Mourning Mary Daly

Sometimes, we are reminded quite suddenly about the importance of life. Often, this realization comes in response to a great loss.

For the last two months, I have been bombarded by the typical demands of life -- running a business, wrapping up one semester, preparing for another, enjoying the hubbub of the holidays. All of these are good and important parts of who I am. But in the meantime, blogging about gender issues continued to take a back seat to these other responsibilities.

Then, this morning, I opened an email from one of my feminist listserves to discover that feminist theologian Mary Daly had passed away yesterday after two years of struggling with ailing health. Daly was one of those writers whom I felt I knew intimately; like if we had a chance meeting at a local coffee shop, we'd chat for hours over cups of chai. I feel like she cultivated this intimacy with many of her readers, and I believe it's largely because of the incredibly honest way that she explored her theological journey.


If you've never read her work, I recommend reading it chronologically. Start with The Church and the Second Sex, a text that seems woefully outdated to most contemporary feminist theologians, but is vital in understanding the groundwork laid by pioneers in religious feminist thought. In it, Daly is so seemingly innocent about her questions about theology and ecclesiastical hierarchy -- Why are all the priests men? Is the Virgin Mary an empowering figure to women or a limiting one? Why are women and men told that they have equal access to salvation, but then, according to the Catholic church, women have to get theirs through submission to men?

Then, as you progress through her later works, prepare to have your socks knocked off.

Move on to one of her most well-known works Beyond God the Father, where she questions the patriarchal nature of God. From there, perhaps indulge in the poetry of a new theology created in Gyn/Ecology or, one of my personal favorites, her witty dictionary of new feminist theological terms in Wickedary.

Daly is playful, subversive, and poetic. When I first encountered her writing, I did not know what to do with her. In fact, if you ascribe to traditional religious beliefs, her later works will probably make you uncomfortable. And rather fidgety. For me, they were kind of like the itch I couldn't scratch. For others, they generate anger and resistance. Here's why.

Daly begins her theological journey by trying to find ways to work within the traditional church, but she quickly determines that religious practices are too mired in the patriarchal nature of God (with a capital "G") for God's true egalitarian nature to be redeemed in any meaningful way for women. And while her spiritual journey and mine digress at this point (she rejects a patriarchal God; I try to rework my understandings of God so that they are non-patriarchal), I appreciate that her anger is honest and her questioning is real. I have encountered very few theologians who have achieved this level of prophetic bravery combined with an innovative intellectual pursuit of theology.

Daly has allowed me to analyze the patriarchal aspects of my belief systems, which in turn allowed me to reject those aspects that are harmful and uncover those aspects that are empowering to women and offer voice to the voiceless. I admire Daly and seek to emulate her unabashed desire for wholeness, community, and real love.

So today I honor Mary Daly's life, not, as is typical after someone's passing, because of fond memories or good deeds (both of which I'm sure exist in excess) but because of her rich intellectual life. Daly has reminded me, once again, at how powerful intellectual inquiry can be, how it can change lives through a never-before-articulated question, a well-worded rebuttal against the status quo, or, in Daly's case, an entirely new vocabulary to mirror an entirely new way of thinking.

The next time I put blogging or research on the backburner of my life, I'll think of Daly. She has taught me in earnest that the mind is a terrible thing to waste.

From Mary Hunt, in her brief memorial to Daly from Feminist Studies in Religion:

She created intellectual space; she set the bar high. Even those who disagreed with her are in her debt for the challenges she offered.

May we all strive for such a rich legacy of ideas.

European Union bans gendered language...and the men complain

Ok, so the news itself is interesting: The European Parliament has issued a pamphlet that prohibits the use of terms like "Mrs." and "Miss." (See my post last year on why these terms are discriminatory.)

Yay! Are you cheering yet? I mean, this is great news. This is FANTASTIC news. This is the kind of thing that feminist theorists have PRAYED for all these years (even the agnostic ones). How long have we talked about the ways that language creates reality?

