Fasting: A Shared Tradition -- Jennifer Walters, Dean of Religious Life
Community Iftar, Carroll Room, Smith College
Sunday, October 23, 2005
A salaam alaikum.
Last summer I went to a beautiful place. Manitoulin is said to be the largest freshwater island in the world. It is located well off the north-central shores of Lake Huron in Ontario, Canada in the waters and among the islands of the mighty Great Lakes. Manitoulin's very name means "place of the sacred powers of the Manitous” – the Great Spirits of the Native American spiritual tradition.
It is a place that is financially poor, but spiritually rich. The Anishinaabeg people (also known as the Ojibway) have lived on Manitoulin for hundreds, maybe thousands of years. The tribal communities on the island remain strong to this day.
There is a place there known as Dreamer's Rock. It is on the Birch Island Reserve of Manitoulin. For many generations young adults of the Anishinaabeg have gone there to fast and pray, to receive a dream vision for their life's direction. They are prepared by their elders to receive whatever comes to them. They might receive a guardian spirit in a quest there or there might be silence. Dreamers' Rock was known as the path of the Animkeeg, Thunderbirds, because it is on that rock that thunder sounds loudest on the island. It was a traditional meeting place, as well as a sacred site. Fasting – experiencing hunger – has been a primary element in becoming able to receive spiritual gifts at Dreamer’s Rock.
Most of the world’s religious traditions teach fasting. In this Month of Practice – Ramadan --
Muslims throughout the world fast from the sun’s rising to its setting to commemorate the revealing of the Qur’an to the prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him). It is also a time of renewal, a time to read the Qur’an from beginning to end.
This year Ramadan and the Jewish high holidays began at the same time. And during this time there is also feasting and fasting in both communities.
The name "Yom Kippur" means "Day of Atonement. It is a day set aside to "afflict the soul," to atone for the sins of the past year. Yom Kippur is a complete Sabbath; no work, no washing, can be performed on that day and Jews are instructed to refrain from eating and drinking (even water) on Yom Kippur. Fasting helps a Jew to come back into right relationship with his or her body, mind, soul, community, and God.
Jesus, too, fasted in the wilderness for 40 days and 40 nights. It was a time, scriptures say, when he was tempted and tested by the devil. It was a key experience in Jesus’ coming to understand himself, his mission, and his relationship to the Divine. After this time fasting in the wilderness, Jesus began his ministry in Galilee.
In each of these examples we see that fasting makes us humble, clears our minds, and makes us stronger. We are made of flesh. We cannot rely only on ourselves for life; we need other people; we need other creatures; we need God in order to live. We also need periods of reflection about our lives in order to live rightly.
Fasting literally purifies our bodies. It also helps us to become aware of the tenuousness of life. When your belly aches with hunger, with emptiness, it helps you to see what it is you really need to live well. And as your fast extends, you begin to learn what you can do without. The belly ache at 11 am the morning of the first day of fasting perhaps is not there until noon the next day. We are tempted to squelch the ache with food anyway because of the discomfort, but if we resist, we can learn something about ourselves. How much food do we really need to live? What do I have that I do not need? We all hunger together – for love, for peace, for safety. Fasting helps us to learn this. It can help us to want differently; to resist the pull of cultural messages to consume, to exploit others, to disrespect the earth.
Fasting helps us to live more deeply. It helps us to be mindful of our bodies; to experience hunger, temptation, to experience our “not being there yet” – our imperfection – and to develop discipline. The disciplines of kindness toward others, generosity, compassion, and peace – values of Islam – are considered in a deeper way when we fast.
We are all dreamers of one sort or another. We are all dreamers of a world in which no child goes hungry. Dreamers of a world in which people and nations solve their disagreements peacefully. Like the young people on Manitoulin, we too are looking for a vision for our lives. We each have our own dreamer’s rock – the way we dream a new vision for the world. This community Iftar – which includes people from many religions and philosophies of life, people who disagree about many things and agree about the important things, can come to support one another and to fast, pray, and eat.
That is a little taste of God’s dream for us. I wish you a blessed Ramadan.
