Teaching Kids About God - Contributor Post

Kate Allen, resident theologist (no, really), who blogs over at CornDog Mama and just had her second beautiful baby, was able to take time out of her busy schedule to write an important post about children and God. Thanks, Kate.
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Parenting in the United States looks different in 2013 than it did in, say, 1982, the year I was born.  One of the quandaries I face as a parent, an issue that my own parents didn’t have to mull over quite as much, is the issue of religious education and “churching.”  Although I’m a self-proclaimed Christian like my parents, I don’t limit my religious practice to Christian practice.  I also don’t believe Christianity has an exclusive claim to what is good, true, and right (in fact, I believe Christianity, or at least Christians, often get it Jesus’ message wrong).  My practices and beliefs put me on the margins of Christianity (not to mention the margins of my childhood family!), and I find myself in growing company.  Many of my parent friends, though they grew up in some sort of faith tradition, have either come to pick and choose what they’re willing to pass on to their children from that faith tradition, or they eschew religion altogether.  The big question I hear, especially from friends who no longer embrace religion or believe in God, is: “If I don’t believe in God or don’t know what I believe about God, how am I supposed to teach my own child about God in a way that feels authentic rather than misleading?  Should I teach my child about God?”

As someone who sees systemic problems in her own faith tradition, I struggle along the same lines.  I don’t want my children learning about Christianity from just any Christian church community—I need to know that the Christian message they receive is more than mindless dogma that is inconsistent with the radical teachings of Jesus.

So how do I go about teaching my child about God in a way that a) isn’t contrived, b) offensive to me, and c) illuminating and helpful to my child without being oppressive?

I offer the following questions as starting points for any parent who asks this question, whether they belong to a faith tradition or have rejected religion and God but still wish to offer God as a possibility to their child.

First, what is it that teaching God/religion/faith to my child will accomplish?  Is this for me, or for my child?  What do I hope my child will gain from learning about faith?  Is it an intellectual exercise, or is there something more—something I remember from my own childhood that I want my child to experience, even if she rejects it later? 

Second, do I want to give my child a variety of faith perspectives, or do I want her to experience one primary tradition with occasional references to others?   Do I feel competent enough to teach my child about many faiths?  Do I feel competent enough to teach her primarily about one without tearing down others? 

For someone who wants to go the former route but isn’t sure where to start, a good place to begin is the Unitarian Universalist Church, which is intentionally embracing of all faith and no faith at once—Unitarians include theists, atheists, Christians, Jews, Buddhists, you name it.  For someone who prefers to allow her child to experience one faith tradition primarily (in my case, Christianity), one might start in a “safe” denomination.  The United Church of Christ is a Christian denomination that is progressive, socially conscious, and warmly inclusive—all things I know I want my children to be exposed to (and formed by) in a religious context.  On the other hand, my childhood denomination, Roman Catholicism, is home to really rich, symbolic ritual, and it’s extremely important to me that my children learn about the power of great ritual, the sort that gets repeated often enough to get into their bones.  A compromise might be to search for religious communities that straddle the margins as much as I do.   One way to figure out whether a community honors and dwells in margins without risking an in-person visit is to visit their website.  Is there anything about this place that stands out as unusual (and good!) in comparison with other communities of the same tradition?  To use a personal example, my husband and I heard about and joined an African American Catholic Community and eventually had our marriage blessed there, even though neither of us is African American.  African American Catholics certainly aren’t a majority among African Americans or Catholics, so they’ve had to make their own creative way, weaving those two strands of identity together in a way that honors each without diminishing the other.  Church communities like this, that push against whatever “the usual” is because of their “unusual,” marginalized status, are the most likely to honor the questions and concerns that I bring to the table where the religious education and formation of my children are concerned. 

That brings me to the final big question: to what religious institution can I go and share my own concerns and misgivings about religion and God while being taken seriously, rather than dismissed (or, worse, regarded as sinful/shameful/naïve/unfaithful)?  A religious community that fails to admit its own ability to be wrong is a community that I’ll never want my child to learn from.  I need my child to learn that even though God is good, religion sometimes really isn’t.  A religious community that can’t admit its own failings is a religious community whose images of God I won’t be able to relate to (and certainly won’t be able to teach my children about with any conviction). 

