Feminist Rant: Why You Aren't Perfect Just The Way You Are

There is nothing in the world that unites conservative Christians and raging feminists like a good old-fashioned war on make-up and female sexuality. As a 28 year old woman, if I wear a low-cut top and a pair of short-shorts, my church friends would call me a slut, and tell me I'm giving men impure thoughts, while my feminist friends would tell me that I'm degrading myself by displaying my sexuality. Either way, I'm trapped in a cage.

Take for example, this travesty of a video:

{for all my readers who have actual musical taste, I sincerely apologize for making you listen to Colby Calait}

Somewhere between Pamela Anderson getting 8 boob jobs and Hilary Clinton's ridiculous hair cut, it became exceptionally popular for women to hold the following values:

You are perfect just the way you are.

You don't need to change for anyone.

If you change for a man in a relationship, you are weak and that relationship is unhealthy.

You should not alter your God-given image.

If you do alter your image (by losing weight, changing your hair color, and wearing make-up), it is because you are insecure.

A man should love you most when you are unshaven, unclean, and without makeup.

In fact, Colby Calait is by no means the first (and FAR from the best) artist to come out with something like this:

{this was the first time Gwen Stefani appeared on camera without make-up, FYI}

{Yes, even a mediocre country song is infinitely better than Colby Calait}

For a long time, I bought into this illusion. I thought there was something inherently wrong with me that made me want to wear makeup. I used Lent one year as an opportunity to refrain from covering up zits and stroking on mascara to work on my insecurities. A guy I dated would even tell me to go wash my face when we went on a date because he liked it better when I didn't wear makeup; what a charmer... But the truth is, wearing makeup or not wearing makeup, wearing T-shirts and jeans or wearing dresses, none of that gave me peace or prevented me from being insecure. 

But I've learned some new truths that I'd like to share. To me, these truths are freeing; they give me peace, and because I believe these things to be true, insecurity doesn't win or continue to have control over my life. Here are my top 5 truths about women, men, and beauty:

#5: Insecurity, Attractiveness, and Self-Image are not just a woman's problem.

As a feminist and as a woman, there are times when I can get preoccupied with women's body image. But as a feminist and a woman, I also need to be mindful that men have body image issues as well. Whether they compare their bodies to this guy:

Or they create humor with their bodies like this guy:

{Ironically, when you google search "seth rogen shirtless," you get shirtless Zac Efron photos...}

Guys are constantly reminded how inadequate their bodies are. So before we blame men for objectifying women's bodies, let's stop putting men's bodies on stage and expecting them to perform like trained monkeys. More importantly, let's stop believing that men are animals.

Men are more than the sum of their urges.

There are more good men out there than bad ones.

A relationship should never consist of one party controlling the other. Period. Regardless of what gender the controlling party is. Period.

Why is it OK for women to call men "pigs" or say they have "animalistic tendencies" or claim "they can't control their urges," but it is not OK for men to call a woman an animal (here's lookin at you, Robin Thicke)? Why do we believe the worst of the men in our lives but expect the best? And most importantly, why is it OK for women to control their significant other by withholding sex, by changing his/her clothing, by demanding he lose weight, etc., but when men do these things in a relationship he is considered an abuser? I'm not suggesting that abuse is OK; I'm frankly stating that women emotionally and sexually manipulate and abuse their significant others at an alarming rate, and that is equally not-OK.

4. Your significant other should love you when you look like this...

Yes, your significant other, should love you when you look like a troll (and yes, we all sometimes look like trolls). Part of a healthy relationship is learning to love bad morning breath, messy hair, post-marathon-stink, sick, covered in wing sauce, and without a shower for 9 days. But that's not enough...

...and also when you look like this:

There's a saying that a lot of women use {and I believe falsely attribute to Marilyn Monroe AND Audrey Hepburn}: If he doesn't love you at your worst, he doesn't deserve your best. Trouble is, we're so afraid of our sexuality, that we aren't giving it our best anymore.