A long time, ladies. A long time.

But, wait, oh eager feminists, because it doesn't stop there. The pamphlet also offers alternatives for gender-specific language besides just personal prefixes:

Sportsmen' should be called 'athletes', 'statesmen' should be referred to as 'political leaders' , and terms like 'synthetic' or 'artificial' should be used in place of 'man-made'.

Finally! A language that reflects the reality that women can be athletes and political leaders. Finally, Simone De Beauvoir, a sentiment that every "thing" is not generically male.

But before you get too excited, let me say that what strikes me as truly intriguing (and not a little bit upsetting) about this groundbreaking development is the fact that so many people are just plain up in arms about the whole thing. If you Google this news story, you'll find lots and lots of anger.

Oh, and did I mention that all of that vitriol (that I found, anyway) is generated by men?

For instance, West Midlands Conservative MEP Philip Bradbourn says in response to the pamphlet: I will have no part of it. I will continue to use my own language and expressions, which I have used all my life, and will not be instructed by this institution or anyone else in these matters.

One politician actually declared the pamphlet a "waste of taxpayers money."

Right. Well, Mr. Bradbourn and friends, here's how I see it: You like your language because it gives YOU power and agency. As a male, you grew up thinking you could be just about anything (sportsman, statesman etc.). The other half of our world grew up being told through our language that we only fit into certain gendered professions. I can be waitress and maid but not fireman or policeman.

If we don't change our language itself, how will we ever change our reality?

Way to go, EU! Here's one feminist who hopes the U.S. will soon follow suit

...or dress...

A little pick-me-up...in just SIX words!

My last few posts have been sort of downers, and more than one person has mentioned to me today that they've caught a case of the drearies. So, to spruce up this moody March day, I offer you a wonderful concept: the six-word memoir.


Six-Word Memoir book preview from SMITHmag on Vimeo.

This is such a great and stress-relieving exercise. It forces you to focus on what's important to your philosophy of life and cut out the not-so-important stuff. Here are some of my own:

Face = my mother's; Hands = my own

Loved anything that moved, including myself.

I wish Jesus was a woman.

Sleep before breakfast ...and after.

Writing makes me want to scream.


(I think it's interesting that so many of the above relate to gender in some way...)

Add your own to the comments section!

Oh, and be sure to check out the latest book from Smith Magazine, on six-word memoirs about love and relationships.


Six-Word Memoirs on Love & Heartbreak from SMITHmag on Vimeo.

Feminism and faith

In the context of Western religion, these are not two terms that one often sees together. In fact, much of my life, I have heard one side criticizing the other. But as you'll see in some of my previous posts, I pronounce this perceived paradox proudly. (How's that for alliteration??)

I'm also an eternal optimist, which may explain why I believe that more and more folks on both sides of these labels are reaching across to the other side. Take, for instance, publications like Harvard's Journal of Feminist Studies in Religion, which covers this emerging dialogue between feminist theory and theology. (And if you check out this magnificent publication, be sure to check out the Fall 2008 issue to read one of my poems, which is published there!)

Or, in the realm of popular culture, Sue Monk Kidd's memoir (before her Secret Life of Bees fame), The Dance of the Dissident Daughter, where she explores the dance between her Christian self and her feminist self.

Of course we're all aware (and perhaps a little tired of) the Da Vinci Code's rise to fame, but I think the importance of its popularity lies in the fact that it reflects an ongoing cultural desire for the divine feminine.

I speak from my own Protestant perspective when I say that we've lost that particular image of God. Despite biblical evidence to the contrary (God portrayed as a hen gathering her eggs, a midwife birthing a child, etc.), we've often chosen to see God exclusively as father. This is detrimental to women in so many ways. First, we learn that God is the best, and if God is male, then male is the best. (Mary Daly famously wrote in the seventies that "If God is male, then the male is God.") Second, we tend to identify God as being the same kind of father as our earthly father, which is not always a positive image for women. Sometimes our fathers abandon us, abuse us, or tell us we're never good enough. Finally, it is extremely limiting to see God as embodying only one half of the human race.