Even though I’m a lifelong Catholic, I am more importantly a person who has put “God” and religion to the test—questioning whether masculine images of God are the only valid ones, or even the best ones, for example.  I’ve also dug deep into Christian scripture to see how/when Jesus and other holy figures contradict themselves, promoting prophetic good in some ways and making grievous wrongs in action and judgment elsewhere.  I don’t mind the digging—I’m not afraid of what will come of my search.  I surround myself with people who can help me explore—I trust that they haven’t planted answers ahead of time, even if they’ve dug their own digging and found gems of their own for me admire.  For me, the search is the point, and I think this is especially the case for parents who have rejected religion and/or God but want to give their children the option to embrace one or both. I want my kids to see that my answers about God (and the answers of the faith traditions I choose to expose them to) are not final, because if they were final, they’d be missing the possibility of transformation, expansion, and surprise.  Whether my kids ultimately choose to embrace religion or God is not so important to me as whether they learn what my own faith-on-the-margins has taught me: to love abundantly, to turn again and again toward goodness, and to approach both new and familiar experiences with wonder.

 

Five Ways to Practice Feminism - Guest Post

Kate Allen who blogs over at Corn Dog Mama has some great ways to practice feminism in your own way, and forward the movement while keeping your individuality.

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I've seen a lot of conversation lately about what constitutes a feminist, or a "good" feminist.  As the mother of two young daughters, I have reason to spend a good deal of every day reflecting on what feminism looks like at its best.  I want my daughters to learn, from my example, what it means to embody equality, embrace compassion and diversity, and carry a prophetic voice--all the stuff of feminism, as I see it.  But how does one do all those things in an everyday sort of way?

I offer the following five suggestions as ways to "do" feminism:

1) Embrace diversity.

The tough fact is, not all feminists agree.  The ideal of homogenous thought is, in my experience, a patriarchal one, not a feminist one.  Case in point: I grew up Roman Catholic and studied theology as an undergraduate, a graduate student, and a doctoral student.  Both then and now, when my voice has diverged from that of the big guys (i.e. the pope, the cardinals, the bishops, the priests, and even the deacons) on matters of faith, I've been looked on with suspicion.  I've been told that's not the way things are.  I've been told to shut my mouth, or else.  I've been threatened with everything from excommunication and damnation to poor grades and unsavory recommendations (and that's just my experience with my church--I've experienced patriarchy in many other contexts as well).  In other words, the difference of my thinking has been perceived as a threat, which has led to me being bullied.  Preview of #4: bullying and feminism are not compatible.  This segues naturally into the next way to do feminism:

2) Practice listening.

This is the toughest thing I do as a self-proclaimed feminist.  I expect and want people to listen if I take the risk of speaking. That being said, if it's someone else doing the speaking, and that someone is saying something that conflicts with a view or idea I hold as important or even non-negotiable, it's hard to listen.  It's hard not to shut out that person's voice to begin formulating my clever comeback.   But the moment I fail to listen is the moment I fail to do what I expect others to do--and then I'm simply a hypocrite.  I've failed to do practice listening over and over and over again, and those failures haunt the crap out of me.  For example, when I was in college, I remember writing a rant in the form of a letter to the editor of the college paper.  I was upset about something campus ministry was up to, so in my letter I made rude remarks about it.  I made a whole lot of people upset--students, staff, and faculty alike.  I remember meeting another student a few weeks later who shared my name, and she said, "Oh, you're the one who wrote that letter to the editor."  Her eyes were huge, like I might suddenly reveal my scaly wings and blow fire at her.  I managed to single-handedly create enormous offense across the campus because, in wholly rejecting the value of what campus ministry was doing, I also implicitly rejected the intelligence and wisdom of those who might have had the smallest morsel of interest in taking part in it.  In rapidly spouting off my own perceived wisdom, I failed to listen, and alienated dozens of people I knew and cared about (and probably hundreds more whom I'd never meet).  What did I gain from writing that letter?  Nothing.  Not a thing. If I had just listened first, rather than roaring my way into a written rant, I might have brought something worth reading into my letter the editor--balance, for example.  Kindness, for another.  The possibility of a genuine dialogue, even.  You know--the stuff that awesome feminists are totally savvy about.