I've been with my boyfriend for 3 {long-ass} years. Early in our relationship, I {regrettably} gave him permission to tell me if I was letting myself go, because I didn't want to be "that couple" who gain 45 pounds and wears sweatshirts everywhere just because I feel comfortable doing so. So a few weeks ago, we were going out to our local bar for dinner. I was wearing a pair of Under-Armor shorts and a hoodie, and I decided I wasn't changing for our date. I hadn't washed my hair; I wasn't wearing makeup. But I figured it didn't matter because my man loves me anyway.

As I walked into his living room, he said, "Are you gonna change?" "Nope!" I proudly proclaimed and began walking to the bar. As we waited for our food, my gracious boyfriend carefully pointed out that this outfit had been my go-to for a long time. "I always think you look beautiful, but you told me to call you out." It was a wakeup call. Many of you have probably taken up your torches and pitchforks, and perhaps you're considering an episode of Intervention to get me out of this terrible unhealthy relationship. But you're wrong.

You see, I love that I can go out to Bygham's tavern and eat 12 wings and have buffalo sauce all over my face, all the while my boyfriend (covered in sauce as well) will be grinning and loving me. I love that we can play tennis together, and he will still sit with me when I'm sweaty. But I also love spending 2 hours curling my hair and picking out an outfit, just so that I can watch his pupils dilate when he looks at me. I love it when my boyfriend wears a button-down shirt and tousles his hair in the semi-messy way that I like it.

Whether we like it or not (and I'm guessing if we're honest with ourselves, we like it a little bit), relationships have a lot to do with the physical realm. Kissing is physical. But you don't want to kiss someone who has crusty lips! Hugging is physical. But you don't want to hug someone with horrible BO. I believe there's not only nothing wrong but there is something inherently right about peacock-ing for the person we want to attract. When you make an effort to look good for your partner, you're signifying that you take this relationship seriously and you take yourself seriously. You're getting down to basic pheromones, reminding one another of that initial spark and adrenaline rush when you first scoped each other out. I don't care who you are, that's healthy right there.

OK - enough on this topic because I'm about to break into other topics on the list and we're already reaching Crime and Punishment status with this blogpost.

#3: Wearing Make-Up isn't a sin against God or a win for men; it's a sign of self-respect.

If you are wearing makeup because you're trying to impress one person, you're wrong. But if you're going out in work-out gear, it sends the message to others that you don't respect yourself. And I believe that self-care (i.e. hygiene, playing with style, dressing well) is something you do because you respect yourself.

A few years ago, I was interviewing with my classmates for pastoral internships. I scheduled 6 interviews. These positions were 10 hours a week; many were unpaid, and many were with churches who house homeless people. At any position, it would be acceptable to wear jeans and a nice top for a normal work day. For the interviews, I carefully combed and straightened my hair, selected a clean and clear makeup palate, and wore a crisply pressed black suit. As I waited in the hallway, I was shocked at my fellow students, women especially. For one interview, the girl in front of me had wet hair that stuck to her neck, not a drop of makeup on her oily face, an old ratty camp T-shirt, and a pair of jeans with frayed bottoms. A week later, I sat with her while she cried because she didn't get any of the positions she applied for. It's obvious isn't it? If you take yourself seriously, you'll dress seriously. If you really respect yourself, you'll present yourself with respect. You'll look clean and polished, because you want to be taken seriously in life.

#2: You aren't perfect just the way you are. You don't suck either. You should love yourself but always strive to be better.

If there is one thing that long-distance running has taught me, it is that there is a magical place where you simultaneously discipline yourself to be better but believe you are awesome, where your ego is inflated but degraded. We need to hang in that balance.