But again, the eternal optimist in me begs to speak. One sign of improvement in the feminism/faith dichotomy is a program at which I have the pleasure of teaching every other May. The Oregon Extension Women's Studies May Term allows college students the opportunity to explore the intersection of faith and feminism through academic discourse, journaling, and creative projects. It's the place where I learned to embrace this seeming paradox within myself many years ago as a college student.

This year, we have so many applicants to the program that we may need to begin a waiting list. It seems undeniable that the dialogue about feminism and faith lives on.

I don't usually use this blog to elicit donations, but many of our applicants are in need of financial aid in this economic climate. If you believe in this important conversation, please consider donating to our scholarship fund by clicking on the "Donate Now" button at www.oemayterm.org It's tax-deductible, and your contribution may allow a student the freedom to call herself "feminist" and "faithful" for the first time without fearing the wrath of God.

Ms. Claus

Tonight, many children will go to sleep with dreams of sugar plums dancing in their heads. They'll wake up tomorrow morning with one thought: Did Santa Claus come?

At my house, this meant kicking off the covers well before dawn to see if Santa had left our now-filled stockings at the foot of the bed. My parents had a rule: You didn't wake them up until dawn.

So, my brother sat crouched at the window, waiting for the first hints of Christmas morning light. Meanwhile, I'd inspect the house for evidence of Santa. The cookies were gone, with a note in shaky Santa handwriting, the presents were under the tree, and I could swear that I heard jingle bells on the roof late the night before.

Yet in all this magical mystery, I never once thought about what Mrs. Claus was doing on Christmas. We never left her cookies or sat on her lap, asking her for presents. (OK, my gender-inclusive mother did always make sure that a good majority of our presents were signed "From Mrs. Claus," but we still assumed that Santa was the one who actually brought them. In fact, we suspected that he signed her name sometimes just to make her feel better.)

I suppose I figured that Mrs. Claus just stayed home with the kids...er...elves on Christmas Eve like a good housewife. But now I feel bad for Mrs. Claus. I mean, for goodness sake, she doesn't even have a first name!

Instead, we know her only by her prefix, "Mrs.," which essentially defines her by her marriage to Santa. Mrs. Claus is the perfect example for why many women today choose the prefix "Ms." instead.

Popularized by Ms. Magazine in the seventies, this term does not reveal marital status. Many women (including me) find it important to be defined by more than whether or not they've been hitched. Men do it all the time. Can you tell if a "Mr." has been wed without looking at his ring finger? Nope. Then why should women be any different?

My younger cousins, Hannah and Chelsea, have a grade school teacher who goes by "Ms." On the first day of school, she explained to them that she uses "Ms." in order to be "mysterious." Hannah and Chelsea think this is hilarious, but intriguing. It's a great explanation, one that opened up discussion with them about women's prefixes. They were particularly fascinated when I told them that I, too, was a "mysterious Ms."

For far too long, women have been defined by their husbands, the way Mrs. Claus is only defined by being married to the jolly guy in the big red suit. Don't believe me? Do a quick search on Google Video for "Mrs. Claus," and you'll find videos that further epitomize the gendered stereotypes for a married woman.

She's either slut:

Or nag:

But this year, I have a new vision for Mrs. Claus. My Christmas wish is that she drop the "Mrs." prefix for the "mysterious Ms." Who knows what possibilities she'll find for herself? Maybe she'll realize that the red fuzzy outfit just isn't for her, and she'll swap it for a more sensible Anne Taylor pant suit. Maybe she'll take up snowboarding or ice-fishing. Maybe she'll revamp the workshop, using the skills she learned when earning her MBA ten years ago. Maybe she'll go back to school.

Embracing the term "Ms." does not mean turning one's back on one's spouse. I imagine Ms. Claus will still pack Santa a lunch for his long Christmas Eve journey (sans cookies, of course...those will be provided on the way). She'll wait for him eagerly on Christmas morning, maybe wearing some skimpy lingerie under her North Pole robe.

