Today began with me holding back tears in a room full of crying people and ended with me openly weeping in front of others. Some days are just are just designed poorly.
The realization that I was not doing as well as I thought greeted me before the alarm went off. In two of my classes, we have been dealing the stories and images of abuse in the Bible for over a week. For the first time, I finally saw the redemption in these Terror Texts. Though they are stories of atrocity they are also stories of violence that have been preserved for a good reason. These are stories use to talk about the fact that these things still happen. This problem hasn’t gone away. Yes, if we let them, if we talk about how God meets people in the midst of this shit and calls them out, then there is hope. Then doors can be opened for the church to start being a safe and courageous space to name the violence within our midst. To share stories, to hear hard things, to lament together, and to hold those that are violent to account for their actions. Preaching texts like Judges 19 might be cringe worthy but it is also the only door I know that opens space in the church for the survivors to reclaim their voices. Yes, all of this was hard very hard. Those texts while helping us reclaim our voices also makes the images of abuse dance before my eyes.
And so I entered this weekend feeling just a little weary, but we aren’t done talking about rape and abuse in my classes. O no there is one and a half more weeks. And so I read the next book about abuse. The one that was supposed to help me, as a pastor to care for people who were in abusive situations. The only problem with that is that this was THE WORST book I’ve ever read on how to deal with abuse. I spent the whole 118 pages swearing at it. Its directions were just close enough to helpful to be so very harmful. Its tone was dismissive to many peoples’ stories (including my own). So by the time I closed the book I was ready to burn it. But sadly I must lead a group discussion on it instead…
Still, I thought I was doing really well. I was walking and talking and smiling. But then I noticed I wasn’t eating, wasn’t sleeping, and couldn’t concentrate. The realization that I wasn’t fine. I was far from it greeted me today like a soaking wet dog sticking its head in your lap. I took a deep breath and told myself there will be days like this and that I will be okay.
But then I wasn’t. The day got worse and worse and worse. Questions of call, grief, anger, and confusion of both myself and others clung today like the dead leaves cling to my boots after a hard rain. I took deep breaths and made it to my final class. The one where we were talking about the Terror Texts of the Bible. The word rape was used more times than I could count, and yet, I made it through. I kept raising my hand kept talking. Because I firmly believe the church has to change and it will never get better if survivors don’t start demanding a voice in the conversation. When the class ended I was grateful.
Tired beyond words all I wanted to do was escape but then she asked me what I thought of our next book for this class, the one I had read this weekend. I began to tell her. I spoke honestly. Sensing I was safe my walls came down just a little then we were interrupted by another who said something sarcastically about abuse. This person is caring but in a gruff sort of way and any other day this person’s comment would have been easily engaged with but not today. Suddenly, I realized I was about to lose it in a big way. So I tried to leave. “I can’t do this right now,” I said as I started toward the door. But then she handed me her little sisters poem and told me to read it. “It’s beautiful and hard. It’s about her sexual assault.” And that, dear friends, is when tears could no longer be held back. “I can’t do this right now,” I said as I tried to give the poem back and leave. Then she asked, “Whoa are you okay?” followed quickly by her realization that I was not okay. I couldn’t answer, words had been replaced by tears and for the next half hour, they wouldn’t stop. I wept openly no longer able to suppress the pain that had engulfed me like an unexpected 10-foot wave in the ocean.
I decided that just for tonight school work doesn’t matter. That making sure my body is taken care of is more important. So tonight I made myself Vegan Coconut Pumpkin Pancakes, bacon, and brownies to feast on. Tonight I drink sparkling grape juice which in my house growing up was only for special occasions but my God makes me a holiday feast when the voices of my enemies are way to strong for me. And so I will choose to celebrate in the mess of tears and hurt that today has been, because you know what? They are memories now and memories though powerful never have the final say in anything. So here is to feasting in the midst of lament.
The Confessional 