I'm not sure why we think it is a good idea to tell teenage girls that they are perfect, but I think it's a horrible idea. I work with teenagers every day, and I can tell you two things with certainty:

1. They are definitely not perfect. They can be selfish, immature, rude, and moody.

2. I love them for who they are, but I am not afraid to encourage them to be better.

No one should walk around thinking they're worse than pile of scum on the ground. No one should be made to feel that way by others.

{cue TLC}

{now that's my jam, beeyotch}

But no one should walk around thinking their farts smell like roses and their belly buttons don't have lint. We are all capable of doing both good and harm to the world around us, and it's high time we as a society start owning up to the times when we have done harm.

{yep...your poo smells like...ooh, ooh, ooooohh}

#1: In a healthy relationship, both you and your partner change and evolve.

My boyfriend loves seafood. When we first started dating, I wasn't a big seafood fan because I didn't have much exposure. I tried to play it off, like I ate seafood all the time, but that came back to bite me in the butt. We were in Boston, and I had my first lobster. Following dinner, we were sitting in a tiny hotel room, and I had horrible, gut-wrenching, putrid farts. My system wasn't used to that much seafood at once.

{oh Gawwwddd, save us}

It was humiliating, and for many people this would be the point when they simply admit to not liking seafood and move on. Because I love my boyfriend, I continued to try different seafoods. It turns out that some of them make my tummy hurt (here's looking at you, scallops), but a lot of seafood I really love. And it doesn't rip apart my insides.

I believe a part of being in a relationship with someone is learning to try new things and learning to be honest about them together. Over the past few years, we have changed jobs, we have considered other careers, we've had no money, and at times we've had a few dollars. We have celebrated success, and we continue to learn from failures. We do it all together. If you expect not to change in a relationship and refuse to change when things go wrong, then you're never going to have a successful relationship. If you are constantly changing and your partner (regardless of gender...here's looking at you, ladies) seems to be in control of that change, you can never expect that relationship to progress. There's a certain point in a relationship when it stops being about hanging on to who you are, and it starts to be about where are we going and who are we going to be.

Bottom line is...

Being a successful woman doesn't mean I have to leave my sexuality at the door, but it also doesn't mean I use my sexuality to control others.

Being in love doesn't mean I can lose my self-respect.

Relationships are not still waters but constantly waving oceans in which we must adjust and move to stay afloat.

Ladies, let's stop selling ourselves and our men short. Let's be the empowered women we claim we want to be.

YOLO: Being Content vs. Being Complacent.

It was one of those perfect days. Everywhere surrounding me, the blue of the water greeted the blue of the sky, while golden sun rays flirted with the lapping waves. We lounged on a pontoon boat, sipping a crisp summer shandy, watching children giggle and play. The sun engulfed us in a warm embrace, while a cool breeze gently caressed our cheeks. Our friend while driving the boat turned back to look at us, his face plastered with an unadulterated, fully committed grin, and said,

"Does life get any better than this? I submit that it does not."

Truly, I'm not sure that it does.

As I return home from 7 days of relaxation, first on the lake then on the beach, I am reflecting on moments when I felt truly content:

Driving in the car with the Beatles on repeat, feeling the warm touch of my boyfriend's hand.

A three-year-old cuddles up next to me, so that we can look at her painting.

Engorging ourselves in a feast of turkey and mead, while laughing the day away with friends.

Standing on the beach while the waves tickle my toes.

Lazing about on the dock with my fishing pole deep in the sea.

These are normal moments of contentedness that I'm sure many of you have experienced while on vacation, and perhaps long for throughout the year. This is why we choose the same vacation spots year-after-year, so that we can re-create that sense of security and hope. Yet, this past week has reminded me of moments in recent weeks when my contentedness was not dependent on the stillness of the world around me but on the stillness of my heart in that moment.

Amid the anxiety of preparing students for Confirmation, I was able to hear students express their faith before Session, declaring that although they still have many questions, they know for certain that there is nothing they can do to make God love them less.