But he'll do the same for her -- make her dinner after her late night of classes, tidy up the workshop before she gets home from a long day of ice-fishing, and cuddle with her in front of the fire.

The term "Ms." offers them the opportunity to define their roles, instead of letting their roles be defined for them. So this Christmas, let's accept the opportunity to freely express ourselves in relationships, embracing the "Ms.-tery" of the season.

A shout out to my wonderfully unconventional youth group

Generally, when I hear the words "youth group," what comes to mind is lots of Kumbayaa-ing around a fire pit, a series of nonsensical group games involving whipped cream and paper bags, and a lesson that inevitably leads us all to repent of our weekly failings and draw closer to God.

So when my church asked Joe and I if we'd be youth group leaders, I had to seriously pause.

My parents were my youth group leaders when I was growing up, and they were always full of energy and earnest about their roles.

But in this era of postfeminist thinking, I had to re-evaluate what my approach youth group might look like. I decided that I'm anti-indoctrination, anti-God-as-father-but-not-as-mother, anti-religion-as-excuse-to-sit-back-and-wait-for-heaven, etc. You get the picture. So what's a feminist youth group leader to do?

Fortunately, I'd found this superbly crazy church family at Central Baptist Church, so I had nothing to worry about. (Don't let the Baptist fool you -- these guys and gals are into social justice, changing the world, serving the poor, welcoming the LGBT community, etc.)

At this weekend's annual youth retreat, we had the requisite group games and singing, but we also journaled, played with modeling clay, made up rhythmic chants as prayers, and painted.

My favorite activity this weekend came when one of the leaders asked the youth to create a craft project that reminded them of God. One kid drew an awesome picture of a muscular guy with tattoos. "I think God sits on a big couch up there with a high-def TV, making sure we're all doing alright," he said.

When someone asked him about God's tattoos, this kid said matter-of-factly, "Oh, isn't it obvious? God's been in the Navy."

I cracked up.

Then, another youth member said that God, to her, was a woman.

The kid sitting next to me read me his "Letter to God." It said:
God, please watch over us. You are a light saber. May the force be with you.
Another made a banner out of purple glitter that said "God is da bomb."

Unconventional? You bet. But what's wonderful about these youth is that they view God as this great creative being, as one who lives beyond rigid gender roles and can be man, woman, light saber and purple glitter all at the same time.

In short, I love each and every one of these youth for their quirky creativity. I love that they are all reflections of a God that I can believe in -- one who is full of love, joy, and endless, genderless possibilities.

It's your night

On Friday night, my partner and I took a class together at the Viking Cooking School. Joe is really into culinary experimentation, and I'm really into eating whatever it is he whips up, so this seemed like a good move for us.

We enjoyed ourselves quite a bit and ended up with a mean lobster-mushroom risotto, lamb chops, and a freaking yummy pound cake dessert parfait thing. (Hey Paula, if you're reading this, now we have a recipe for your yummy leftover pound cake! And to Cathleen or any of my other vegetarian friends: I'm sorry about the lamb.)

The moment of gender perplexity in this scenario occurred early in the evening when the chef was giving us instructions. He explained that there were two prep stations, while there were six of us, so we needed to work together in whatever arrangement was preferable. Then he turned to me and said, "Whatever set-up makes you happy. This is your night, and I want you to be happy."

Well, here's the thing. It wasn't really my night at all. Not even close. This was Joe's bread and butter. I was just along for the culinary ride.

I blinked a few times and remembered when I had heard that phrase before...three years ago, when I got married. I can't tell you how many people told me that the wedding was "my day," and I should do whatever I needed to do in order to make it perfect.

Uh, what about the other half of this celebration? I often wondered out loud. I'm not exactly getting married to myself here.

So as the chef stood there grinning at me, I couldn't help wondering something similar.

"This isn't my night." I said matter-of-factly.

His face began to twitch a little. This was not the culturally-conditioned response.

