Can you tell the end of the quarter is almost upon us? Never one to do things in advance that can be put off until the last minute, this morning I picked up Mia again and we headed to Temple Beth Am for a morning shabbat service and pretty much our last chance to visit a Jewish worship service before the deadline next Wednesday. I had intended to do this on my own or with a classmate, but we had two other people with us as I turned north toward the U-district, my daughters. My husband was called in to work around 10pm last night and got home after 7:30 this morning, making him an unfit caregiver until he's had some sleep. So I decided what the heck and brought the girls along. When I am teaching congregational development to Episcopal congregations I tell people that key insights into a community's life can be gained by attending to how they treat their children. I expected good things from this reformed Jewish community, and wasn't disappointed.
Church Attended: Temple Beth Am, in Seattle's U-District
Date: 5/19/2012
Description of worship space/meeting time: The weekly Jewish celebration of Shabbat starts at sundown Friday night and goes until sundown Saturday. Beth Am offers Friday night and Saturday morning prayer services and I chose the Saturday morning option, which began at 10:30. We arrived at 10:30 on the dot and the parking lot was almost full. We joined the stream of people entering and were handed a rather rumpled booklet that described what a shabbat service would entail. Of the three visits I have made for this project Beth Am felt the most like a "church" in the sense that comes to mind for me. It is a modern building, not heavily adorned and feeling like a protestant church/community center/school in its appointment. There is a generous entryway to the worship space with signs pointing to the bathrooms and childcare and wide open doors into the sanctuary itself. Inside the sanctuary(not sure if that's the correct word) are rows of chairs arranged to focus on a central stage with a choir loft off to the left hand side. A podium is center stage, from which Torah was read and prayers led. The seats were comfy, and the place was really full. We were handed a prayer book as we entered.
Number of People in Attendance: I would have estimated over 200.
My expectations/pre-conceived notions: My main exposure to Reform Judaism has been through our professor, Dr. Martin, who belongs to the Reform tradition herself. I have heard her say repeatedly that for liberal Christians this is the form of Judaism that we have the most in common with. So I wasn't expecting to stick out. I was expecting plenty of Hebrew in the service and wasn't sure otherwise. I knew there would be singing, but wasn't sure how much or when or what the structure of the service would be.
The Service: While the liturgy was entirely unfamiliar to me, the service felt very comfortable. We checked out the childcare when we first arrived but my oldest wasn't into it - she wanted to hear the music - so we went in to the service and sat in a back row. This was a good idea, as we were in and out a bit with the kids. Everyone had blue prayer books and the female rabbi who was leading the service always announced where in the book we would be at the beginning of each new prayer. Sometimes she would also add a word or two about the prayer, giving context or suggested meaning. Most prayers were sung, either chanted or in a hymn-like arrangement with choir or single vocalist leading and the congregation following. Most were accompanied by piano, but some had guitar or other instruments. The first section of the service was entirely prayers, some lively and others reflective. My kids lasted for about twenty minutes before my oldest, who is two and a half, decided to go play instead and we dropped her back at the childcare room. I kept the baby with me, as childcare was for kids age two and up. After the praying/singing portion of the service it shifted to a "Torah section" which involved the reading in Hebrew of the Torah and offering of interpretations. This is when Mia and I began to suspect that there was something special about this particular service - the readers of the Torah were all young men, around the age of twelve. When the scrolls were taken out from the special cabinet where they are kept one was given to each boy and they processed around while everyone sang, followed by their families. One of them had led a section of the prayers, which I thought was quite lovely, and now they were reading in Hebrew from the Torah and one of them even preached on the year of Jubilee from Leviticus. He was great, and from what we gathered this was part of, or just after the Bar Mitzvahs for these boys.
The Jewish shabbat service was by far the longest of the three services I attended for class. At one point I checked back in at childcare to see how my kid was faring (she was fine) and the attendant informed me that the service wouldn't be over until 12:30 or later - two hours after it began. This was a bit of a shock so close to the 35-40 minutes of the Islamic worship, and so we ended up scooting out close to the end, just after the Torah section was done. This was unfortunate - I would have liked to stay and mingle with people - however my baby was near the end of her rope by the time noon rolled around. I also noticed that she was the only baby in the crowd and drew some glances - both friendly and disapproving - as she began to tune up and offer her own commentary to the worship.
What I least enjoyed: There was no order of service, or indication of what was coming up next. This meant that the length of the service was something of a shock to me. Other than this it was all quite lovely.
What I most enjoyed: I loved seeing the boys participate in and lead worship and scripture reading. I loved the old man who played peek-a-boo with Salome (my baby) using his kippa. I really loved the procession with the Torah that symbolized the passing of Torah from generation to generation.
What I learned: This service felt the most comfortable to me of the three I attended, despite its length. (or maybe because of it - the Anglo-Catholice Episcopal church I come from does not produce brief liturgy!) The sentiments expressed all resonated with me, and with a couple small changes in attire the congregation could have been an Episcopal one - mostly white folk, well dressed, obviously well educated. But I did feel Holy Envy, and it centered around the strong and beautiful sense of identity woven into the prayers, clothes, and actions of the congregation.
What would I do differently if I attended again?: I would come without kids and sit closer to the front. It was nice and informative in some ways to bring the girls, but it definitely distracted from a deeper focus on what was happening in the service.