Sitting in a pizza joint with my boyfriend, both of us feeling overwhelming concern for our future - where we will live, where we will work, how we will sustain the many demands of life. Yet in spite of our anxieties, we sit together, united in partnership.

In the middle of a long run when I am tired and lacking motivation, my muscles aching, my lungs stinging, my brain singing the constant refrain of, "let's just walk." Suddenly, the aches and pains and discomfort, all of it reminds me that I am alive, and I am soaking in God's creation as I push myself farther along.

As my boyfriend so aptly put it, one of our biggest problems in Christianity is our lack of "the present." We relish in the past, remembering the sacrifice of Christ and the promises of God through Word and Sacrament. We teach children our collective memory in Sunday School, by teaching them biblical stories and memorizations. We remember the golden years of our church, when hundreds flocked through our doors and we held a prominent place in the community. We remember our saints and our pastors, who led us with vigor and loyalty.

Yet we also dream of the future. We ask for "God's kingdom to come," and we dream of pearly gates and fluffy clouds. We talk of heaven, as though it is our next vacation spot. When we meet someone in need, we dream of their quick recovery; when we meet someone who is not a Christian, we envision their conversion. When couples get together, we begin planning their weddings; when couples get married, we begin planning their children. When new people darken our doorstep, we dream of their new membership.

All of these things can be good and healthy. Many a church has fallen into the trap of complacency: they assume that people will enter their doors without any reaching out on their own part. They feel content with giving money rather than time or relationships in mission. They stick to the same missions, programs, and events because, well, that's just the way it's always been. They have become complacent, taken the church (as a gift from God) for granted. This is a real problem in the church, but it is not the same.

There is a major difference between contentedness and complacency. We are really good at complacency and not so good at contentedness.

I believe that God desires contentedness for God's self, while simultaneously despising complacency. The best example I can give of this is when Jesus feeds the 5,000 (Matthew 14, Mark 6, Luke 9, John 6). In this story, Jesus desires for the people to share a meal together. Think about sharing a meal: you eat until your are full, you enjoy one another's company, you live in one of those "vacation moments" I spoke of. In the story, Jesus makes everyone sit down. I won't call this great exegetical work, but I will say that sitting seems much more restful, peaceful, and content than standing. A person standing is prepared to leave; a person sitting is resting into that moment. Then, after making a small amount of food into a large enough amount of food, each gospel records that the people seated ate until they were satisfied. Jesus, under no obligation, provides for the contentedness of the crowd, so that they might rest in one another's presence and rest in His presence.

Furthermore, Jesus combats complacency in this story. The disciples clearly have a common routine for things like this. They provide discussion, healing, and teaching, but they do not provide food. The fact that Jesus wants to provide food is astonishing to them. They grumble that this will cost them tons of money and that there still won't be enough. They don't want to change; they want the false comfort of routine rather than the unknown peace of Jesus' satisfaction. Jesus does a new and risky thing and in so doing provides for contentedness.

So often, I believe we are made to feel guilty if we are enjoying the moment. Somehow, if we savor this moment rather than move forward, we are halting the progress of the church. Meanwhile, I feel an argument could be made that Jesus savored every moment of his time on earth. If Jesus was constantly looking forward to his death, why would he have lived? Even more, why would he have lived so fully? And so I challenge us to carpe momentum: seize the moment!

I want to feel content while holding my boyfriend's hand, not looking forward to marriage or children, but enjoying our relationship as it is today.

I want to feel content holding the children of my friends, not looking forward to children of my own.

I want to feel content in worship on Sunday morning as I receive the elements of communion, feeling connected to this time and this place, rather than simply to the somber events of old.

I want to feel content in the struggle to discern God's call in my life, not just longing for its finish or wishing it had never grabbed hold of me.

I want to feel content in my relationships with people who are not followers of Christ, not longing for their conversion or planning my next witness.

I want to feel content by feeling the world through all my senses, whether they be good or bad, because they are real, and this is the only life I've got.