Monday, November 06, 2006
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Thinking of Peace on Family Weekend
Remarks at the Smith College Family Weekend Interfaith Service, October 22, 2006
This chapel stands on the campus, not as a college church but as a meeting house -- a place where we can talk about anything; a gathering place for students of all faiths or no faith, for those who have strong convictions and those who have serious doubts. It is a place for conversation, learning, music, poetry, art, politics as well as prayer, meditation, and worship. At Smith, when we think about religious life, we start with Life. All the experiences, disappointments, frustrations, anxieties, longings, hopes, and fears of our lives travel with us – and they are all welcome in this place – even though they can make us feel uncomfortable. If we bring all of it here – with prayer, compassion, intention, and worship – we come to know them to be sacred and know this life is a gift even when it’s hard.
Interfaith gatherings are quite rare in this world. And given that religious conflicts and political conflicts couched as religious are at the center of the most intractable and violent situations on the planet, it is no wonder. Sitting together amidst our differences is difficult work. Sunday morning in America is still the most racially segregated time of the week, and probably the most politically segregated as well. This, I imagine, causes God great sadness.
One of my favorite writers, Annie Dillard, in her book Teaching a Stone to Talk, marvels at her Protestant brethren on Sunday morning. If they really believed that God would show up, she writes, they would come to church wearing crash helmets, such is the force of Divine Power. But, she points out that often we make no room for God. We are doing all the talking.
But perhaps crash helmets are not always needed. As the Jewish scriptures tell us, God is usually not in the wind, or the fire, or the earthquake but in the still small voice within. And in the voices of the vulnerable: the voices of children, the voices of those who suffer needlessly, in the voices of young people at the start of their journey as well as the old who are nearing the end of it. God is in the silence. If, in humility, we people of different faiths can gather – knowing that divine power is greater and more mysterious than we can comprehend -- but united in universal human longing for peace -- then maybe we can make room for the divine to do something new and unexpected with us.
When the students gathered to plan this family weekend service, the murders of Amish children in Pennsylvania were fresh in our minds. The horror of it. That young girls were singled out. That they were not safe in their school. That the adults could not protect them. That even a community that intentionally distanced itself from modernity was vulnerable to violence. Our students were startled that the Amish began to practice forgiveness right away, by including the killer’s family in their mourning and teaching their children not to hate him.
Is every person in that community feeling forgiving? Probably not. However, the Amish are teaching us that when we take up a spiritual practice, we practice it regardless of what we are feeling, or else it is of little use. Extending forgiveness to another who has hurt us -- to one who has killed our precious daughter – is perhaps, the most difficult thing any of us could do in our lifetime. The capacity for such forgiveness does not come without actively cultivating it. The practice of forgiveness yields more forgiveness. In a small way, this service is part of that practice of reconciliation, of peace-making. If people of different faiths and philosophies (even red states and blue states) can be together in prayer, that is the essence of hope for peace.
This chapel stands on the campus, not as a college church but as a meeting house -- a place where we can talk about anything; a gathering place for students of all faiths or no faith, for those who have strong convictions and those who have serious doubts. It is a place for conversation, learning, music, poetry, art, politics as well as prayer, meditation, and worship. At Smith, when we think about religious life, we start with Life. All the experiences, disappointments, frustrations, anxieties, longings, hopes, and fears of our lives travel with us – and they are all welcome in this place – even though they can make us feel uncomfortable. If we bring all of it here – with prayer, compassion, intention, and worship – we come to know them to be sacred and know this life is a gift even when it’s hard.
Interfaith gatherings are quite rare in this world. And given that religious conflicts and political conflicts couched as religious are at the center of the most intractable and violent situations on the planet, it is no wonder. Sitting together amidst our differences is difficult work. Sunday morning in America is still the most racially segregated time of the week, and probably the most politically segregated as well. This, I imagine, causes God great sadness.
One of my favorite writers, Annie Dillard, in her book Teaching a Stone to Talk, marvels at her Protestant brethren on Sunday morning. If they really believed that God would show up, she writes, they would come to church wearing crash helmets, such is the force of Divine Power. But, she points out that often we make no room for God. We are doing all the talking.
But perhaps crash helmets are not always needed. As the Jewish scriptures tell us, God is usually not in the wind, or the fire, or the earthquake but in the still small voice within. And in the voices of the vulnerable: the voices of children, the voices of those who suffer needlessly, in the voices of young people at the start of their journey as well as the old who are nearing the end of it. God is in the silence. If, in humility, we people of different faiths can gather – knowing that divine power is greater and more mysterious than we can comprehend -- but united in universal human longing for peace -- then maybe we can make room for the divine to do something new and unexpected with us.
