Critic Cal

Then Jephthah came to his home at Mizpah; and there was his daughter coming out to meet him with timbrels and with dancing. She was his only child; he had no son or daughter except her. When he saw her, he tore his clothes, and said, “Alas, my daughter! You have brought me very low; you have become the cause of great trouble to me. For I have opened my mouth to the Lord, and I cannot take back my vow.” ( Judges 11 :34-35) MEN OF THEIR WORD   Now Jephthah was a mighty promiser; A man Of Gilead, by Fallen Matriliny but His father’s son Unstinting in ambition. Jephthah was A leader of his brothers, Takers-back of land together, for the glory, Hallelujah, Of the Lord, the land, his brothers For his father’s house. He was a worshipper, According to the true profession, Jepthah Burned with holy fire On the threshold of his premises. He did His people proud. And so It is a custom, to this day, among the people That the fathers of their daughters Every year assemble

In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters. ( Genesis 1 :1-2). On Twitter last year during Advent, Wil Gafney (a womanist biblical scholar I hope you’re all following too) called attention to the problematic ways in which “ light versus dark ” imagery in the Bible gets associated with a “good versus evil” paradigm without proper recognition or critique of the role that such binaries have played in producing and perpetuating racism. [1] It was uncomfortable and personally convicting to realise that the language and metaphors of scriptures that I love (and that pre-date constructions of race) had been so distorted by human, and specifically Christian, sin and oppression that their use (when handled unthoughtfully) could contribute to ongoing harm. [2] I happened to be reading Jordan Peterson’s ‘ Twelve Rules ’ at the time (y’know, to

Through prayer and study over the course of many months I came to believe that: a) church should celebrate and support same-sex covenant partnerships no less than we do mixed-sex ones, and b) church should welcome gifted and called people into all areas of ministry at all levels, without barriers of gender or sexuality. [1] There are people (I was one of them, once) who would see such a position as popularity-seeking. Ha. My circle of acquaintance mostly divides into: those who are understandably shocked I could ever have believed otherwise, and disturbed that it took me so long to change my mind [2], and those who are appalled at my "rejection of truth” and have no further interest in anything I might say about anything. Well. OK. It’s not like I was popular to begin with. But if you are in that latter semi-circle, I urge you – for the sake of neighbours and siblings in Christ whose flourishing, well-being, dignity, and sometimes even lives are at stake – to examine your

I'm a reluctant traveller but there's something about the 'liminal space' of an airport that captures my imagination, drawn as it easily is towards questions of order and chaos, boundaries and negotiation, norms and transgression, "exclusion and embrace" (see, e.g., Volf) , etc. As such – and helped by the fact that my dread of missing flights tends to leave me with above-average amounts of waiting time to fill – the process of flight travel has emerged as a recurring theme among my recent poem attempts. Except ... well, even before I was done admiring my latest effort, the whole exercise struck me as grimly ironic. Just how much unheeding privilege does it take to find an airport 'interesting'?! Where I see  symbols  of the status quo (inviting my imagined metaphorical subversion), other people are experiencing the oppressively, dehumanisingly tangible outworkings of it. [1] So (a bit like a cryptography researcher who proposes a secure scheme

'While he was in Bethany, reclining at the table in the home of Simon the Leper, a woman came with an alabaster jar of very expensive perfume, made of pure nard. She broke the jar and poured the perfume on his head. Some of those present were saying indignantly to one another, “Why this waste of perfume? It could have been sold for more than a year’s wages and the money given to the poor.” And they rebuked her harshly.  '“Leave her alone,” said Jesus. “Why are you bothering her? She has done a beautiful thing to me. The poor you will always have with you, and you can help them any time you want. But you will not always have me. She did what she could. She poured perfume on my body beforehand to prepare for my burial. Truly I tell you, wherever the gospel is preached throughout the world, what she has done will also be told, in memory of her.”' ( Mark 14:3-9 ) MEMO   Do not break this thing, Do not waste that; Do not let down your hair and weep and make a scene.