Saturday, May 19, 2012
Friday, May 18, 2012
Visit #2 Idriss Mosque at Northgate
Along with two of my lovely female classmates I visited Idriss Mosque in North Seattle this afternoon. If Stendhal's first rule for interreligious dialogue was the theme for my visit to Mars Hill Church, his second was the theme for me this afternoon - if you have questions about the theology or beliefs of another religion, ask those who follow it. (I am saving Holy Envy for the Synagogue, just a hunch I have about what my experience there will be.) The women at Idriss were models of hospitality and a few of them stuck around after prayer to answer any questions we had, as well as clear up any misunderstandings they thought we might be carrying about Islam and women. It was friendly, informative, and lovely. So let's get to it:
Church Attended: Idriss Mosque
Date: May 18, 2012
Description of worship space/meeting time: Because of my gender I didn't spend any time on the main floor of the mosque. Mia and I wandered around to the front entrance and were intercepted by a nice man who showed us to the women's entrance. It was around the back of the brick building and down a ramp, so we entered on a basement level. Once inside there were a couple of classrooms ahead and a washroom for ablutions ahead of us, and stairs to the left that lead to the women's prayer space. Signs informed us that there are no shoes allowed in the mosque, and there were several walls of cubbies to store footwear in, one at the entrance and two more as we ascended the stairs into the prayer space. The women's prayer space is above the main floor where the men pray, and so is separated both by altitude and by a series of turret shaped lattices. The room itself is carpeted, with lines in the carpet so that we could arrange ourselves in appropriately spaced rows for prayer. The women in the front row could look down and see the Imam and men praying, but I never saw that space as I was seated too far back. There were a few chairs for women who could not comfortably sit but everyone else arranged themselves on the floor.
Number of people in attendance: I don't know how many men were attending below, but there were probably around forty women present and four or five children.
My expectations/pre-concieved notions: I wasn't sure what to expect, although I was aware that women and men pray separately in most of Islam. I expected to be in the minority racially (and we were) and that the women would all wear head coverings (and they were). I wasn't sure how our obvious status as visitors would be received. I have read and been told that it is acceptable for anyone who has performed ablutions to attempt the prayers, and that it is not offensive to Muslims for non-Muslim women to wear the head scarves but I am sensitive to engaging in behaviors that may be appropriative and felt some concern that we would be seen as interlopers. This was in no way the case.
The service: When we entered there was a woman who was fully covered, including her face and hands, in the entryway. She wasn't a formal greeter but could see that we were a little lost and when I asked her how we should do ablutions she showed us the washroom. When I told her that we wanted to pray, if we could, she was very encouraging and walked us through the entire rite of wudu so that we would be in a state of ritual purification. I had done ghusl that morning, and told her this, but since I had gone to the bathroom since that time it was necessary to do the more abbreviated wudu. She was great and corrected whenever one of us started with the left hand instead of right or made another mistake. She then showed us what to say (it was posted on the wall) and took us up to the women's part of the formal mosque. When we arrived the room was about half full, and by the time the imam was done with his preaching the room was quite full. The dress of those present ranged from the woman who greeted us, whose face or eyes we never saw, to women wearing pants and tunics with hajib headscarves, to us. I had looked up how to wrap my scarf on the internet and apparently did well enough that some of the women assumed I was Muslim, but my companions were definitely the least covered women in the room, although both did cover their heads. Precisely at 1:30 there was a call to prayer, sung in Arabic, followed by chanting and then some words from the imam. I couldn't see him, but he was easy to understand. The homily was focused on the importance of the family in the Qur'an, and especially on how wives and husbands need to treat each other. The speaker focused on kindness and displays of affection between spouses, and made some gentle gender normative jokes that were received with chuckles from above and below. When he was done speaking the entire assembly performed three raka'ah, or sets of ritual prayer that involve standing, reciting parts of the Qur'an, bowing, and prostrating oneself on the ground. When it was over the general sound of conversation filled both levels and for a while no one went anywhere. A lovely older woman came over to talk to us, and for a moment I thought that perhaps this was the "meet and greet" part of the service, but she told me that it was done. The whole thing was over by 2:10. ("well I like that!" my husband said as I told him about the experience.) We stayed for a good while afterwards chatting with the women there about Islam and the homily, enjoying their hospitality.
What I least enjoyed: The very sweet woman who greeted me afterwards and stuck around to chat was quick to jump to the defense of the separation between women and men, and to explain to me how Islam cherishes the unique beauty of women through this separation and the covering of the female body and so forth. I heard what she said and I can see where she is coming from. But as I think back on the day I cannot help but notice that as a woman I entered through the basement and worshiped in the attic, so to speak. The mosque has a beautiful front entrance, but I can't go through those doors. I may understand the reasoning and theology behind it, but I don't like it(the fact of it or the reasoning and theology) very much.
What I most enjoyed: I loved being instructed in doing wudu- today is my plunge project day so I had been attempting it at home earlier in the day, as well as attempting the prayers. It was wonderful to be coached through by someone who had internalized the cleansing and prayer process so thoroughly. By far my favorite part, however, was the easy camaraderie between the women that was extended to us as visitors. Their hospitality was genuine, simple, and sweet. This was also the most racially diverse congregation I've seen anywhere - and I loved that too.