Inspired: Why My Church Isn't In A Church

A few weeks ago, I was running around the lake at a local park. It was about 84 degrees outside, and of course, I selected a dark gray shirt with a thick breast cancer emblem on the back of it to run in {not my most intelligent moment}. The shirt declares,

failure is not an option

As I was running {rather, while I was dying and about to fall over from heat stroke}, an older gentleman came up beside me, and said, "Hey, I just wanted to let you know that your shirt inspires me. Do you have breast cancer?"

I politely said no, but the cause is important to me. He responded with a 15 minute story about how he had stage 4 cancer, but miraculously survived because of the grace of Jesus Christ, and he now believes it is his purpose in life to witness to that grace to everyone he meets {apparently also including random strangers at North Park}. The whole thing was a little cheesy: a person was "inspired" by a lame saying on my shirt, a guy telling me about the healing power of Jesus Christ... I mean, that's nice and all, it's just not my thing. Rather than inspire me, that kind of thing just makes me cynical and skeptical.

The weird thing was there was something about that conversation that wasn't cheesy, wasn't corny...something about that conversation that did inspire me.

As I ran on, I thought about all the motivational speeches, the inspirational posters, the slogans, the patriotic anthems and theme songs, all this stuff that's supposed to "inspire" us toward achievement.

{barf...}

{oh GAWDDD...}

{seriously, Confucius? i refuse to believe he said that...}

I don't know about you, but in my world, inspiration has become a dirty word. Only crazy artists, surface-y college students, and marching band enthusiasts use the word "inspiration;" it's a word that is owned by weirdos. When a person talks about being inspired, I instantly believe they are not actually a part of the real world.

Which kind of stinks really, because it shouldn't have to be that way. Inspiration or to inspire comes from Latin {the King of all languages} the verb "spirare" to breathe, connected in some way to "spiritus" meaning spirit. Other languages do this too: in Greek, we have pneuma which is spirit or breath, and in Hebrew, we have ruach, also spirit or breath. What I love is how this reflects life: those who have life have breath, and those who have breath have a spirit. Genesis 2.7:

then the LORD God breathed into his {Adam's} nostrils the breath of life; and the man became a living being

I love that image: that our life is breathed into us, and that life and breath and being come from God. Crudely, I almost imagine the scene from Flight when Denzel Washington, a pilot, wakes up with a terrible hangover, and does a line of cocaine to come alive, so to speak. The filming zooms in on his eyes as they fill with life from the cocaine. {heretical side note...God is our cocaine...wait...}

So this leads me to wonder if we thought of "inspiration" as God's breath of life popping up in our lives. What if we thought of "inspiration" as the things in life that catch our breath and burn a fire in our hearts? Where would God show up if God wasn't limited to inspiring people on Sunday mornings?

And that's just it. It's been a long time when the church has felt inspiring. Somewhere between mishandling limited funds and condescending church signs, between the blame game and round-about communication, between an all out brawl over donut holes and intergenerational arguments over clean kitchens, somewhere in this complete mess we call church, we lost our spiritus, our ability to spirare. I'm so tired of settling for lifeless; I'm so tired of the lonely, uphill battle for the spirituality of the next generation; I'm so tired of bickering, backstabbing, and bigotry. While I know I can and have felt the breath of God in a church event, it is honestly no longer the first place I look.

And this is why my church isn't always in a church. Because lately, God has been breathing {cocaine-energy-level} life into the ordinary mud and clay of my life. Here are a few examples:

I am inspired at Pittsburgh Pirates games, where 20,000 strangers become friends, and as a family, we dare to dream of the future. I believe God's breath of life is present in the thrill of the crowd and the faithful who stay to the bitter end.