I tried again. "It's actually his night," I said, gesturing at Joe.

He tried to collect himself, and his grin got a little more uncertain, a little more forced. "Whatever makes you happy," he replied tersely.

Joe and I tied our own apron strings, smiled to ourselves, and began to chop some serious shallots.

Oprah: Feminist Theologian??

This past weekend, a small sliver of a dream came true for me. I got the chance to see Oprah.

No, I didn't land free tickets to her show or open my front door in my jammies to see her camera crew there waiting to whisk me off to Neverland.

Instead, my partner and I went to hear her speak in Steadman's hometown of Whitesboro, NJ to a small crowd of 500 people. (In fact, all pics in this entry are c/o my partner Joe You rock, babe.)

And she was everything I hoped she'd be: confident, funny, motivating, emotionally moving, and theological.

Yes, theological. And not only that, her stories reflected a theology that empowered women, something we don't always encounter in churches these days.

Oprah told the story of how she had auditioned for the movie The Color Purple and then heard nothing about the part for weeks. She couldn't remember wanting anything more.

Then Joan Rivers called her "fat" on national television, and Oprah vowed to visit a fat camp. She was running on the track, feeling sorry for herself, when she realized that she needed to "give everything to God," the movie role, her anxiety over it...everything.

As she walked off the track, she felt relieved.

Just then, a woman in a purple coat came running towards her, telling her that Steven Spielberg was on the phone. She'd gotten the part.

Now, this post is not meant to be a lesson in prosperity theology. Instead, what I found interesting in Oprah's talk were the ways that she reclaimed religious language in an almost feminist way.

I expected her to sermonize about how important it is that we [as women] give up control of our lives to God. This is a fairly typical viewpoint in Christian theology. In fact, there are numerous worship songs that are popular in churches today with lines like "less of me; more of You," "I decrease so He increases," etc.

The problem with this theology, particularly for women, is that it encourages us to literally become less of ourselves. For some women, this can manifest itself, quite literally, in anorexia. For others, it appears in a quiet meekness, a hesitancy about ourselves, an overall lack of self-confidence, or worse, a deep manifestation of self-loathing.

In truth, if we become nothing, we remain nothing. God is a God who works through responsive, active human beings. Consequently, I believe that when we become more of our true selves, we embrace God's transformational power. When we love ourselves, we are able to love others. When we love what God has created in us, we are more able to create positive change in the world.

And this is essentially what Oprah told the crowd. When she let go of the Color Purple role and gave it up to God, she was saying, "I've done my part. Now it is up to the universe." She didn't say, "I became nothing, so that God could be something."

She didn't discredit the importance of her own agency in this process. In fact, she said that she never would have gotten the part had she not practiced, auditioned, and made the follow-up phone call.

This is so different from the author friend of mine, who, when she got offered an incredible 2-book deal from her publisher said to me, "Well, I didn't do anything. It was all God."

Now let me be clear. I'm not against giving God credit. I just think it's important that we, as women, recognize the vital importance of our human agency in creating positive change in the world.

Oprah puts it this way: "Every morning, I pray that God will show me how I can do something greater than myself."

If I could turn back time...I wouldn't

Continuing with my recent segues using 80's/90's music, I decided to begin today's post with Cher's reminiscent single. Ah, don't we all often feel a certain wistfulness for days gone by. (Especially my dear mother, who tried to get in the front row of Cher's recent reunion tour...for real.)

I was listening to a radio program a few years ago on NPR. The guest speaker was discussing the state of American society. I can't remember if the topic was poverty or teenage pregnancy, but I remember that the man was hopeful toward our nation's possibilities.

When the announcer opened the lines for phone calls from listeners, one man called in and suggested that the solution lay in the past. That all we needed to do to solve our problems was to "turn back time" to an era when there were no drugs, no making out in front of the lockers at one's high school, no severe poverty. He was speaking of the 1950's.