When the students gathered to plan this family weekend service, the murders of Amish children in Pennsylvania were fresh in our minds. The horror of it. That young girls were singled out. That they were not safe in their school. That the adults could not protect them. That even a community that intentionally distanced itself from modernity was vulnerable to violence. Our students were startled that the Amish began to practice forgiveness right away, by including the killer’s family in their mourning and teaching their children not to hate him.
Is every person in that community feeling forgiving? Probably not. However, the Amish are teaching us that when we take up a spiritual practice, we practice it regardless of what we are feeling, or else it is of little use. Extending forgiveness to another who has hurt us -- to one who has killed our precious daughter – is perhaps, the most difficult thing any of us could do in our lifetime. The capacity for such forgiveness does not come without actively cultivating it. The practice of forgiveness yields more forgiveness. In a small way, this service is part of that practice of reconciliation, of peace-making. If people of different faiths and philosophies (even red states and blue states) can be together in prayer, that is the essence of hope for peace.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Go into the gaps - Convocation, 2006
Smith College Convocation
September 6, 2006
John M. Greene Hall
Benediction delivered by Jennifer L. Walters, Dean of religious life
In her book Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, Annie Dillard, notes that the prophet Ezekiel “excoriates” those who whitewash reality, who tell lies instead of truth, who say “’Peace! And there is no peace.”
The prophet is equally harsh with those who are content with the lies they are told.
“You have not gone into the gaps” or “into the broken places” the prophet says. As Dr. Paul Farmer’s* example reminds us, it is in the gaps and broken places where hope, compassion, generosity, and a truth deeper than the facts can be found.
Most of us are at least a little bit afraid of the gaps and broken places. They threaten our feeling of being in control, competent, successful. Even adventurers have habits and take precautions. If the path is not safe, we like to imagine that we can make it so.
But, as Dillard, says, “The gaps are the thing.” When you go into the gap -- risking failure, your reputation, your sense of yourself, everything you’ve ever thought or believed -- you discover something about your limits, your capacities, and you learn what you might never learn by staying in safer territory.
So I borrow a bit from Dillard, as I make this evening’s benediction:
“Go up into the gaps and the broken places.
The gaps are the cliffs in the rock where you cower to see the back parts of God;
they are the fissures between mountains and cells the wind lances through,
the icy narrowing fjords splitting the cliffs of mystery.
Go up into the gaps.
If you can find them; they shift and vanish too.
. . .
Squeak into a gap in the soil, turn and unlock – more than a maple – a universe.
May this be how you spend this evening [afternoon], and tomorrow morning, and tomorrow afternoon.” [end of quotation]
May you be blessed with courage, reason, and skill as you travel into the unknown this academic year. May you be blessed with companions who will challenge you to grow and those who will give you strength. And may you dance and play along the way.
May it be so.
*Tracy Kidder's book about Farmer, Mountains Beyond Mountains, was assigned to this year's entering class. Kidder, Farmer, and Farmer's mother, Ginny, were guest lecturers the previous evening.
September 6, 2006
John M. Greene Hall
Benediction delivered by Jennifer L. Walters, Dean of religious life
In her book Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, Annie Dillard, notes that the prophet Ezekiel “excoriates” those who whitewash reality, who tell lies instead of truth, who say “’Peace! And there is no peace.”
The prophet is equally harsh with those who are content with the lies they are told.
“You have not gone into the gaps” or “into the broken places” the prophet says. As Dr. Paul Farmer’s* example reminds us, it is in the gaps and broken places where hope, compassion, generosity, and a truth deeper than the facts can be found.
Most of us are at least a little bit afraid of the gaps and broken places. They threaten our feeling of being in control, competent, successful. Even adventurers have habits and take precautions. If the path is not safe, we like to imagine that we can make it so.
But, as Dillard, says, “The gaps are the thing.” When you go into the gap -- risking failure, your reputation, your sense of yourself, everything you’ve ever thought or believed -- you discover something about your limits, your capacities, and you learn what you might never learn by staying in safer territory.