What I learned: I experienced the hijab as a sort of vestment for every person to wear - I liked it, which was not something I was expecting. I also learned that these Muslim women, the ones we talked to, are incredibly proud of their role in their families and their faith as women. They perceive themselves as the drivers and producers of the human race, which is why they try to stay home with their children and why they guard their bodies from the view of others. I also learned that a few of my preconceptions were, at least in this place, founded. In the midst of a beautiful description of the headscarf/hijab as a way of emphasizing the unique beauty and power of being a woman the lady I was speaking to tacked on a comment about how nobody wearing a hijab gets raped because the men can't see their bodies. I winced on the inside to hear this victim blaming in the same breath as some pretty amazing girl-power speech.
What would I do differently if I attended again? There are two concrete things I would do differently. First I would do wudu at home - I got the distinct impression that most of the women did not perform ablutions actually at the mosque. I wonder if this is different for the men, who are perhaps coming from work and who do not have to worry about mussing up headscarves and other coverings. Secondly I would get there in time to get a place in the front row - I want to see how what the men are up to compares to what's happening upstairs.
Church Attended: Idriss Mosque
Date: May 18, 2012
Description of worship space/meeting time: Because of my gender I didn't spend any time on the main floor of the mosque. Mia and I wandered around to the front entrance and were intercepted by a nice man who showed us to the women's entrance. It was around the back of the brick building and down a ramp, so we entered on a basement level. Once inside there were a couple of classrooms ahead and a washroom for ablutions ahead of us, and stairs to the left that lead to the women's prayer space. Signs informed us that there are no shoes allowed in the mosque, and there were several walls of cubbies to store footwear in, one at the entrance and two more as we ascended the stairs into the prayer space. The women's prayer space is above the main floor where the men pray, and so is separated both by altitude and by a series of turret shaped lattices. The room itself is carpeted, with lines in the carpet so that we could arrange ourselves in appropriately spaced rows for prayer. The women in the front row could look down and see the Imam and men praying, but I never saw that space as I was seated too far back. There were a few chairs for women who could not comfortably sit but everyone else arranged themselves on the floor.
Number of people in attendance: I don't know how many men were attending below, but there were probably around forty women present and four or five children.
My expectations/pre-concieved notions: I wasn't sure what to expect, although I was aware that women and men pray separately in most of Islam. I expected to be in the minority racially (and we were) and that the women would all wear head coverings (and they were). I wasn't sure how our obvious status as visitors would be received. I have read and been told that it is acceptable for anyone who has performed ablutions to attempt the prayers, and that it is not offensive to Muslims for non-Muslim women to wear the head scarves but I am sensitive to engaging in behaviors that may be appropriative and felt some concern that we would be seen as interlopers. This was in no way the case.
The service: When we entered there was a woman who was fully covered, including her face and hands, in the entryway. She wasn't a formal greeter but could see that we were a little lost and when I asked her how we should do ablutions she showed us the washroom. When I told her that we wanted to pray, if we could, she was very encouraging and walked us through the entire rite of wudu so that we would be in a state of ritual purification. I had done ghusl that morning, and told her this, but since I had gone to the bathroom since that time it was necessary to do the more abbreviated wudu. She was great and corrected whenever one of us started with the left hand instead of right or made another mistake. She then showed us what to say (it was posted on the wall) and took us up to the women's part of the formal mosque. When we arrived the room was about half full, and by the time the imam was done with his preaching the room was quite full. The dress of those present ranged from the woman who greeted us, whose face or eyes we never saw, to women wearing pants and tunics with hajib headscarves, to us. I had looked up how to wrap my scarf on the internet and apparently did well enough that some of the women assumed I was Muslim, but my companions were definitely the least covered women in the room, although both did cover their heads. Precisely at 1:30 there was a call to prayer, sung in Arabic, followed by chanting and then some words from the imam. I couldn't see him, but he was easy to understand. The homily was focused on the importance of the family in the Qur'an, and especially on how wives and husbands need to treat each other. The speaker focused on kindness and displays of affection between spouses, and made some gentle gender normative jokes that were received with chuckles from above and below. When he was done speaking the entire assembly performed three raka'ah, or sets of ritual prayer that involve standing, reciting parts of the Qur'an, bowing, and prostrating oneself on the ground. When it was over the general sound of conversation filled both levels and for a while no one went anywhere. A lovely older woman came over to talk to us, and for a moment I thought that perhaps this was the "meet and greet" part of the service, but she told me that it was done. The whole thing was over by 2:10. ("well I like that!" my husband said as I told him about the experience.) We stayed for a good while afterwards chatting with the women there about Islam and the homily, enjoying their hospitality.
What I least enjoyed: The very sweet woman who greeted me afterwards and stuck around to chat was quick to jump to the defense of the separation between women and men, and to explain to me how Islam cherishes the unique beauty of women through this separation and the covering of the female body and so forth. I heard what she said and I can see where she is coming from. But as I think back on the day I cannot help but notice that as a woman I entered through the basement and worshiped in the attic, so to speak. The mosque has a beautiful front entrance, but I can't go through those doors. I may understand the reasoning and theology behind it, but I don't like it(the fact of it or the reasoning and theology) very much.
What I most enjoyed: I loved being instructed in doing wudu- today is my plunge project day so I had been attempting it at home earlier in the day, as well as attempting the prayers. It was wonderful to be coached through by someone who had internalized the cleansing and prayer process so thoroughly. By far my favorite part, however, was the easy camaraderie between the women that was extended to us as visitors. Their hospitality was genuine, simple, and sweet. This was also the most racially diverse congregation I've seen anywhere - and I loved that too.