3) Value your personal experience and dare to speak up.

One critical thing I've learned in the process of becoming a feminist is that my personal experience is as important as, if not more important than, my ability to bandy about ideas and objective facts.  I've learned the slow way that the most compelling voices I've heard are the ones that aren't afraid of honestly and non-threateningly sharing personal experiences.  I may not be able to relate to someone's political stance on abortion, for example, but I can relate to the desperate urges to protect and care for children and family (full disclosure: I am pro-choice).  I can relate to strongly felt emotions, even when I can't relate to being boxed in by emotionally-charged accusations.  If a person can make herself or himself just vulnerable enough to share her or his experience without attempting to claim that her or his experience is the only valid one, that person can get my ear.  Likewise, I've found that people listen to me most readily when I reveal myself not as someone hardened into in impermeable, unchanging boulder, but rather a flesh-and-blood person who fears, loves, gets angry, is joyful, and feels hurt.  Someone who can experience all those things is someone who can have her mind and heart transformed.  One of my professors from graduate school used to talk about being an openness rather than a closedness.  To be open to others, rather than closed to others, is a great way to practice feminism.  However-

4) Don't ever buy into the idea that bullies have a right to bully you--or that you have the right to bully others.

Yes, this is negative advice, but it is also, in my heartfelt opinion, absolutely crucial to practicing feminism.  As I wrote in a recent reflection, before I was a feminist, I didn't realize I had a right not to be trampled by others.  I was that shy kid in grade school who never knew how to say "no!" or "stop!" when someone mistreated me.  I've learned in my adult life that if you live and breathe, you deserve respect and love, and any person who tries to persuade you otherwise by word or deed does not deserve your attention.  Listening (#2) and becoming vulnerable enough to share your personal experiences (#3) are wonderful feminist things to do, but there's a fine line between listening/becoming vulnerable and allowing someone to pummel you verbally, physically, psychologically, sexually, or otherwise.  If someone's response to your vulnerability is to be cruel, demeaning, or vicious, that person's response lacks integrity and merit.  So what's a feminist way to respond to a person who acts/speaks without integrity or merit?  Well, for a start:

5) Value yourself.

Assume that you have not only self-worth but a right to be part of the world and the conversation.  It's no one's job to do that for you, and someone who doesn't value herself or himself isn't likely to value you the way you deserve.  It also means that you have a right to walk away from relationships with people who don't value you properly.  To answer the question posed in #4, if you encounter someone who acts/speaks to you without integrity or merit, one valid feminist response is to reject future communication/relationship with that person.  But isn't that the same as not listening?  This is where the waters go murky, the way life often does.  I speak from my own experience, which certainly isn't perfect ("perfection" is another patriarchal ideal, anyway, one which I reject as a personal ideal), but I've found that sometimes--just sometimes--the best option is not to listen, because to listen--in these rare cases--is to allow myself to be bullied, and thus not to value myself well.  If I'm in relationship with someone who doesn't value me properly, I'm in relationship with someone hierarchically.  Hierarchy doesn't work in heart-felt relationships--at least not for feminists--because it's antithetical to mutuality.  (St. Paul might disagree with me on that, but I'm not here to debate with a dead man.)  Some of the best--and most difficult--decisions I've ever made involved cutting a person out of my life whom I had previously valued a great deal.  Those decisions, agonizing as they were, empowered me.  Those decisions were tangible ways of affirming that, in relationships that could only be power-imbalanced, I deserved more value in my life than those bullies did.

These five ways aren't the five ways to do feminism, but they are some ways.  In my experience, feminism doesn't work well when it relies on hard and fast rules.  It does seem to work well (and work hard!) when it turns again and again to collective wisdom that's continuously built upon personal experiences.  What would you add to this list of ways to do feminism?  How would you modify the five ways I've presented?