So I borrow a bit from Dillard, as I make this evening’s benediction:
“Go up into the gaps and the broken places.
The gaps are the cliffs in the rock where you cower to see the back parts of God;
they are the fissures between mountains and cells the wind lances through,
the icy narrowing fjords splitting the cliffs of mystery.
Go up into the gaps.
If you can find them; they shift and vanish too.
. . .
Squeak into a gap in the soil, turn and unlock – more than a maple – a universe.
May this be how you spend this evening [afternoon], and tomorrow morning, and tomorrow afternoon.” [end of quotation]
May you be blessed with courage, reason, and skill as you travel into the unknown this academic year. May you be blessed with companions who will challenge you to grow and those who will give you strength. And may you dance and play along the way.
May it be so.
*Tracy Kidder's book about Farmer, Mountains Beyond Mountains, was assigned to this year's entering class. Kidder, Farmer, and Farmer's mother, Ginny, were guest lecturers the previous evening.
Monday, May 22, 2006
Smith Commencement Benediction 2006
Benediction – Smith College Commencement, May 21, 2006
It’s time to go.
So, for one last time, be here.
Put both of your feet on the ground.
Tip your face to the sky,
And take a deep breath.
You are part of the circle of women (and men) that Sophia Smith dreamed would be a force for good in the world. But in order to bear that burden of expectation and hope, you will need to be flexible and strong. You will need access to your whole self – body, mind, and soul. My blessing today is adapted from Joy Harjo’s work, “Eagle Poem,”
“I pray you open your whole self
To sky, to earth, to sun, to moon
To one whole voice that is you.
And know there is more
That you can’t see, can’t hear,
Can’t know except in moments
Steadily growing, and in languages
That aren’t always sound but other
Circles of motion. . .
Breathe in, knowing we are made of
All this, and breathe, knowing
we are truly blessed because we
Were born, and die soon within a
True circle of motion,
Like eagle rounding out the morning
Inside us.
We pray that it will be done
In beauty.
In beauty.”
Go now, you blessed ones,
go where love and hope are needed,
and bless the world.
Amen.
It’s time to go.
So, for one last time, be here.
Put both of your feet on the ground.
Tip your face to the sky,
And take a deep breath.
You are part of the circle of women (and men) that Sophia Smith dreamed would be a force for good in the world. But in order to bear that burden of expectation and hope, you will need to be flexible and strong. You will need access to your whole self – body, mind, and soul. My blessing today is adapted from Joy Harjo’s work, “Eagle Poem,”
“I pray you open your whole self
To sky, to earth, to sun, to moon
To one whole voice that is you.
And know there is more
That you can’t see, can’t hear,
Can’t know except in moments
Steadily growing, and in languages
That aren’t always sound but other
Circles of motion. . .
Breathe in, knowing we are made of
All this, and breathe, knowing
we are truly blessed because we
Were born, and die soon within a
True circle of motion,
Like eagle rounding out the morning
Inside us.
We pray that it will be done
In beauty.
In beauty.”
Go now, you blessed ones,
go where love and hope are needed,
and bless the world.
Amen.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
Dreaming a broken world whole
Benediction at Smith School for Social Work Commencement - 2005
The great musican and conductor, Yehudi Menuhin wrote:
"each human being has the eternal duty of transforming what is hard and brutal into a subtle and tender offering, what is crude into refinement, what is ugly into beauty, ignorance into knowledge, confrontation into collaboration . . ."
And it is somehow, the social worker's vocation to aid us all in this difficult work of transformation, to dream a broken world whole.
May earth below and heaven above hold you.
May wind and light guide you.
May love and anger embolden you.
May you always remember that you are loved and beloved,
blessing and blessed.
Go now in peace to do the work you have been given to do in the world.
The great musican and conductor, Yehudi Menuhin wrote:
"each human being has the eternal duty of transforming what is hard and brutal into a subtle and tender offering, what is crude into refinement, what is ugly into beauty, ignorance into knowledge, confrontation into collaboration . . ."
And it is somehow, the social worker's vocation to aid us all in this difficult work of transformation, to dream a broken world whole.
May earth below and heaven above hold you.
May wind and light guide you.
May love and anger embolden you.
May you always remember that you are loved and beloved,
blessing and blessed.