What I learned: I experienced the hijab as a sort of vestment for every person to wear - I liked it, which was not something I was expecting. I also learned that these Muslim women, the ones we talked to, are incredibly proud of their role in their families and their faith as women. They perceive themselves as the drivers and producers of the human race, which is why they try to stay home with their children and why they guard their bodies from the view of others. I also learned that a few of my preconceptions were, at least in this place, founded. In the midst of a beautiful description of the headscarf/hijab as a way of emphasizing the unique beauty and power of being a woman the lady I was speaking to tacked on a comment about how nobody wearing a hijab gets raped because the men can't see their bodies. I winced on the inside to hear this victim blaming in the same breath as some pretty amazing girl-power speech.
What would I do differently if I attended again? There are two concrete things I would do differently. First I would do wudu at home - I got the distinct impression that most of the women did not perform ablutions actually at the mosque. I wonder if this is different for the men, who are perhaps coming from work and who do not have to worry about mussing up headscarves and other coverings. Secondly I would get there in time to get a place in the front row - I want to see how what the men are up to compares to what's happening upstairs.
Saturday, May 5, 2012
My first visit - Mars Hill Downtown Church
According to Stendhal's rules for inter-religious dialogue you should never compare your best with their worst. I took this in mind when selecting a Christian church to visit for class (we are to visit a church, mosque, and temple). Dr. M. stipulated that we choose a tradition outside our own, and I chose to visit a church that is not only outside my tradition but from everything I knew not an expression of Christianity that I would label "best" by any stretch. Mars Hill is a controversial mega-church of no firm denominational affiliation whose senior pastor is well known for making statements from the pulpit and via his blog that are easily interpreted as homophobic, misogynistic, and generally contemptuous and hateful of people who are not his particular brand of fairly fundamentalist "Christian." I guess I figured that wherever I go next, temple or mosque, no one will be able to accuse me of comparing our best to their worst. So let's get to it (following the assignment outline given in class to reflect on visits):
Church Attended: Mars Hill Church, Downtown Seattle location
Date: Saturday April 28, 6pm service
Description of worship space/meeting place: Mars Hill purchased a building downtown on Western Ave that used to be a nightclub, as I was informed by the very sweet young lady wearing a "I can help" nametag who met me at the door. She was able to ascertain that I was new as I entered the building by asking a couple discreet questions "How long have you been here?" ("Just arrived" I said.) "What brings you to Mars Hill?("Curiosity," I replied.) It is obvious that the space was once a music venue, and the church uses it very well. There is an entry area with free coffee, tea, and water before you enter the main auditorium. There are no windows and the orientation of the entire space (rather long, black walls) is the stage at the end. There was music playing over the sound system when I arrived and a massive screen was displaying announcements about the community - upcoming doctrine membership classes and an upcoming retreat at Suncadia resort.
Number of people in attendance: The room could probably seat a few hundred people, and was perhaps a third full. I spotted three people of color, two of which were on stage in the music or a pastoring role. The rest of the audience I read as white, under 30, and dressed casually but intentionally. The white male lead pastor wore a suit.
My expectations/pre-conceived notions: I have watched or heard excerpts from the preaching at Mars Hill, and read much of the media coverage about the ways in which community members who violate the stated practices or challenge leadership are treated. As a woman on a track toward ordained ministry (something Mars Hill is openly against) I expected to feel uncomfortable there. However I also have friends who attend Mars Hill, people I like very much and studiously avoid having any sort of theological conversation with. These are smart, fun folks and so I also expected there to be something compelling about the experience. It couldn't be all hate-speech and misogyny.
The Service: The service started exactly on time. A few minutes before go-time the screen ascended and a young, hip band took the stage, all male. Two minutes before start a large countdown clock was projected on the back wall informing us exactly when worship would begin. The format was music-sermon-music. The lead pastor of the downtown location welcomed everyone, showed up again just before the sermon to introduce the topic, and then again after the sermon to bring it home. The music was great, not the stereotypical individualistic empty love songs with Jesus' name sung repeatedly that I was expecting. Most were rock n roll versions of psalms or familiar hymns and they were done very well. When it was sermon time the giant screen came down again (the band was still playing and were completely obscured) and after a brief intro by lead-pastor, we watched a pre-recorded hour of Mark Driscoll preaching on location in Ephesus. I found Driscoll's sermon both repellent and compelling. The production values were very high, and he is a good preacher. But the theological content was disturbing(if not surprising) on a couple of levels. First, the way the episode was shot seemed designed to feel a little bit like a documentary, especially when the preacher discussed the history behind the text he preached on (Revelation). I would have been very impressed if I were not aware that many of the claims he made about that history are false. So the conflation of myth/tradition around the text and actual historical-critical data about it was troubling. The other content stuff was about what I expected - veiled references to Jesus as "the senior pastor" that suggested an authority from the senior pastor that is god-like, and a thinly veiled contempt for the people and places that do not conform to one particular person's vision of a faithful life. I also found it interesting, and have heard this so was expecting it, that while there are tons of pastors at Mars Hill - several for each location - only the senior pastor really preaches there. The implication, to me, is that there is just one man who speaks for God in this community. (Not to mention that it is a little odd to me, coming together at church and basically watching tv for almost an hour of the time I'm there.)