 

This Feminist's Box

Look, feminism is a squidgy topic these days. Now that we can vote and own property and work and stuff, what's the problem, amirite? Do we really need to keep "making people aware" of the stereotypes perpetuated and marginalization of women in modern society? Doesn't everyone already know? And if they do know, doesn't that make it individual choice? And if women are choosing to live in certain ways and enjoy certain things, isn't that what the main push of first and second wave feminism was about anyway? Haven't we won?

Yes and no.

I mean, we really do have a bigger box, and it is a lot cozier in here now that we've been allowed to decorate (see what I did there?), and it would be kind of nice to just stretch out in here and bask in how far we've come. We deserve a break from all this struggling and fighting, and gosh darn it, we just aren't even likable anymore. Why isn't anyone ever grateful?

Because how far we've come isn't far enough. Because not only are things still incredibly weighted toward men (white men in particular), but the general population believes that they are not. Which, really, makes the problem worse than it was before because you cannot fight a problem people who should be on your side (I mean, all people really, but it's worse when you're like, but, guys, come on! This is you we're talking about / fighting for here!) refuse to acknowledge exists.

And just to clear some things up, it's not about wanting things made easier for us. It's about wanting the structural set in our society made equal. We don't want special programs and rights and passages and treatment. We don't want an equal ending point, meaning, we don't expect that being a woman should make it easier for us to succeed as we go through like. We want an equal starting point. Meaning we'd simply like not to have to claw and fight and spend years just getting to the point where men are born. That is what privilege is. It's not a bad thing, you needn't feel personally bad about it if you were born into it. But is is what it is, and we're not trying to drag anyone down so much as we're trying to climb up the patriarchy. Don't be scared, seriously. Us gaining equality does not diminish your life, I promise.

Anyway,  I could write pages on this and bore you to tears, so instead, I'm just going to point out a few specific ways in which women do not start (or end, but remember, the important piece here is start) on the same footing as men. As a group. Not talking individuals. But as a sector of society. In these ways, women are not equal to men, do not have the same opportunities as men, must work harder than men to achieve recognition or rights. Here we go, then.

Here is my feminist's box (get it?). I'm just going to go through each wall of it point by point. In this world and society where "feminism has basically already won guys, come on" we still deal with:

- Unequal pay: Women get paid 77 cents to every dollar a man makes. The equal pay legislation was shot down by our government this year. Awesome. Thanks, guys.

- Corporate absence: Women only account for 12 CEO positions in the Fortune 500 companies. Women make up 2.6 percent of corporal officers in these companies.

- Violence: one in three women will experience some form of violence, including rape and assault, and women are 10 times more likely to be victimized by intimate partners than men.

- Grooming requirements: Hair, makeup and style are considered mandatory to rise in the workforce or in society. When women don't 'groom' properly, their lack of care is blamed for their lack of success.

- Political absence: Only 20 percent of the U.S. senate is made up of women and only 12 percent of governors in the United States.

- Absence in the arts: Only 3 percent of artists highlighted in the MET's modern art section are women.

- Failure language: Failure is consistently feminized. People whining are bitches, or c*nts...if you are afraid you are a pussy...people are douches or twats...all of these represent weakness and something to be ridiculed, failure. And all of them refer to women.

- Property ownership: Worldwide, women own only 10 percent of all property (I cannot find a U.S. statistic. Sorry about that. Understand that this guy is apples and oranges with the rest of the examples.)

- Literature: Novelist Elizabeth Jane Howard says "instead of allowing women to succeed on their own merits the world of male critics and editors scratch each other's backs." Do you know who Elizabeth Jane Howard is? Point.

- Reproductive control: the people in charge of this country (which shown above are men) have control over whether or not women have rights to choice and birth control.

- Childcare inequality: Women are still held to be the main ones responsible for children. They are not, in this country, given automatic paid maternity leave.

- Healthcare access: Women's privacy is in danger when it comes to who can access their healthcare records and why, particularly pertaining to the aforementioned reproductive choices.