I'll never forget the announcer's reply. He said (and I'm paraphrasing from memory here), "Oh yes, the perfect 1950's, when racism and sexism were still rampant and acceptable. Sure, your life as a middle class white man might have seemed perfect, but what about the rest of the population?" Then the guest speaker chimed in. "Yes, I agree. And I don't know about you, but there were still plenty of people at my school in the 1950's making out in front of lockers..."

Ha.

It's pretty clear to me that turning back time to a more Eden-like state of perfection does very little to move our society forward. Consider two recent books in the news that attempt to rewind American society: the re-emergence of the The Art of Kissing as a historical relic, and the new release of The Retrosexual.

In a recent article that appeared in Women's Enews, Kristen Tsetsi examines the ways that the seemingly innocuous language in this antique text mirror the language of date rape. (By the way, if you haven't done so already, consider subscribing to Women's Enews for free. A great resource for emailed news by and for women.) Consider just a few sample passages from Hugh Morris' 1935 book, The Art of Kissing:

"He must be the aggressor...He must always give the impression of being his woman's superior, both mentally and especially physically . . . He must be able to sweep her into his strong arms, tower over her . . . "

"If she flinches, don't worry. If she flinches and makes an outcry, don't worry. If she flinches, makes an outcry and tries to get up from the sofa, don't worry. Hold her, gently but firmly, and allay her fears with kind, reassuring words. Remember what Shakespeare said about a woman's 'No!'"

Ah, the old "no means yes" scenario. It's quite amazing to me that the genteel-seeming culture of the 1930's still presented quite a chauvinistic attitude.

And now for the second title: The Retrosexual. I don't think I could introduce this book any better than the London Mail:
"Once, men were simply men. But then feminists decided they were chauvinist pigs who didn't spend enough time doing the dishes. So along came the guilt-ridden New Man, swiftly followed by sensitive, moisturising Metrosexual Man. Of course, women soon missed the whiff of testosterone and were calling for the return of Real Men. Now a new book, The Retrosexual Manual: How To Be A Real Man, has been published."

A small selection of retrosexual tendencies:
1. Your mind is uncluttered. Consider the female brain, filled as it is with multiple anxieties about its owner's hair, figure, health, diet, clothes, shoes, emotions, digestive transit, sex life, competitive female friendships, multi-tasking duties as a worker/lover/ wife/mother/whatever.
Instead, your mind is focused on the important things in life: sex, beer, football. Women secretly envy a mind like that.

2. You can make decisions on your own. You don't need to talk it over for hours with all your friends, or consult a horoscope, or worry about feng shui.

3. You have strong arms which come in handy whenever bottles need opening, cases need carrying, or a girl just feels like gazing at a strong, muscular limb.

4. You do not clutter up the bathroom. No woman wants a man who owns more beauty products than she does. A man who showers, shaves, then gets out of the way is ideal.

The problem with books like these is that they assume that women's progress equals men's recession. In addition, they rely on our idealized version of the past and try to convince us that thing were better "back then." But were they?

Consider #2 on this list. Apparently men are not supposed to communicate with anyone about any big decisions. This is yet another example of a gender stereotype that harms us all.

Instead of turning back time, let's look ahead to a bright future, where men like my husband can use Herbal Essence hairspray with confidence, and women like me can belch at the dinner table. Who needs the rigid gender roles of the past when we can make our own, right Cher?

Paris fights back

***Thanks to my two slinking commentators who pointed out that the singer/songwriter of the tune, "Bitch," was Meredith Brooks and NOT Alanis Morisette. Here's an interesting wiki about how so many people (me included) mixed this up! I've corrected my post below...***

Well, I never thought there would come a day when I would praise the actions of Paris Hilton in a feminist blog.

But, truly, that day has come.

The recent John McCain television ad was meant to mock Barack Obama's supposed celebrity. However, in doing so, it mocked the lifestyles of Brittany Spears and Paris Hilton as well.