The service ended with music and, unexpected to me, communion. The practice for communion was interesting, a combination of what I've experienced in mainline denominations that see it as remembrance and not sacrament. There was little explanation offered, just an invitation to come to the front if you wished. I went, and once there took a pita bread from one plate and then had a choice of wine or juice to dip it in from another plate. The band played during this time. Finally the lead pastor came up, invited everyone to come out to eat at a local cafe with another pastor, made fun of that pastor for being old (he struck me as early 50s) and then it was done.
What I least enjoyed: The underlying either/or theology presented was the least enjoyable part of the experience for me. The membership class is called "Doctrine: What Christians Should Believe," a premise that I found simultaneously offensive and simplistic. I was also keenly aware that I am not their target demographic - and so wasn't greeted as warmly perhaps. I sat in the middle of a row about halfway toward the front of the room. No one sat very close to me. During the meet and greet time one person said hi, but several others who were near chose to speak to each other instead of greeting me, despite my efforts to make eye contact. I've heard other folks who maybe appear younger or who look a little different than I do have had different experiences. I started to wonder if I was coming off as old, fat, or maybe a lesbian. I do have short hair and nails, wasn't wearing make-up, was there alone and wearing a wedding ring. I don't think I am usually read that way but as I compared myself to the other women present I felt pretty butch. I have heard that the Mars Hill culture is fairly appearance oriented - I remember a friend who was a member briefly telling me that she felt ostracized because she was larger than other women there - but I was still surprised. So much for my hip self image!
What I most enjoyed: I was surprised by how much I liked the musical experience. It got me thinking, truly. Also they do a great job with hospitality - it is all a little produced for my tastes but I am not their target audience, and I found the greeting person and free coffee quite pleasant.
What I learned: After this experience I can see why someone would choose to go to church here. Everything is designed to produce a sense of either belonging or a wish to belong to this particular community, something that people in the identity barren desert of their 20s and early 30s are really craving. There was more depth to some parts than I expected, like the music, and the highly produced and edited sermon wasn't boring. I left wondering what the other parts of community life are like - despite my distaste for the theology they're selling I found myself curious.
What would I do differently if I attended again? I'd love to go with Andrew, my husband, sometime and see if the reception is different when I'm obviously in a married heterosexual relationship. He looks younger and more like their target demographic as well, I think. I also am curious how the more traditional Sunday morning services compare to the Saturday night crowd. I don't know that I would "do" anything differently - based on this one experience there really isn't much to do at a Mars Hill worship service. The band plays the music and you can sing along or not - it is so loud that it won't matter to anyone else whether you sing. The sermon is pre-recorded, so there is no need to nod along or respond to the preacher in any visible way. And at least this time the people are fairly insular. I made it in and out only speaking to two people, the greeter and the one person who greeted me during the meet and greet time. I was open to talking to others - I smiled, made eye contact and lingered near the coffee for a bit, but no one said hi. Maybe next time I would try initiating, and see what that was like.
Church Attended: Mars Hill Church, Downtown Seattle location
Date: Saturday April 28, 6pm service
Description of worship space/meeting place: Mars Hill purchased a building downtown on Western Ave that used to be a nightclub, as I was informed by the very sweet young lady wearing a "I can help" nametag who met me at the door. She was able to ascertain that I was new as I entered the building by asking a couple discreet questions "How long have you been here?" ("Just arrived" I said.) "What brings you to Mars Hill?("Curiosity," I replied.) It is obvious that the space was once a music venue, and the church uses it very well. There is an entry area with free coffee, tea, and water before you enter the main auditorium. There are no windows and the orientation of the entire space (rather long, black walls) is the stage at the end. There was music playing over the sound system when I arrived and a massive screen was displaying announcements about the community - upcoming doctrine membership classes and an upcoming retreat at Suncadia resort.
Number of people in attendance: The room could probably seat a few hundred people, and was perhaps a third full. I spotted three people of color, two of which were on stage in the music or a pastoring role. The rest of the audience I read as white, under 30, and dressed casually but intentionally. The white male lead pastor wore a suit.
My expectations/pre-conceived notions: I have watched or heard excerpts from the preaching at Mars Hill, and read much of the media coverage about the ways in which community members who violate the stated practices or challenge leadership are treated. As a woman on a track toward ordained ministry (something Mars Hill is openly against) I expected to feel uncomfortable there. However I also have friends who attend Mars Hill, people I like very much and studiously avoid having any sort of theological conversation with. These are smart, fun folks and so I also expected there to be something compelling about the experience. It couldn't be all hate-speech and misogyny.
The Service: The service started exactly on time. A few minutes before go-time the screen ascended and a young, hip band took the stage, all male. Two minutes before start a large countdown clock was projected on the back wall informing us exactly when worship would begin. The format was music-sermon-music. The lead pastor of the downtown location welcomed everyone, showed up again just before the sermon to introduce the topic, and then again after the sermon to bring it home. The music was great, not the stereotypical individualistic empty love songs with Jesus' name sung repeatedly that I was expecting. Most were rock n roll versions of psalms or familiar hymns and they were done very well. When it was sermon time the giant screen came down again (the band was still playing and were completely obscured) and after a brief intro by lead-pastor, we watched a pre-recorded hour of Mark Driscoll preaching on location in Ephesus. I found Driscoll's sermon both repellent and compelling. The production values were very high, and he is a good preacher. But the theological content was disturbing(if not surprising) on a couple of levels. First, the way the episode was shot seemed designed to feel a little bit like a documentary, especially when the preacher discussed the history behind the text he preached on (Revelation). I would have been very impressed if I were not aware that many of the claims he made about that history are false. So the conflation of myth/tradition around the text and actual historical-critical data about it was troubling. The other content stuff was about what I expected - veiled references to Jesus as "the senior pastor" that suggested an authority from the senior pastor that is god-like, and a thinly veiled contempt for the people and places that do not conform to one particular person's vision of a faithful life. I also found it interesting, and have heard this so was expecting it, that while there are tons of pastors at Mars Hill - several for each location - only the senior pastor really preaches there. The implication, to me, is that there is just one man who speaks for God in this community. (Not to mention that it is a little odd to me, coming together at church and basically watching tv for almost an hour of the time I'm there.)