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And yet, all of these things are not where the main problem lies. The main problem is that you (and if not you, then someone you know) read through this list not nodding along, but shaking your head. If they only worked harder, or asked for more money, or loved their children, or shaved their legs, this wouldn't happen to them, you think.

That's the problem. That's why we can never be content in a box.


For more amazing stories on what feminism means to these incredible individuals, check these out:

Feminism: Nobody told me how, by Smibbo:  "I saw boys who were teased for being “like a girl”

I saw girls who were shunned for being “too bossy”. I saw the way the rest of the world, outside of my happy-hippy sheltered life really thought. So even though I was brought up to BE a feminist and feminism runs through me effortlessly and without thought, I came to understand why there was a need for such thought, such effort, such …push."

Equal, by Pollychromatic:  "Feminism is a statement that women are equal to men, and to correct inequality where it exists. Both my daughter and my son deserve such a future."

I Was Born a Feminist, by Elizabeth Hawksworth: "Feminism is about equality. I was born a feminist.

Children are born not knowing the difference between women and men, black and white, straight and gay. Children are born knowing that their neighbour is their neighbour, that everyone can be a friend, and that everyone deserves a cookie when the plate is passed around. Children are taught the differences in society. Children are given cues to follow. But when they are born – all children know is that the people around them are people."

A Bit About Feminism, by Corndog Mama: "In this moment, I have a partner who recognizes that I'm bearing a heavy load, and he's looked for a way to make it lighter. In this moment, I am conscious that I don't have to be everything for everyone: I only need to be me, calm and reflective for my sake and that of my unborn child's."

Feminism in my Life, by Accidentally Mommy: "As a rebellious teenager, I defined feminism as being able to run around and do what I wished, date however many men I wanted, and have my world on a plate with no social repercussions. I bought myself birth control, and I worked a job where my co-workers were predominantly male. The misogynists I knew called me an undisciplined slut. I disagreed. I still disagree."

Feminism Defined: The Lowest Common Denominator, by Fine and Fair:  "Alright then. So what's the lowest common denominator? Do all feminists hate men? No. Are all feminists lesbians? No. Are all feminists hairy legged, makeup abstaining loudmouths? No. (But some really cool ones are!) Do all feminists believe that every woman should work and that stay-at-home moms are setting the movement back? Certainly not. Do all feminists believe that women share equal status as human beings and should have the same rights and opportunities as men?"

Each of these pieces is as amazing as the woman who wrote it.




Sources for this (my) piece:

http://www.nsf.gov/statistics/infbrief/nsf08308/

http://www.urbanministry.org/sexism-and-gender-discrimination-statistics

http://math.berkeley.edu/~kirby/sexism.html

http://www.vidaweb.org/the-count-2010

http://library.thinkquest.org/C006274/fem/stats.html

 

Good Friday in Your Family - Guest Post

Kate Allen, who blogs at Life, Love, Liturgy and at CornDog Mama, has agreed to talk about Good Friday and its implications to all, religious and not. She's amazing, and if you have any theological qualms or questions, I would point you to her blogs. A very intelligent lady.

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In the past couple of weeks I've seen moms post about a holiday dilemma: what do I do with my kids on Easter if I'm not religious?  Do I impose my non-religiosity on them?  Or do I fake religiosity and offer them religious concepts I don't believe in so they can experience religiosity for themselves?

I'm a religious mom, but I face a similar problem.  What do I do with my almost two-and-a-half-year-old today, Good Friday, which is one of the most important days of the Christian year?  It's a day that means a great deal to me at age thirty, but what can a two-year-old get out of a Good Friday service aside from the desire to squirm and run and fuss when she's shushed?  Good Friday involves, among other things, lots of kneeling, lots of silence, and lots and lots of words in between the silences.  Oh, and a procession to the cross so that each person can make her or his veneration of it.  Apart from the procession to the cross, there's positively nothing for a two-year-old to do, much less understand.  

So what am I supposed to teach my child about the brutal death of a Jewish man who lived 2,000 years ago--and how?  How am I supposed to explain the concept of sacrifice?  How do I show her that Good Friday is something more than kissing a piece of wood without resorting to a cerebral (and, for her, unintelligible) explanation, on the one hand, or leaving her out altogether, on the other?

