminate according to class, gender, and sexual orientation, continues to selfishly assert and impose our way of doing things on other countries.

It is time for a change, a radical reordering of our personal and corporate actions, especially our actions towards those who have been and continue to be trampled on by those in power. Can Obama enact that change? Of course not, not by himself, anyway. But I believe he represents and issues a strong challenge to 'the way we've always done it', a challenge that is scary to us, bundled up in our fears and insecurities, but a challenge that we desperately need to hear, a challenge to which we desperately need to respond.

Rebecca Blake
a flawed yet impassioned seminary student

p.s. For some interesting views about politics in America, check out this blog by one of my professors and her colleague: http://princetonprofs.blogspot.com/

dream anchors

it’s funny how in the midst of such beautiful chaos I am occasionally given or latch onto such small, comforting anchors. I haven’t a clue what to do after graduation, but I know the city of Philadelphia has wiggled its way into my heart. I know this. When asked to describe my dream job, my mind still catapults ideas in countless different directions, but there is one thing I do know. I know that I want to give communion. big whoop, you say. you already hold the bread or the cup sometimes, that counts, right? you say.
No, it is deeper than those things. I want to issue that invitation. I want to stand there and break the bread and pour the wine and tell over and over the story of the soul food Jesus shared with his disciples. I want to invite people into the ultimate communion—with God, themselves, and their neighbors. I want to invite people to the deepest way of ‘coming home’, I want to play hostess to the most important meal.
I keep coming back to this invitation as a song, for some reason. I want to spend my life singing that song, that song of invitation and inclusion and hospitality. If I did nothing else in this life—if I never picked up another paintbrush or theological text or stick of charcoal, if I never committed my life to a good man or had children, if I never got published—if I simply were allowed to ‘write out loud’ the Lover’s call to the table…
If I could do that, I would feel as if I had fulfilled at least part of the reason I was created.
And that’s the kind of realization that rings deep and true in the pit of your stomach, the kind of moment that rings clear and loud like church bells on Christmas morning. It’s unarguable in its clarity, and for me, anyway, is a really huge thing to say, to put down in words.

that kind of knowing, i wish for you,
becca

loss of indifference

Indifference is worse than evil itself. (Wiesel, I think)

I have been indifferent about politics (among other things) for most of my life. I thought that all politicians were sleazy manipulative liars. I thought most of our laws are set up to advance capitalism, but these laws never affected the nitty-gritty of how I lived my life, so I didn’t care if they passed this law or that one. I began to feel embarrassed about this around the 2004 election; several of my friends had fiercely held convictions about which candidate was better, which issues mattered, etc. I was overwhelmed by how much I would have to learn to catch up, to participate in conversations, so I shut down. I didn’t vote. I didn’t care. I began to care when we invaded Iraq, and when the validity of using torture was actually debated. But still, I was mostly indifferent. I allowed opinionated friends to tug at my heartstrings here and there, but I avoided the myriad of talks given at seminary and the university that had anything to do with all of the ‘hot topics’ associated with politics—abortion, Israeli-Palestinian conflict, the war, healthcare, etc.
I became less indifferent when it came to ‘hot topics’ within the church when I was living in the U.K. a few years ago. A pastor there, recently returned from a mission trip to Sierra Leone, ended his sermon by saying, “We cannot continue to sit in our air-conditioned board rooms and debate the ordination of women and homosexuals, or when personhood begins, when little girls are having their genitals torn to ribbons and shreds.” (I’m paraphrasing). It still hurts me to remember those words, because I am so sensitive to images, it hurts to think of that being the reality for so many young girls. But the power of preaching is that it allows the disrupting voice of God to speak through carefully chosen words, even if those words are upsetting and painful. I will never forget those words, that image. And the truth of that challenge influences everything I do in regards to how I participate in the Church.
Despite this jolting from indifference in religio-social topics, my indifference to the world of politics remained. That is, until the first time I heard Sarah Palin speak. The more she spoke and the more I read about her and this election the more truly scared I became. She (and the more I observed John McCain in the debates) began to represent every politician who lived and fulfilled his or her duties like pitbulls with lipstick on—cutthroat and manipulative, smiling as he or she twisted the knife deeper.
As Cornell West spoke last night, so incredibly eloquently, about indifference, racism, politics, possibility for change, oppression, and love (among other things), I realized why I had stayed indifferent so long, and why the habit of indifference is still ingrained in me. West described addicts as those people who feel things so deeply that they can’t take it; they have to escape the sensitivity and intensity through other means. He said they were like “an orange without a peel”.

