Feminist Theologian

“Eve just wanted to know shit.”

Tonya, my good friend and brand new graduate of the University of Washington in Women’s Studies (WOO HOO!) turned me on to this t-shirt via feministing a few months back. Being a big fan of the “God Doesn’t Have A Penis” t-shirt of ‘aught five, I happily added this one to my smart ass collection. I wear it cheerfully with the camo cargo shorts I bought in the boys section of Target, and my custom converse which make me feel like the tomboy skateboarder I’ve always wished I was. I don’t often wear such bra-burning gear, preferring to be a little more on the arty-girl side most of the time. Most of the time when I get dressed I’m just trying not to look like an overweight soccer mom—‘though I readily admit there is something deeply troubling in my psyche which urges me to wear my most revealing scoop-neck/push-up combo whenever I’m called upon to speak at religious gatherings. (She’s a rebel and she’ll never ever be any good.) Still, I have to admit that this new slogan stating a possible alternate reality for Mother Eve has really been niggling away at the back of my mind. Believe it or not, I think something as simple as a t-shirt has pushed me over the edge of some invisible boundary into the unknown world of feminist theology. When I put it on I wonder, “What would it mean for me to be a feminist theologian?” Then I want to jump in with both feet.

I was at a wedding recently where the bride and groom wanted to do the Jewish tradition of breaking the glass during the ceremony – only they weren’t Jewish, and they wanted to break the communion chalice. Ray, their oldest friend and ordained minister was officiating at the wedding, and this destruction gave him just a little bit of a pause. He wanted to make sure that the symbolism could hold water. We were sitting at my house the night before the wedding nursing cocktails and musing about how to give this postmodern ritual a consistent narrative. “Maybe,” I said, “maybe we could not break the chalice given as it’s the only symbol of the feminine divine in the joint.” There was that awkward silence where no one quite understands but you’re all too tired and too buzzed to engage in some big new discussion so you just let it slide. But what I meant was that the communion chalice – womb shaped and full of blood for crying out loud, is a fantastic symbol for the feminine aspect of God. I’d love to promote that, got get people thinking about the terrific subversive power the chalice can have, sitting there as it always has been, front and center, throughout all these patriarchal centuries.

Anyhow, that’s what I mean, when I say that the Eve shirt has pushed me over the precipice. I think like this now. I am become this believer.

to read more about how I came paddle about in the pool of feminist theology, explore the priestessy things category at urban abbess.

Posted in Soulstories
Tags: Leaving Church, Soulstories |