Exposing a toddler to religiosity in helpful ways is a difficult business, even for this theologian-by-trade.   The trick I've discovered, thanks to Maria Montessori (the famed Italian educator who was herself Catholic and wrote a great deal about religiosity in small children), is to start where my child is, rather than requiring her to start where I am.  With that in mind, I've come up with a two-fold solution for my toddler.

My first step was to ask myself, "What does Anastasia (my toddler daughter) love?"  Off the top of my head, she loves to sing, she loves to dance, she loves to move, she loves learning new words, she loves a good animated movie or show, she loves to learn new rituals, she loves to eat, and she loves to learn new ways to relate to Mom and Dad. 

So far, so good.  But what do I do with that?

A good friend of mine who has two kiddos of her own asked me if I would want to join her at her church for a special Good Friday service this evening.  Often Good Friday services are held at noon, but this service is to be a Taizé service of light, shadow, and song, with a veneration of the cross as well.  Taizé religious services, named after the French town in which they sprung up, involve singing brief phrases from Christian scripture in memorable melodies and harmonies.  Because the music is simple and repeated over and over, a person of any age can pick it up.  It's a bit like singing Annie's famous "Tomorrow, tomorrow!" (which, by the way, Anastasia loves to do).  Anastasia loves the flicker of candles, and Taizé services are usually lit solely by candlelight--another win.  The procession to the cross will come in the midst of singing and light.  I have the feeling that Anastasia will, with her whole two-year-old self, totally dig this service, not because she'll "get" what it's about, but because the service will honor her two-year-old-self just as she is.

That still leaves the question of how to help her understand the point of it all.  She won't "get" sacrifice from this service.  But sacrifice isn't foreign to her.  To help her, I'm going to turn to one of her other favorite things: Disney and Pixar's latest great film, Brave.  (Note: this is the point at which you shouldn't read on if you want to avoid spoilers.)

Before anything else, let me say that Brave is an outstanding achievement--not just in terms of animation, but in terms of story.  Finally, we have a Disney princess who can stand her own ground--Merida's got talents, interests, creativity, and a mind of her own.  If you've seen Brave, you know that Merida's strengths lead her to butt heads with her mother, the queen, more often than not.  When her mum's plans for her are about to come to fruition, Merida seeks a witch's assistance in changing her mother in order to change her planned fate to something more palatable.  To Merida's dismay, her mum gets turned into a raw-fish-eating, non-talking bear, and Merida has to figure out how to undo the witch's spell before it becomes permanent.

So what's Brave got to do with Good Friday?  Turn to the very last scene, when Merida's well-intentioned dad and all the men of the neighboring clans are trying to kill the bear that is Merida's mum.  They've got the queen-bear bound up and ready to destroy when  Mor'Du, the monstrous bear who has the strength of ten men, shows up.  The men can't hold Mor'Du back, and Mor'Du's attention turns to Merida.  Mor'Du has Merida pinned to the ground and is about to devour her when Merida's bear-mum rises up, defeating the strength of the twenty men who are holding her back with ropes, and roars to Merida's rescue.  This queen, who didn't think it was lady-like or fitting for a princess to have weapons of her own, fights Mor'Du tooth and claw, coming back again and again when Mor'Du has strikes her aside to get at Merida.  In the end, the queen sacrifices her queenly self-expectations to embrace her more important identity--that of mother-bear--to save her daughter's life.

That, friends, is sacrifice my toddler "gets."  Merida's mum sacrifices her queenly inhibitions and propriety to become a roaring bear so that her daughter may live--in a strikingly similar way, according to Christian tradition, Jesus sacrifices his kingly right to honor and esteem and dies the death of a criminal so that others may live.  What I love so much about this parallel is that it means my daughter doesn't have to have background in ancient Jewish customs or social rules or anyone's theology in order to "get" what's happening on Good Friday.  She only has to have a mom whose love for her, in the end, supersedes everything else.  And she does.

 

M. Kate Allen ~ www.lifeloveliturgy.com