Go now in peace to do the work you have been given to do in the world.
May Wisdom Bless you with Discomfort - Social Work Commencment Benediction , 2003
Smith College for Social Work Commencement Benediction, August 15, 2003
(adapted from a prayer of unknown authorship)
May Wisdom bless you with discomfort at easy answers, half-truths, and superficial relationships, so you will live deep within your heart.
May Justice bless you with outrage at oppression and cruelty, so you will strive for integrity, freedom, and peace.
May Compassion bless you with tears for those who suffer so you will have the strength to love the stranger and the outcast.
May Courage bless you with awareness of your fear so you can act wisely even when you are afraid.
May Foolishness bless you with the conviction that you can make a difference, so you will do the good things that others say cannot - or should not -- be done.
May beauty lie before you,
May beauty lie behind you,
May beauty lie on your right hand and on your left.
May you walk in beauty all the days of your life.
(adapted from a prayer of unknown authorship)
May Wisdom bless you with discomfort at easy answers, half-truths, and superficial relationships, so you will live deep within your heart.
May Justice bless you with outrage at oppression and cruelty, so you will strive for integrity, freedom, and peace.
May Compassion bless you with tears for those who suffer so you will have the strength to love the stranger and the outcast.
May Courage bless you with awareness of your fear so you can act wisely even when you are afraid.
May Foolishness bless you with the conviction that you can make a difference, so you will do the good things that others say cannot - or should not -- be done.
May beauty lie before you,
May beauty lie behind you,
May beauty lie on your right hand and on your left.
May you walk in beauty all the days of your life.
Passing from Insight to Action: Social Work Commencement Invocation, 2004
Invocation for Smith College for Social Work Commencement, August 20, 2004
Based on the poem “Now is the time” by Hafiz (12th century Persian)
The Upanishads of Hindu wisdom say, "That which makes the eye see but which cannot be seen by the eye, that alone is God."
Insight is a door opened. But it is awareness that leads to insight. And it is courage and hope which makes the passage from insight to action possible. You, our graduates, will be companions to others seeking courage, hope, and healing -- and this will change you. And, by grace, you welcome this challenge. What a gift. What a blessing.
Please let us join in a moment of mindfulness and gratitude together.
Mindful of those who have walked this path before us,
Thankful for those teachers whose lessons we have found difficult to learn,
Thankful for the learning which has changed us,
Mindful of the ancestors, scholars, prophets, and saints who uphold this gathering,
and the Spirit of Wisdom that inspires it,
Let us remember
That the possibility of love, of peace, of wholeness
is ever patient, ever present.
This is a time
For us to deeply comprehend the possibility
that there is only Grace.
That everything we will do today
in this place
is sacred;
Is Blessing and Blessed.
May it be so.
Based on the poem “Now is the time” by Hafiz (12th century Persian)
The Upanishads of Hindu wisdom say, "That which makes the eye see but which cannot be seen by the eye, that alone is God."
Insight is a door opened. But it is awareness that leads to insight. And it is courage and hope which makes the passage from insight to action possible. You, our graduates, will be companions to others seeking courage, hope, and healing -- and this will change you. And, by grace, you welcome this challenge. What a gift. What a blessing.
Please let us join in a moment of mindfulness and gratitude together.
Mindful of those who have walked this path before us,
Thankful for those teachers whose lessons we have found difficult to learn,
Thankful for the learning which has changed us,
Mindful of the ancestors, scholars, prophets, and saints who uphold this gathering,
and the Spirit of Wisdom that inspires it,
Let us remember
That the possibility of love, of peace, of wholeness
is ever patient, ever present.
This is a time
For us to deeply comprehend the possibility
that there is only Grace.
That everything we will do today
in this place
is sacred;
Is Blessing and Blessed.
May it be so.
Every Moment a Blessing: Commencement Invocation -- Smith 2004
(Hafiz translation by Daniel Ladinsky)
On this commencement day we have feelings of pride, satisfaction,
a sense of accomplishment and profound joy;
it is a blessing to be here together,
but it is a mixed blessing.
While we celebrate with friends and family, professors and classmates,
and anticipate the moment when you graduates will walk across this stage,
we also become aware of who is not here today.
You have loved ones – parents, partners, grandparents, friends, children – who are not here.
Some could not be here today because of other commitments, illness, or even death.
