You would think that a west coast girl born in ’69 would have naturally grown up to be quite the competent feminist. After all, I lived my childhood in the hippie enclave of Santa Cruz, came of age in Berkeley, and spent my college years running an underground press at my stuffy university. Still, I grew up in the church – the evangelical church, to be specific – and those of us who grew up in that particular commune tend to be a bit behind the curve when it comes to feminine enlightenment.

Then, in my late twenties and early thirties, I started raising children – girl children. At the same time I became an ordained minister in a denomination that did not widely welcome my presence. Throw in a few bumps in the road on both of those adventures, add a few fortuitous few books, and viola! A feminist awakening to beat the band!

Does your feminist-self need a shot in the arm? You could adopt a couple of girls, try your hand at being a pastor in an evangelical church….or you could just click on one of the titles below. (I highly recommend the latter option!)

Yours in the Journey,

Rachelle
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The Red Tent
Anita Diamant

Ten years ago, Anita Diamant cracked open the story of Jacob; uncovered his only surviving daughter Dinah; dusted her off and brought her back to life. I could go on, but Gail Hudson says it best in her endorsement:

“Like any sisters who live together and share a husband, my mother and aunties spun a sticky web of loyalties and grudges,” Anita Diamant writes in the voice of Dinah. “They traded secrets like bracelets, and these were handed down to me the only surviving girl. They told me things I was too young to hear. They held my face between their hands and made me swear to remember.” Remembering women’s earthy stories and passionate history is indeed the theme of this magnificent book. In fact, it’s been said that The Red Tent is what the Bible might have been had it been written by God’s daughters, instead of her sons. –Gail Hudson

The idea of my spiritual ancestors preserving the stories women told, giving account to the happenings of their world through a woman’s eyes , has changed my understanding of my God, my vocation and my holy text. I wrote some about it here, and there’s a peek at my reaction here. If something in you is hungry for your great mother’s tales, spend some time in the The Red Tent. Today’s Flavor: exotic and holy.

The Dance of the Dissident Daughter: A Woman’s Journey from Christian Tradition to the Sacred Feminine

The Secret Life of Bees
Sue Monk Kidd

Sue Monk Kidd’s novel The Secret Life of Beescracked open my imagination with its story of three sisters who craft their own ceremony to honor a sacred image of the feminine divine. (Here’s just one ritual that came out of that wonderful story.) But it was her autobiographical text, The Dance of the Dissident Daughter, which gave me the companionship I needed to find my own way to the feminine heart of God.

The wife of a Southern Baptists preacher, Kidd risked marriage, career, and her place in her community in order to follow her own inner authority into a broader, more inclusive reality of faith, personhood, and deity. While her journey took her to a place different than my own, I was much comforted and emboldened by her story. She was a wonderful traveling companion, and I found myself underlining something on nearly every page. This has now become one of those books that is forever being loaned out to a seeking friend, and I will always be grateful for Kidd’s brave journey of discovery. Today’s Flavor:A great dancing partner.

What book(s) helped you move along the road to a feminist awakening?

“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.