I am inspired by actual new life. By babies who have their own personalities at day 1, by landmarks and growth in just a few short weeks, but mostly by parents who make it work no matter what it takes. I believe God's breath of life is present in a mom as she carefully watches others coddle her child, that God's breath of life is present in a new dad, as he changes his 50th diaper of the day.

I am inspired by 20,000 odd runners from around the country coming together for the Pittsburgh marathon. But mostly, I see God's breath of life in strangers cheering on the sidelines, in a man holding a young runner up as she pushes forward to the finish-line, in runners stopping to check on an injured stranger who has stepped to the side of the race. As I ran, I thought to myself, "well, I'm glad I get to be outside and not stressing about church today." Suddenly it dawned on me: this is my church. 

Outside of the walls of the church, I wonder where you have seen and experienced the inspiring breath of God at work in the world...

Anxiety: Starvation for the Heart

In exactly 68 hours, I will be running in my first ever half-marathon {a what?}. I've been running regularly for more than a year, and I started really training (running more than 6 miles for a long run each week) in January. My longest run was 11 miles, which I completed a couple of weeks ago, and I haven't gone more than a day without some kind of run (even if it was only 1.5 miles) for more than 6 months. I've purchased and run many miles in my race outfit and shoes; I've run parts of the course and driven the full course. By every standard I can find on the internet, I'm as prepared as I can be.

And yet, this week I have been subject to crippling anxiety.

I call it crippling because I know that it has the ability to destroy my ability to run this race. I call it crippling because I feel desperate, breathless, and isolated. I call it crippling because this truly is the place where the physical meets the mental and causes me to implode.

The fact is that I know I'm capable of completing this race. I have a ton of confidence in my ability and in my training, but I am terrified of the other pieces of the puzzle.

What if I didn't actually register?

What if I show up late or sleep in?

What if my fuel food {aka Twizzler bites} fall out of my iPod holder {aka an old sock}?

What if I choke on water?

What if my allergies are so bad I can't breathe?

What if I catch a cold? Or worse, the stomach flu?

What if this is the week my insoles are too worn out and cause me foot cramps?

What if...

A lot of people think {and say to me} that anxiety over a race or a big event is "normal" and it's something I can control.

You'll be fine.

What are you worried about?

Get some rest and don't worry about it.

The reality is, I'm not sure I have a ton of control over my anxiety. Now, I'll put out a caveat: I have never been diagnosed with an anxiety disorder, nor do I have a daily issue with anxiety. So I cannot speak for those who suffer with this regularly. But I can tell you that my body responds to anxiety whether I think about it or not. I have trouble sleeping; I wake up in a cold sweat; I have horrendous dreams about the "worst case scenario." My digestion situation is questionable, and I've even gotten violently ill. {And the worst part about this week is that running is my go-to anxiety reliever, but I have to taper back in order to have fresh legs for the race...rawr!!!}

It's as though my heart is starving for rest. I'm not starving for, "Everything is going to be OK." I'm not starving for, "Even if you don't finish, look at how far you've come." I'm not starving for, "Just the training is an accomplishment in itself." I'm not even starving to not run the race. In fact, I have this feeling that quitting would only increase my anxiety. I am starving for rest, for release, for relief. I am starving for those great deep breaths at the end of a long run, for that shudder as sweat begins to cool on my back.

Between now and 68 hours from now, I know I will be drenched in anxiety, dwelling in this starvation. I know the true cure lies at that finish line, but I'm wishing I had some better quick fixes to keep myself stable until I get there.

Garbled Feelings of Disappointment

Yesterday, I started my day be reading the following news headline. A local high school, a name I know, within an hour of driving distance. Yes, there in that place, there was an act of massive violence against humans.

So while I have been playing with this new blog and perfecting all the details and thinking and waiting for the right moment, I feel I cannot be silent anymore.

This is a blog about feelings. For the past 10 years, this is what I've been told:

"Don't let your emotions control your ability to do ministry."

"Set your emotions aside."

"Being emotional is a sign of weakness."