Now, I'll be the last to defend the lifestyles of said Spears and Hilton, but the truth remains that only female celebrities were mocked in this ad. In addition, this is quite different from the banter that occurs in People and Seventeen. At least entertainment magazines deal with the field of entertainment.

McCain's campaign, however, implies an even political playing field with, um, "candidates" Spears and Hilton, with the juxtaposition of their images with Obama's.

Enter Paris Hilton's response video, now widely circulated on YouTube. (In fact, I saw her response video before I'd even seen the original commercial.) Here, Paris uses humor, an important feminist tool in subverting patriarchy, in order to point out the audacity of McCain's approach. Is she running for president? No. Is she the face of ditzy celebs? Yes. Does this make her entirely unintelligent? No. Does this mean it's possible for female celebrities to be thinking human beings as well as famous? Maybe. Just maybe.

See more Paris Hilton videos at Funny or Die

Either way, I think it's hilarious.

More importantly, it's great that Hilton found the resources to talk back to the male powers that tried to silence her. McCain's ad intended to box her in, to limit her to the singular role of dumb blonde.

Hilton's response is intriguing, not because she wholly denies this role, but because she expresses herself as a complex person: one who is both frivolous and grounded, articulate yet ditzy, fun-loving yet serious. Too often, women accept the labels given to them instead of embodying their complexity.

I'm reminded of Meredith Brooks' lyrics that illustrate women's multifaceted natures:
I'm a bitch. I'm a lover. I'm a child. I'm a mother. I'm a sinner. I'm a saint. I do not feel ashamed. I'm your hell. I'm your dream. I'm nothing in between. You know I wouldn't have it any other way.

Hilton's response is empowering because it subverts our expectations, reclaiming language like "bitches" and reversing the hierarchy of power that McCain intends.

As a result, at least at my water cooler, we're all talking more about Hilton's political "campaign" than McCain's.

And as Brooks so wisely sings,
You know I wouldn't have it any other way...

Feminist Monks?

I've just returned from a brief stay at Holy Cross Monastery, located near Poughkeepsie, NY, where I worked intensely on poetry and reflection. I traveled there by train with my good friend, The Creek Hiker. The monastery was on a hill overlooking the Hudson River. You could walk down to the river and just think, or walk up the hill to a labyrinth made of stones. The monks were so gracious. We went to worship with them several times a day. They sang entire Psalms, and it was just one of the most beautiful sounds I've ever heard.

So one might ask why a feminist might find solace with a group of men, yet that is exactly what happened during my stay at Holy Cross. There seems to be a general misconception in the public mind that feminisim = man-hating. This cannot be further from the truth for the vastmajority of feminists.

While there are many different versions of feminism, most feminists are fighting against patriarchy, a structure of power that traditionally oppresses women. This structure tends to put men in power and offer them privilege. My goal, then, as a feminist, is to deconstruct patriarchy, to unpack the ways that it harms both women and men.

Patriarchy harms us all, regardless of gender. A wonderful, whimsical illustration of patriarchy is the book Hope for the Flowers. Here, Trina Paulus presents us with the life of two caterpillars, Stripe and Yellow, who try to fulfill their instinct to "move up" in the world. They join thousands of other caterpillars in a giant "caterpillar pillar," a mass of little bodies climbing on top of each other to the great unknown above. Soon, Yellow becomes disconcerted with this effort, uncomfortable at the prospect of having to step on someone else's head to move forward in the world. She begins the long crawl down, abandoning this patriarchal structure for something better.

Yellow learns to fly, and in doing so, to "move up" in the world in a way that empowers others instead of disempowering them. This, too, is what most feminists aim for: a new way of doing things. A new way to reach the sky without stepping on a fellow caterpillar in the process. A butterfly way of being.

It is this kind of deconstructing that I found in the monks. Note their non-patriarchal Vision and Core Values:

*To personally and communally live a more authentic witness of Benedictine Ideals (namely pax or "peace," and ora et labora or "prayer and work" in the Contemporary World.
*To consciously develop and practice the attitudes and skills necessary to genuinely Listen and Respond to each other and our world.
*To face the power we hold to act on behalf of justice and to use that power, individually and corporately, for the sake of justice.
*To Welcome Diversity that enriches our life and mission and to embrace the costs and benefits that results.