One of my favourite stories in the gospels is that of the “ bleeding woman ” who reaches out for healing amidst the bustle of the crowds around Jesus. I love how it’s juxtaposed with that of Jairus – a prominent community leader also seeking Jesus’ compassionate intervention – and how Jesus goes out of his way to ensure that she is seen, heard, honoured and remembered (as well as healed) no less than the man of high status. I got a bit upset, recently, on hearing the harmlessly-meant suggestion that her faith had somehow been "smaller" than that of Jairus, because she acted in secret and with "less to lose". This analysis, I felt, failed to do justice to the gap in privilege, opportunity and sense of entitlement between the two supplicants, and to her courage in overcoming that gap. (Note, in particular, that when she does actually reveal herself it is an act of brave obedience with nothing to gain and everything to lose, as she has already been healed ). For me

In Doris Lessing ’s The Golden Notebook , the protagonist is repeatedly approached with proposals to adapt her novel into a screenplay, all of which eschew the challenging societal critique at the heart of the book in preference for comfortable, familiar-story-arc reductions likely to please and appease a wide audience. It got me thinking about how we frequently and instinctively do that with the Bible – and about how much we risk missing or diminishing when we default to readings that conform to our prior expectations, rather than allowing scripture to conflict with and challenge those expectations. No doubt I’m desensitised to this when it suits me. But I’ve grown quick to notice when the Bible’s accounts of female characters, already fewer in number than its stories of men, are read through a filter of familiarity and a priori gender assumptions. The book of Ruth is a prime candidate – partly because we do love a good love story, and partly because it is hard for us in the here

A few months back, increasingly anxious about Jordan Peterson 's growing influence among Christian men, and wanting a fuller picture (beyond the eek-inducing soundbites) of exactly what it was they and so many others were embracing, I gritted my teeth and, to Mr. W's horror, read 12 Rules for Life . It left me with Many Thoughts, but too disturbed and weary to share them straight away. I hope I will get around to doing so properly one day – I'm especially keen to unpack the aspects of the book's ideology that seem to me so flagrantly at odds with Christ-like self-giving and the subversion of dominance hierarchies characteristic of God's royal reign. In the meantime, here is a poem which it may or may not have had something to do with. 'And Mary said: “My soul glorifies the Lord [...] He has performed mighty deeds with his arm; he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts. He has brought down rulers from their thrones but has lifted up the

The other day I enthusiastically embarked on a book by a male theologian popular with some people whose opinions I rate considerably. It took me to the end of the preface to start wondering whether it was too late to cancel the Kindle purchase. Of the 30+ luminaries, mentors, colleagues and assistants mentioned by name as having helped make the book happen, precisely one was female. [1] Now, such cases are hardly rare: I've read plenty of similarly-prefaced books without batting an eyelid, and probably many more where the data would have been on a par had they been available. But for some reason – perhaps because I'd had such high hopes for the author – I just couldn't let this one go. Here was a book which purported to instruct the church, and yet it seemed as though the author was quite content to disregard half the church in the writing of it. Was it even worth my reading? How relevant could it be to me, if I was irrelevant to it ? Meanwhile, Christian feminist Twitt

In an effort to pre-empt all the "yeah, but"s that this sonnet invites, I invented the foot-sonnet... LEAN IN   Are you sitting comfortably? Then lean in. Once upon a time there was a table Where it happens. All the seats were taken While we women were off menstruating, So we waited, brought the drinks and snacks And hovered in our heels and push-up bras Pretending to a winsome cluelessness, While they made laws and wars and wrote out cheques. But we took notes. And when the moment came, We’d take it: nothing beyond sacrifice To prove ourselves as fully man as them: We’d fight, pollute, exclude and brandish choice With laughter, all to gain a seat or two – And after, who knows what we might not do.†  † Sure, many men have led with wisdom and The best of motives; many women feel Empowered in a push-up bra and heels; Our bodies do not warrant being scorned, And nor do acts of service for the sake Of others. Free market economies Have made the poore