Some could not come because of political unrest in your home country, terrorism,
economic hardship, or war.
Remember them and your love for them; their love for you.
Bring them all here.
Every moment, every breath is blessing.
Every encounter an opportunity to greet the sacred.
Allow this moment in your life to be such a moment.
A holy occasion. An instance of exquisite attention to the present moment.
In a world of injustice, war and strife,
In times of stress, sacrifice, and difficulty,
grace and peace is there, too;
Waiting for you to notice it. To be nourished by it.
Because when I look out from here, I see an ocean of grace
-- the love you have given and the love you have received.
This grace has carried you here and will sustain you.
So hear now the wisdom of a 12th century Sufi teacher,
Hafiz:
This is a time
For us to deeply comprehend the possibility
that there is nothing but Grace.
Now is the season to know
that everything we do
is sacred.
Let us rest in this ocean of love and thanksgiving.
Let blessing unimpeded wash over us.
My friends, let us begin . . . .
On this commencement day we have feelings of pride, satisfaction,
a sense of accomplishment and profound joy;
it is a blessing to be here together,
but it is a mixed blessing.
While we celebrate with friends and family, professors and classmates,
and anticipate the moment when you graduates will walk across this stage,
we also become aware of who is not here today.
You have loved ones – parents, partners, grandparents, friends, children – who are not here.
Some could not be here today because of other commitments, illness, or even death.
Some could not come because of political unrest in your home country, terrorism,
economic hardship, or war.
Remember them and your love for them; their love for you.
Bring them all here.
Every moment, every breath is blessing.
Every encounter an opportunity to greet the sacred.
Allow this moment in your life to be such a moment.
A holy occasion. An instance of exquisite attention to the present moment.
In a world of injustice, war and strife,
In times of stress, sacrifice, and difficulty,
grace and peace is there, too;
Waiting for you to notice it. To be nourished by it.
Because when I look out from here, I see an ocean of grace
-- the love you have given and the love you have received.
This grace has carried you here and will sustain you.
So hear now the wisdom of a 12th century Sufi teacher,
Hafiz:
This is a time
For us to deeply comprehend the possibility
that there is nothing but Grace.
Now is the season to know
that everything we do
is sacred.
Let us rest in this ocean of love and thanksgiving.
Let blessing unimpeded wash over us.
My friends, let us begin . . . .
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Reflections on the Clothesline Project
Reflections on the Clothesline Project
Sexual Assault Awareness Week at Smith College, April 2006
Jennifer L. Walters, Dean of Religious Life
From a distance the t-shirts are beautiful. Colorful, graceful, and affixed to clotheslines along the walkways, the shirts of all sizes and shapes flutter and billow like Tibetan prayer flags like wind horses carrying prayers from earth heavenward. Up close it is more disturbing, the beauty more elusive. People walk more slowly than usual. It is quieter, more solemn and reverent. Because we stop to read, to contemplate, everyone slows down.
I read some of the messages recorded on fabric with paint, and try to sit with the anger, confusion, rage expressed on the shirts. There are messages to grandfathers and babysitters who raped them as children, institutions that ignore their needs, parents and friends who did not believe them, and those that did.
There is also beauty and hope:
In spite of you, I AM.
I am alive.
I am beautiful.
I am the right not to be ashamed.
A lifetime to reclaim my body.
I am not alone.
Now I understand.
I am so sorry.
I forgive you and I reclaim myself.
I am angry that I cannot protect the women I love from pain.
May you always know your gifts
your strength.
You are so strong to tell your story.
We believe you.
Thank you for believing me.
A fierce embrace of mighty love.
Most women and children who survive sexual assault spend a lifetime recovering and most of us never know who in our life, who of our co-workers, teachers, parents, friends, clergy-people have been victims of sexual abuse or assault.
The anger and hurt, the forgiveness and the hope hanging on a clothesline, takes my breath away. These shirts --these stories -- belong to people I love. I want the wind to carry their anger, their pain and hurt away. I want the wind to carry mine, too.
But the wind does not carry it away. The pain comes and goes. But the wound remains because sexual abuse and assault cause injury to the soul not just the body or the mind. A traumatic injury takes a lifetime to heal. And it takes telling our stories as well – lots of stories, many times -- because the stories heal.