The service ended with music and, unexpected to me, communion. The practice for communion was interesting, a combination of what I've experienced in mainline denominations that see it as remembrance and not sacrament. There was little explanation offered, just an invitation to come to the front if you wished. I went, and once there took a pita bread from one plate and then had a choice of wine or juice to dip it in from another plate. The band played during this time. Finally the lead pastor came up, invited everyone to come out to eat at a local cafe with another pastor, made fun of that pastor for being old (he struck me as early 50s) and then it was done.
What I least enjoyed: The underlying either/or theology presented was the least enjoyable part of the experience for me. The membership class is called "Doctrine: What Christians Should Believe," a premise that I found simultaneously offensive and simplistic. I was also keenly aware that I am not their target demographic - and so wasn't greeted as warmly perhaps. I sat in the middle of a row about halfway toward the front of the room. No one sat very close to me. During the meet and greet time one person said hi, but several others who were near chose to speak to each other instead of greeting me, despite my efforts to make eye contact. I've heard other folks who maybe appear younger or who look a little different than I do have had different experiences. I started to wonder if I was coming off as old, fat, or maybe a lesbian. I do have short hair and nails, wasn't wearing make-up, was there alone and wearing a wedding ring. I don't think I am usually read that way but as I compared myself to the other women present I felt pretty butch. I have heard that the Mars Hill culture is fairly appearance oriented - I remember a friend who was a member briefly telling me that she felt ostracized because she was larger than other women there - but I was still surprised. So much for my hip self image!
What I most enjoyed: I was surprised by how much I liked the musical experience. It got me thinking, truly. Also they do a great job with hospitality - it is all a little produced for my tastes but I am not their target audience, and I found the greeting person and free coffee quite pleasant.
What I learned: After this experience I can see why someone would choose to go to church here. Everything is designed to produce a sense of either belonging or a wish to belong to this particular community, something that people in the identity barren desert of their 20s and early 30s are really craving. There was more depth to some parts than I expected, like the music, and the highly produced and edited sermon wasn't boring. I left wondering what the other parts of community life are like - despite my distaste for the theology they're selling I found myself curious.
What would I do differently if I attended again? I'd love to go with Andrew, my husband, sometime and see if the reception is different when I'm obviously in a married heterosexual relationship. He looks younger and more like their target demographic as well, I think. I also am curious how the more traditional Sunday morning services compare to the Saturday night crowd. I don't know that I would "do" anything differently - based on this one experience there really isn't much to do at a Mars Hill worship service. The band plays the music and you can sing along or not - it is so loud that it won't matter to anyone else whether you sing. The sermon is pre-recorded, so there is no need to nod along or respond to the preacher in any visible way. And at least this time the people are fairly insular. I made it in and out only speaking to two people, the greeter and the one person who greeted me during the meet and greet time. I was open to talking to others - I smiled, made eye contact and lingered near the coffee for a bit, but no one said hi. Maybe next time I would try initiating, and see what that was like.
Saturday, April 28, 2012
On asking the right question (for me)
On Wednesday we had a great class discussion on religious pluralisms, or the lack thereof, and examined together six of the mainstream models for how a person of faith might respond internally and externally to the reality that there are multiple religions thriving here in our world. These responses range from absolutism, the belief that there is only one way to access God (the ultimate reality) and my religion whichever-religion-that-might-be has it, to something called Complimentary Pluralism which postulates that there are multiple paths(religions) to different and equally true ultimate realties (God, Nirvana, etc) but all of these ultimate truths share common unifying principles. For Complimentary Pluralism the different paths to the ultimate truths reflect different questions and different answers, so they are not competing with each other or canceling each other out - they compliment each other. E asked us to look through the range of models for religious pluralism and think about which one each of us resonated with the most or the least.
I'm not entirely happy with any of them, but models are simply lenses through which we examine a common and not-quite-describable reality, so one can't expect a perfect fit. I suppose I like Complimentary Pluralism the best, mostly because I agree that a large part of substantial meaning-making in human life is how we formulate questions about our lives. I spent six years working as an interviewer in a longtitudinal study examining the long term effects of child abuse and neglect. If there was one thing I learned about method during that time it was that the way the questions are written ultimately affect the outcome more than anyone who thinks they are collecting data "objectively" would like to admit. I learned this again on my road to motherhood, which had several bumps and u-turns in it for me that at times felt quite tragic. I found that certain questions (why? for example) were just not helpful in sad situations, but that if I could step away from the impulse to find The Answer and work on asking a more productive question then I could make meaning out of the more baffling experiences of my life. (a quite personal example of how this worked for me can be found here, but classmates especially and other readers you are under no obligation to click on that link!)