It almost sounds like a feminist platform.

Yet you'll notice in my previous post that I referred to my father as "pro-feminist," not a "feminist." In the same way, I would ascertain that the monks at Holy Cross certainly seem to embody many feminist principles, but as men, they don't embody feminism. They can't, anymore than I can embody the experience of an African American. But they can certainly participate earnestly in the cause to eradicate patriarchal forces. And they do.

Perhaps my favorite inkling of resistance came during Vespers one evening. In the prayer book, I noticed that several newly typed prayers were scotch taped over the previous prayers. When I lifted the corner of one, I realized that the new prayer referred to God as "you" instead of "him."

What a beautiful way to deconstruct authority. In that quiet moment, with the monks singing Psalms in a small cathedral, I almost felt like Yellow. I could let go of the caterpillar pillar of religion within me. I could fly.

Man and Wife

My partner and I are wedding photographers, which makes it inevitable that I should write about gender disparity in the ultimate bastion of patriarchy in American society: the wedding ceremony.

This weekend, I heard a phrase that I hadn't heard in some time: I now pronounce you man and wife.

It took me back to the memorable scene in the Princess Bride Wedding.

Prince Humperdinck just can't wait for the priest to say those magic words, "man and wife." It will define his marriage to Buttercup. It will seal the deal.

So what's the problem with this time-honored sentence? It assigns men and women different and unequal realms. While it defines a man by his gender, it defines a woman by her role. Consequently, a man merely has to exist, while a wife must fulfill her duty in marriage. He is not required to act as a husband, but she is asked to act as a wife.

This language is important because it tells women that they are responsible for a marriage's success or failure. They are the ones who must serve, while the man is the one who must be served.

And while we're talking about language, the word "patriarchy" comes from the Greek words πατήρ, father, and αρχή, rule. Male authority can take many different forms. In the institution of the family, men have traditionally been given power over women in terms of property and ownership. Until the passage of the Married Women's Property Act of 1848, women relinquished ownership of all property on her wedding day to her husband. Thus, literally and figuratively, her husband "owned" her.

Today, patriarchy in the institution of marriage is less overt. We almost take for granted that children are automatically given their father's last name or that a man is still expected to "bring home the bacon," while a woman is expected to keep house. Still, these gendered expectations certainly affect our most intimate relationships. For instance, if a woman makes more money than her male spouse, should he feel inferior? If a man likes to cook or clean or do laundry, is he too "feminine"?

In my own home, I find myself falling prey to gender expectations like these. One example: I'm off for the summer, but my partner works. He likes to cook, and I don't. For him, cooking is relaxing, a creative outlet, an opportunity to try something new. For me, it's a chore. So who should cook dinner tonight? Can I remove all patriarchal influences when making that decision? Is the guilt that gnaws at me there because I don't have to work all day or because I feel like I should want to cook as a woman and don't?

It's tough stuff.

I like to look at the ending of the Princess Bride as an optimistic one. Check out the dialogue when Buttercup reveals to Westley that she's married Humperdinck:

Buttercup: Oh, Westley, will you ever forgive me?
Westley: What hideous sin have you committed lately?
Buttercup: I got married. I didn't want to. It all happened so fast.
Westley: It never happened.
Buttercup: What?
Westley: It never happened.
Buttercup: But it did. I was there. This old man said, "Man and wife."
Westley: Did you say, "I do"?
Buttercup: No. We sort of skipped that part.
Westley: Then you're not married. If you didn't say it, you didn't do it.

Ah, the power of language. Westley's right. Saying it is doing it. In my own commitment ceremony, we agreed to be "partners in life." The phrase evoked a kind of agency on both our parts, a commitment to serve each other.

Yet even so, I'm still not convinced that it's my turn to cook tonight. :)