I am not a truly optimistic sort of person. I don’t believe that every dark cloud has a silver lining, or that some good thing is just around the corner, or that wishing makes something so.
Sometimes we live with dark clouds our whole lives; that’s just the way it is. Some of us don’t get what we need. So I am not a sunny optimist; but I am a faithful pragmatist. I believe that life is best lived as a temporary experiment trusting that in each moment we are somewhere we’ve never been before and God is in a new place, too. This is not a cause for anxiety but for hope.
See, I am doing a new thing! . . .
I will give them a new heart,
And I will put a new spirit within them.
I will remove their heart of stone
And will give them a heart of flesh. (Ezekiel 11:19)
The Clothesline Project is very painful for some of us – and more difficult to cope with for some than others. The reminders of violation are difficult to bear, impossible maybe to bear alone. As the project hurts, it also helps. It helps because it cultivates a community who can help us bear the healing process and the open wounds. The project creates a community of witnesses who can handle truths that are impossible to bear alone. People who will listen to the stories and believe, reminding us that none of us is alone.
"Don't turn your head.
Keep looking at the bandaged place.
That's where the light enters you.
And don't believe for a moment that you're healing yourself!" (Rumi)
Sexual Assault Awareness Week at Smith College, April 2006
Jennifer L. Walters, Dean of Religious Life
From a distance the t-shirts are beautiful. Colorful, graceful, and affixed to clotheslines along the walkways, the shirts of all sizes and shapes flutter and billow like Tibetan prayer flags like wind horses carrying prayers from earth heavenward. Up close it is more disturbing, the beauty more elusive. People walk more slowly than usual. It is quieter, more solemn and reverent. Because we stop to read, to contemplate, everyone slows down.
I read some of the messages recorded on fabric with paint, and try to sit with the anger, confusion, rage expressed on the shirts. There are messages to grandfathers and babysitters who raped them as children, institutions that ignore their needs, parents and friends who did not believe them, and those that did.
There is also beauty and hope:
In spite of you, I AM.
I am alive.
I am beautiful.
I am the right not to be ashamed.
A lifetime to reclaim my body.
I am not alone.
Now I understand.
I am so sorry.
I forgive you and I reclaim myself.
I am angry that I cannot protect the women I love from pain.
May you always know your gifts
your strength.
You are so strong to tell your story.
We believe you.
Thank you for believing me.
A fierce embrace of mighty love.
Most women and children who survive sexual assault spend a lifetime recovering and most of us never know who in our life, who of our co-workers, teachers, parents, friends, clergy-people have been victims of sexual abuse or assault.
The anger and hurt, the forgiveness and the hope hanging on a clothesline, takes my breath away. These shirts --these stories -- belong to people I love. I want the wind to carry their anger, their pain and hurt away. I want the wind to carry mine, too.
But the wind does not carry it away. The pain comes and goes. But the wound remains because sexual abuse and assault cause injury to the soul not just the body or the mind. A traumatic injury takes a lifetime to heal. And it takes telling our stories as well – lots of stories, many times -- because the stories heal.
I am not a truly optimistic sort of person. I don’t believe that every dark cloud has a silver lining, or that some good thing is just around the corner, or that wishing makes something so.
Sometimes we live with dark clouds our whole lives; that’s just the way it is. Some of us don’t get what we need. So I am not a sunny optimist; but I am a faithful pragmatist. I believe that life is best lived as a temporary experiment trusting that in each moment we are somewhere we’ve never been before and God is in a new place, too. This is not a cause for anxiety but for hope.
See, I am doing a new thing! . . .
I will give them a new heart,
And I will put a new spirit within them.
I will remove their heart of stone
And will give them a heart of flesh. (Ezekiel 11:19)
The Clothesline Project is very painful for some of us – and more difficult to cope with for some than others. The reminders of violation are difficult to bear, impossible maybe to bear alone. As the project hurts, it also helps. It helps because it cultivates a community who can help us bear the healing process and the open wounds. The project creates a community of witnesses who can handle truths that are impossible to bear alone. People who will listen to the stories and believe, reminding us that none of us is alone.
"Don't turn your head.
Keep looking at the bandaged place.
That's where the light enters you.
And don't believe for a moment that you're healing yourself!" (Rumi)
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