I have remained indifferent because the weight of pain and horror from the wounds we have inflicted on each other is too much. I have remained indifferent because I am afraid of the intensity of anger I would feel in the face of the systemic oppression and hatred that has been condoned and endorsed by our government, Church, and individuals (complicit or otherwise). I am afraid of that un-harnessed sadness, of that boundless anger. I am afraid of being so overwhelmed by those feelings that I’ll become paralyzed. And more afraid that I’ll be overwhelmed by those feelings and actually take a step forward in the hope of change, do something that gets me into trouble, the kind of trouble other prophets and protesters have gotten into. I also too easily write off hope as mere optimism. I forget that hope and love are weighty, concrete things, concepts that involve joy as well as disappointment, concepts that should be more than concepts (“Justice is when love becomes action”-West) but real decisions and actions that bear up the poor, the weak, the abused, the sick.
What would you do if every act of injustice irreparably broke your heart? What would you do if you found out that hope and love are living, breathing agents that stir you to enact justice wherever you could, as the spirit leads?
Would you preach? Would you vote? Would you get involved in an organization that spends its time knocking on the doors of powerful, influential people to get their attention, to educate them about the injustices that cannot continue, injustices that are happening right under their noses? Would you ask for forgiveness? Would you extend it?

What would you do? The time is now. The phrases “I have come to make a way in the wilderness…” and “I have come to proclaim release for the captive…” come to mind. The time is now.

a jolting word, i wish for you,
becca

body apology

On my facebook page I posted this link yesterday; it's a poster contest for the National Organization of Women celebrating "Love Your Body Day". I thought some of the posters were really interesting. This site (which is one part gossip, one part fashion, one part women's interest issues) offered a follow-up blog to that contest and in it encouraged its staffers and readers to participate in 'Love Your Body Day' by writing short apologies to themselves for ways they haven't loved their bodies. Here is the specific entry about apologies: body apologies. Some of the responses are silly, or flippant. But some are touching and humbling. What would you apologize to your body about? Eating cheeseburgers? Cutting? Hating your nose? I think the exercise is a good one for us all, especially if we push ourselves to apologize about something specific. Think past "I'm sorry for thinking that we're fat" and more to something like "I'm sorry I let my obsession with how fat I felt ruin our senior prom".

Anyway, that's just a thought (and a challenge). I won't leave you to do it alone, though. This is one of my many body apologies to myself:
Body, I'm sorry I spent so, so long denying the fact that you are beautiful, lovely, and strong.

self-love, in all its forms, i wish for you,
becca

and this is grace...

...a reminder, lord, how we need so many reminders...

Taking my familiar spot in the balcony for chapel, flagellating my still-maturing self that too often procrastinates and undermines all things that move toward health and wholeness and happiness, I expected to be bored, or further frustrated. I expected to feel isolated and lonely, for who knows what reason. I expected to fall asleep because I could feel the caffeine draining away, could feel the edges of my alertness grow frayed and blurry.

I did not expect so many reminders. So many reasons, real, concrete, weighty reasons, that I have been placed on this particular chunk of earth. So many reminders as to why in the world I was created at all. I will leave you with two.

This is my story
This is my song
Praising my Savior
all the day long

This is my story
oh This is my song
Praising my Savior
all the day long

I did not expect to hear these simple words infused with such life and breath and color. I did not expect an old, old hymn to ring so deep, to feel so new.

I did not expect a sermon about stories. About THE story, about our stories, about how it all matters, and matters a lot. I did not expect to fall back in love with the words 'narrative', 'story', 'in the beginning', 'once upon a time', 'and then', 'the word'. I did not expect to experience, once again, the paradox of You speaking, the paradox being that You are both concrete and vague as hell, all at the same time. but I am getting a feel for it, I am learning what You sound like, You with Your cacophony of whispers.

prone to wander, we are. prone to getting lost in the confusion of our self-induced hells, we are.
and You are prone to reminding us, of our habits, of where the path is, of how You love us, with a patience that will baffle me forever.

amen (let-it-be-so).

procrastination is every grad student's best friend

so, so true.
i'm experiencing a good deal of writer's block at the moment as I'm trying to write a short story for the first time in who knows how long. so, once again, in lieu of any original writing (despite that being the primary purpose of this blog), i'll share with you a poem/prayer that touched me recently. i'm not sure who wrote it.


We give thanks for our friends.
Our dear friends.
We anger each other.
We fail each other.
We share this sad earth, this tender life, this precious time.
Such richness. Such wildness.
Together we are blown about.
Together we are dragged along.
All this delight.
All this suffering.
All this forgiving life.
We hold it together.
Amen



an awareness of being held together by this community,
i wish for you,
becca

yes...but

found this poem as i was going through some old papers/bulletins/etc.
there's something about its simplicity, its frankness, that appeals to me. when all our pretty words are stripped away, this is the kind of language we hurl at God.