So the three religions under discussion in this class are ultimately asking and answering different questions about what it means to be a human being. All the questions and answers involve an ultimate truth that all three describe as the One God. For me, at this point, it really boils down to understanding the questions that are being asked - what is the question, why would one ask it, how does the constant working out of asking this question shape human life similarly or differently than it would if one was asking a different question? How does this question make meaning, and does this resonate with me?
I have a feeling that with enough examination most of the questions that varying religions are asking would resonate on some level with most of us - IF we understood them. My family, background, cultural conditioning, geographic location, socio-economic reality and other specifics affect my ability to ask questions, what I think is important, what I notice, and the capacity I have to understand how to make theological meaning. I wish that the impulse to make my question everyone's question was something that my religion could let go. And I have hope for this possibility - I see Christians model it more often than one might expect. I think there is more important work to be done, the work of love - one of the most central answers to the question(s) that resonate for me.
I'm not entirely happy with any of them, but models are simply lenses through which we examine a common and not-quite-describable reality, so one can't expect a perfect fit. I suppose I like Complimentary Pluralism the best, mostly because I agree that a large part of substantial meaning-making in human life is how we formulate questions about our lives. I spent six years working as an interviewer in a longtitudinal study examining the long term effects of child abuse and neglect. If there was one thing I learned about method during that time it was that the way the questions are written ultimately affect the outcome more than anyone who thinks they are collecting data "objectively" would like to admit. I learned this again on my road to motherhood, which had several bumps and u-turns in it for me that at times felt quite tragic. I found that certain questions (why? for example) were just not helpful in sad situations, but that if I could step away from the impulse to find The Answer and work on asking a more productive question then I could make meaning out of the more baffling experiences of my life. (a quite personal example of how this worked for me can be found here, but classmates especially and other readers you are under no obligation to click on that link!)
So the three religions under discussion in this class are ultimately asking and answering different questions about what it means to be a human being. All the questions and answers involve an ultimate truth that all three describe as the One God. For me, at this point, it really boils down to understanding the questions that are being asked - what is the question, why would one ask it, how does the constant working out of asking this question shape human life similarly or differently than it would if one was asking a different question? How does this question make meaning, and does this resonate with me?
I have a feeling that with enough examination most of the questions that varying religions are asking would resonate on some level with most of us - IF we understood them. My family, background, cultural conditioning, geographic location, socio-economic reality and other specifics affect my ability to ask questions, what I think is important, what I notice, and the capacity I have to understand how to make theological meaning. I wish that the impulse to make my question everyone's question was something that my religion could let go. And I have hope for this possibility - I see Christians model it more often than one might expect. I think there is more important work to be done, the work of love - one of the most central answers to the question(s) that resonate for me.
Monday, April 23, 2012
Pluralism and Perfection
This week our readings focused on the history and origins of Islam, and the two readings I have done so both seem to be speaking from Muslim positions - the introduction to our assigned translation of the Qu'ran and No god but God by Reza Aslan which is a basic apologetic introduction to Islam. Both readings are focused on more modern and less fundamentalist interpretations of the history and sacred text of Islam.
What I'm noticing as I read, especially in the Aslan work, is that the theme of perfection runs throughout Islam. The Qu'ran is the perfect book handed down directly from Allah to the Prophet, the language it is written in is perfect and cannot be translated without losing the quality that makes it scripture to the community of faith (although I am fascinated with the idea that one doesn't need to understand Arabic to benefit from hearing the Qu'ran read aloud) and now as I am being exposed for the first time to the stories of Muhammad it seems to me that this is the perfect prophet, a man without mistakes and beyond blame. Aslan in particular goes the distance to provide context for some of the stories about the Prophet that seem scandalous in the present day - like the ten wives he acquired in ten years after his first wife died.
I can't help but contrast this with the big time prophets I am familiar with from the Hebrew and Christian scriptures, all of whom are in some way obviously and deeply flawed. Even the New Testament characters associated with Jesus are pretty imperfect individually and as a whole portrayed as a rather clueless bunch. The one exception in Christianity is, I suppose, Jesus himself. But even Jesus is mediated to us through four very different account of his life, which seems less than perfect. And for Christians he is not a prophet, but part of our Trinitarian God.
I resist the notion of a perfect scripture and perfect prophet.* I think this is natural - I have been socialized to love the quirks of my own religion the best. I suppose that it is ironic that despite all the perfection claimed by Islam the authors I have read so far this week are about the same sort of project that any academic person of faith is about - diligently seeking context and further understanding in order to place and work with a scripture that was produced in a very specific time and place and then put forward as a timeless document meant to guide a community into eternity.
* I do want to note that there are plenty of Christians who wouldn't resist this at all. In fact as I learn more about Islam I am continually struck by how many of their supposedly unique assumptions about God, the supremecy of scripture, and submission as the highest calling of the relgious person are shared and reflected in some of the more dominant Christianities here in this country.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
on practice and belief
The past week or so in class we have been focused on the shared history of the three "religions of the book" and how they began to depart from each other. One of the more interesting nuances is around the intersection of belief and practice. Last week E. gave a presentation on washing rituals in the three different religions. All three use water for some sort of ritual bathing, but there is an important difference that this study of the different rituals brought out for us.
In Judaism there is an intense focus on right practice. This is what makes you a Jew by religion: that you behave like a religious Jew.
In Christianity there is an intense focus on right belief. I cannot count the times I was assured as a child growing up in an Evangelical, holiness movement tradition that it was what was "in my heart" that mattered. This is what makes you a Christian (for many) that you believe like a Christian.
