all things confessional as i que(e)ry the world
I was pretty confident in that totally assumptive, know-it-all, asshole kind of way that I knew what to expect from Joanna Shenk’s recently published book Widening the Circle: Experiments in Christian Discipleship. And then I found myself crying on the couch as I read through the introduction.
Joanna’s book is a collection of writings and interviews with people who have/continue to live in intentional communities that are either specifically Anabaptist in association or have connections with Anabaptist tradition either through residents of the community or through structured church relationships. Being someone who is familiar with intentional community living both experientially and philosophically I found that the value of the book was not in the exposure to the life of intentional communities, but rather, was in the thoughtful articulation by community members of what the daily, chosen struggle of being in committed relationship with each other means to each of our processes of being changed by the other. And this is something that applies to any of us who believe that our reconciliation, transformation, confession, and liberation are positioned only within contexts of relationship with each other. It’s the entire point of an embodied theology.
How do we truly engage in community? How does the way we live in community best position us to do justice and mercy in the world? These are the questions that I heard the voices of women, youth, elders, doctors, activists, artists, and parents asking in their reflections. There was also a deep relief that flooded over me throughout the book at the way the reflections didn’t shy away from the difficult & painful questions about the institutional church, race, gender, and sexual orientation…in those moments of deep, tearful relief I was awakened again to the reality that the lack of spaces in the church for us to have these parts of our experience and identities as part of normative, consistent conversation lead to this effect of us all holding our breath. I appreciated the freedom and reminder to breath.
The book is marked up by me with underlining and drawn hearts and notes on family, contemplative activism, root cause justice work, privilege, peacemaking, allyship, mystery, solidarity, localism, and vulnerability. And I would recommend the book to anyone seeking some honest and encouraging reflection on what it means for us to be in committed community with each other and living out our internal transformation in the world.
I’ll leave you with one of my many favorite quotes that are now hanging up around my house:
“But are we all meaning the same thing? When the world says “community”, the meaning is, “I want to be less lonely.” When we say “community,” we mean being radically devoted to each other in covenant relationships, which are difficult.”
~seth mccoy, p.180 Widening the Circle.
i’ve just returned from a beautiful night. i suppose it continues, but the night is “officially” done.
i went to hear ozomatli play with the colorado symphony orchestra this evening with a beautiful woman who has been friend and love(r) to me. i went anticipating an enjoyable evening, and left being humbled once again at what i’m not brave enough to expect and not wise enough to ask for.
let me just say: there was a part of the evening that i found myself in a tango line on the colorado symphony orchestra’s stage, dancing by the cellos, hi fiving Asdru. the short, but brave dancing line…we then danced our way off stage followed by the band and then by about 1/3 of CSO into the aisles where ozomatli then lead a sing-along of crowd favorites…there was a moment when i thought, “yes. i’m dancing the hokey-pokey next to cso’s brass section. this is happening.”
i have never loved boettcher hall more…filled with lovers of ozomatli and lovers of the symphony and lovers of both. dancing in the aisles, cheering at the stage. scott o’neil (resident conductor cso) said, “i’m sure never before has ‘i wanna sex you up’ been sung at boettcher hall from stage.” and so it was.
so i’m not sure why this is the blog of the evening. it sort of just wrote itself on the drive home and this was the place to put it. but it seems to me that there is some definition of confession here:
- tonight was a place where so many of my worlds, so many parts of myself (and often competing ones) were all in the same place: classical music, music that drives my soul to revolution and heals my soul from revolution, bands, and a beautiful moment when i asked her to dance in the aisle with me: “let’s queer this place up” (wink and a smile from Wil-dog for that dance too, ps)
- the collision of the political music of a century ago (as symphonies, composers, and orchestras were) and political music of today. it felt like a historical or generational confession of what we all continue to desire and what we are willing to do for what we love
- there is something of confession that i’m realizing has to take me by surprise. everything well thought out or planned tends to be worked through my intellectual defenses, but when i find myself confessing, i am blindsided, on my knees, dancing on my feet, swept away by what i didn’t know i needed and was too afraid to acknowledge was there. and then i find myself in a place where i am held enough to let it go and surrender to the confession, to the desire to be whole. tonight swept me away and was beyond my well-laid plans and calculated enjoyment.
and that is grace i suppose…when i am given those things and spaces and people that i didn’t even know to ask for, yet are essential to my ongoing desire for life.
and for the grace and confession of the evening, my heart bursts with gratitude.
i remember this place.
i remember the burren in the same way that i sometimes look down at my stomach and remember what it looks like and that it is a part of me with its curves and swells and valleys.
i remember the streams and wells in the same way that i remember my blood when it is in my hands at every moon – coming up from the earth and giving me just a glimpse of the water that keeps me alive.
i see the oak trees in the same way that i see my brother and sisters and curiously recall that they are part of my flesh and shared a womb with me…the trees, my siblings, remembering what is true.
the hawthorne tree twists and curls like my soul – with careful thorns and healing berries.
inside of the cairn, i re-enter the womb into the eternal memory…birthed again upon emergence.
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