"When trying to understand God, you need to put your emotions aside. We need to consider God rationally and spiritually; we cannot let our emotions influence those spheres."

"If you show your emotions to the congregation, they will take advantage of you."

As an emotionally driven person, I have kept silent on the matter, and this blog is my emotional response to these statements. And after a headline like yesterday's, it seems only appropriate that I should begin now, when emotions are raw and exposed.

My emotions are some combination of: disappointment, disgust, pain, compassion, frustration, and grief.

I don't know what it says about me that my first reactions to major news events are to absolutely loathe other Christians on facebook. I'll probably get some slack for this, but I really hate it when we all respond to tragedy with public facebook statuses and tweets saying, "Praying for so and so. May God grant you peace in this devastating time." or "Thoughts and prayers for whosie-whatsit. Lord have mercy."

I get the sentiment, and I'm not bashing my dear friends who put this up on their public profiles. I definitely understand feeling the need to say something but having no words to respond. But it makes me mad at the same time. What exactly do we think we are praying for?

Are our prayers a sentiment of wishing that reality were not so?

Why do we pray for peace for a family who has experienced loss - because we are afraid of chaos, afraid of mourning, afraid of pain?

If bad things happen, is it because we weren't "blessed" enough or because God didn't have "mercy" on us?

When we say things like this, we turn Christianity into a Hallmark card. I'm not sure what to say, so I will toss some catchphrases at an open and gaping wound. It's like blowing your nose when you have a cold: saying something gives you momentary relief, but 2 minutes later you're emotionally clogged again. We are good at blotting wounds until the bleeding is under control and we can ignore it for a time, but the ignoring it is part of the problem.

It struck me yesterday morning as I pulled into work that I have become incredibly numb to disaster. An armed police officer stood at the entrance to the church in which I work, monitoring the people entering the preschool area. I greeted him warmly and went to my desk. The headline news about Franklin Regional was the 5th or 6th prayer request at Bible study, and very little was spoken about it. And although our church had an already scheduled healing service for that evening, not once was the the tragedy in our backyard mentioned. My newsfeed was so devoid of mourning that many people skipped sadness, mourning, and even the Hallmark necessary prayer response and moved straight to debates on gun control. Even when the Newton shootings occurred over a year ago, Facebook greeted me with numerous photos of Mr. Rogers, commanding me to seek out the "helpers" and look to the positive.

What kind of society fears grief?

What kind of children are we raising when they are afraid to mourn?

I'm not going to engage in any kind of debate about mental health, gun violence or God's will. I refuse to give out answers or substitute words for healing. What I will say is this:

We need to feel pain. We were made to mourn loss. We can no longer afford to hide from suffering or to stick on bandaids when stitches are necessary. Being in pain does not make you weak but it make you real, honest.

Jesus himself was not afraid to mourn, to feel pain. In the beatitudes, in fact, Jesus blesses those who mourn, and when he finds out that his pal Lazarus had died, he weeps aloud. Jesus took on the cross, in reality, as a human, feeling thirst and pain at every moment. To be human means to feel pain. Although our society tells us that we should feel happy and joyous all the time, I believe that as humans we should embrace pain and mourning and suffering so that we can see ourselves as we are, so that we can truly know the dark night we are up against. And to do that, we need to stop feeding ourselves easy fix-it lines and using Christianity as a self-help book. Ann Weems wrote these words:

There are no dances for dark days,

There is no music to bellow the pain.

The best we can do is to remain still and silent,

and try to remember the face of God...

Weems ends her poem with prayer, but I prefer to leave it here. There are no words, ointments, or prayers that will prevent us fully from feeling pain, but in honest suffering there is God. A God who did not pretend suffering didn't exist or answer pain with Hallmark prayers, but a God who suffered, and who suffers alongside of us. Let us on days like this remain silent and still, not attempting to bring peace where mourning is warranted. But embracing the pain as a part of life.