In Islam both are vital. For a class assignment I am looking more deeply into the prayer rituals and practices of Islam and it is very clear that no prayer can be made without an internal, individual pure intention. However, one's intention does not excuse the need for precise and correct practice of the ritual. This is what makes you a Muslim - that you believe like a Muslim AND behave like one. Faltering on either course risks one's salvation.
Now I am sure that there are plenty of people from any of the three religions being discussed who would disagree with the statements above. I'm going to focus in this post on the one I know something about - my own.
I resist the intense focus on right belief (orthodoxy) in Christianity. I am an Episcopalian - we are sacramental and people of the "middle way" between Roman Catholicism and Protestantism. One of the unique aspects of Anglican spirituality among the Christianities is a focus on right worship not right belief. (An example of how this plays out: recently while working with a local Episcopal congregation I found myself in the role of moderator during a fierce debate around whether or not that place should say the Nicene creed during worship. Some people felt that saying it excluded people who might not agree with it. Others felt that it was part of the tradition and should be said whether people literally believed every word or not. Note - the argument was not over whether the creed was "true" but whether it would be a good worship practice to always say it.) But I didn't grow up Episcopalian, and I know quite well that especially in this country most people who claim Christianity as a faith tradition operate under a theology of individualism, based on their individual and personal relationship with Jesus Christ. This is something that is almost exclusively based on belief, not practice. I find this problematic.
Here's the problem with attempting to regulate and control or unify religious belief without emphasis on practice. What I believe affects how I behave - I don't think many people in modern American culture would dispute that. But what I do, my practice, also affects how I believe. It seems to me that in Christianity there is a temptation to pretend that if we believe correctly it won't matter what we do, or that if we believe correctly we'll automatically do the right things - as individuals and as communities. If we were Jewish we might think the same thing, but the other way 'round - that if we just do the right things, our internal life and belief will sort itself out (personally I like this idea better, but that tells you more about who I am than anything). I think that, taken to extremes there are some problems there as well.
So maybe it comes down to why we act, why we believe, what religion is ultimately for. Doing theology, for me, is the process of creative meaning making that includes input from and regard of that which I and my community experiences as Divine. It is a practice, and it happens not from what I believe but out of the things that I do, to include the rite and ritual of my tradition.
So perhaps Islam has it right? To make both belief and practice essential? I guess the irony for me is that this is also a problem. Both Christianity and Judaism have built within them a little stretching room. Or a lot, depending on what sort of Christian or Jew one is. By focusing on practice over belief, or on belief over practice there is room for sacred wondering, for holy doubting, for intense theological misgivings. There is space, in each faith tradition(s), to accumulate new information about the world and adapt belief and practice to new information about and experiences of God. If both are vital - if you must believe a specific way AND act in a specific way, I wonder where the room to actually make new meaning might be?
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
The Mother Book
Judaism, Christianity and Islam are all called "Abrahamic" faiths because each religious tradition claims Abraham (of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob fame) as their ancestor. For Judaism and Islam this claim is pretty literal - they see themselves as actual descendants of Abraham and participants in the promise that G-d made to him to make his descendants number as the stars. Christians see Abraham as their spiritual ancestor because Jesus was Jewish and so connected to Abraham. But having the Abraham connection doesn't mean that Abraham's ancestor-ship functions in the same way in all three faiths, so it doesn't necessarily provide as much common ground as one would think. Similarly, how Abraham is written about in the Hebrew Scriptures and Qur'an is quite different. He's just a different guy in the Qur'an, even though his circumstances bear resemblence to the circumstances of the Judeo-Christian Abraham. Really, the Abraham of Judaism and the Abraham of Christianity are pretty different from each other too, even though their source texts are the same.
One of the interesting aspects of the relationship between Islam, Christianity and Judaism that Lodahl really highlighted for me has to do with Islam being the youngest of the three religions. This means that the Qur'an is in many ways in dialogue or acting in response to the internal issues within each of the other two religions as well as the fights they were having with each other over issues of scriptural interpretation, theology, practice and what not. E told us in class last week that most of the biblical characters us Judeo-Christian folk are familiar with are present in the Qur'an but "they're all cleaned up." Lodahl suggests that Mohammad, blessings be upon him, saw all of this and worked for something more clear, something that didn't have the messiness of the Abraham who argued with God and lied to his son, or the scandal of Lot and his daughters.
Mohammad, blessings be upon him, would not have described what he was doing as editing. For Muslims the Qur'an is a perfect copy (when in its original language of Arabic) of the "Mother Book" a heavenly version of scripture that all translations are based upon, including Hebrew Scripture and the Christian New Testament. So for Islam the other two Abrahamic religions are "People of the Book" because their scriptures, while corrupted, are still based upon the heavenly Mother Book.
Ack, so finally I'm getting to what I really wanted to talk about in this post - this concept of something perfect and heavenly being reflected here in the physical world. The Mother Book is strongly reminiscent of Platonic perfect forms, to me, and something that I do have a strong reaction against. I think what I resist in the idea (as I understand it) of the Mother Book is the otherworldly focus, the suggestion that the physical created world is not good enough for God. And this idea is not something unique to Islam. There are plenty of Christians who believe that we are just waiting around for the return of Christ so God can destroy this world and make a new and better one. This is not my belief and ultimately I don't think it's a belief that can be reconciled with the Judeo Christian scriptures. I am curious to see how this theme plays out as we go deeper and learn more.
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