I don’t understand God sometimes
In fact he almost fools me
Confuses me
Fakes me
Freaks me
Turns me around to the point where
I have no clue which way is up
I don’t understand God sometimes
I don’t get why babies die
From lack of love
And people die
From lack of rain
Or from too much of it
I don’t understand why pastors get sick
Or parents die in plane crashes
God, I just don’t understand you sometimes
But then there are the quiet times
When rain sings on old leaves
Or geese paint v’s across the clouds
Or the night comes out dressed in stars
And I hear you whispering softly to me
I don’t understand you sometimes God,
But there are the happy times,
The worship times,
When you are closer to me than even I am to me
And I hear your voice mingled with mine
When I see worship-joy in student eyes
And I hear truth-words fall from young mouths.
-shane yancey


a night dressed up in stars, i wish for you,
becca

church

and yet again I begin to learn the meaning, or the definition, of things as I stumble across them in front of my eyes:

and this is church:
the arms that hold you when you weep.
words, prayer-words, chosen carefully at times and flippantly at others but always chosen with an openness about them, an openness that the holy spirit breathes color and feeling into.
the vulnerability it takes to weep in community, and the beauty of another person leaving her seat to hold the man who weeps.
the face of another observer, who sees this act of love and tears up herself.
my own tears, that have surpassed the burning lump in my throat and have made their way quickly down my face, over my mouth and chin, surprising me with their suddenness.
the stranger who hears my barely contained sniffling and turns to put a hand on my knee.
the long, hard hugs given during the peace-pass, the kind where belly brushes up against belly and you breathe together for a moment.
words, more words, words of permission whatever you are feeling, to own your own brokenness, and then words of blessing, words of admonishment to ‘be gentle’ with each other.

church is being so moved by the communion cup being offered to you, moved by what it means, and what these people mean, and what all of this gathering and singing and praying and speaking means, what all of it means.
radical, foundation-shaking love.
that’s what it all means. that is what is living and breathing in that very room, between so many raw, pink hearts, between so many walled-in hearts, love lives in that space between. and the gift of seeing that, of recognizing that, of being moved by that, even through blurry tear-lenses, is a gift I will never cease talking about, a gift for which I will never cease to be gut-deeply grateful.


gentleness, i wish for you,
becca

unfumbling

"She wondered as she watched him sleep safe in his own place far from her why she thought only of hurt. When she was near him, why did she cry. His lovemaking was good. Solid and certain. Unfumbling. Free, somehow clean. Like his neat apartment. Like his clean food. It was good. But though her body responded to him, he was very far from her, from any place she usually lived. His eyes, open or closed in sleep did not touch her, and while he fucked he said so little, nothing at all really addressed to her, just the formula utterances he’d learned by rote to say as he was getting off. And when he was through he turned and slept, and waking took her home. Politely. Smoothly. And she cried. She didn’t know what to make of this. Of his confidence. His desire. His isolate sureness. Like Stephen he refused to make her real."
-paula gunn allen, 'the woman who owned the shadows', p 81-82

I am fascinated by this quote. I think that the sexual dynamics that we create, perpetuate, and participate in are so telling when it comes to understanding our selves, our wounds, and ways we are healed. There is so much in this paragraph that I can't really begin to unpack it. But I wanted to share it.

peace,
becca

begin again (again)

i am thinking of switching to blogger rather than xanga for a few reasons...but suffice it to say, if you are new to this page, here's what this blog is not:
*a place for professional, perfectly composed pieces of writing
*boring and uninspired ramblings about what i ate today
*super and over-indulgent emotional entries that give you far more than you ever wanted to know about the inner workings of my mind
*impersonal commentary on the world

this blog is a variety of things, ranging from:
*prayers
*poems
*creative non fiction prose
*(someday) snippets of fiction
*letters to 'you', the vague and undefined reader of this thing
*rough drafts of creative writing
*a glance at this crazy world through becca-colored lenses

there. glad to get that out of the way.

here's my most recent post, and to take the writing rollercoaster ride that i've been strapped into over the past few years, click here, for archives.

just a lil somethin' somethin'
all week long, we run a marathon towards approval. and it rarely feels like the beginning of a race, when you've got tons of energy, and you've stretched, and you're feeling great. instead it feels like at the end of the race, when you're staggering forward and you feel like any muscle will give out at any minute. and in our exhaustion and fear of failure, we turn to our peers and sabotage them. we trip them up with our finger-pointing and judging. this place, these people, strive to communicate affirmation over approval. we often fail.
but the God who knows the depths of who we are still comes alongside us in the race and calls us to slow down, to walk away from trying to figure out who's in and who's out, to a path towards affirmation and love.
let us stop running, if even for an hour, and rest beside this God of love.

(acknowledging God's presence snippet (kind of like a call to worship, something we do before worship starts @ bsm)).

a respite from the race, i wish for you,
becca