Articulate1

I wonder who it was who first lied to you with harsh word or deceivingly soft touch so that your spine collapsed into the curve of a question mark, leaving you to second guess your worth.

I could speak a million truths about who you really are (and have and will again). But knowing you now, I know that original lie resounds within. That it crashes against your bones and guts, doubling you over again and again and again.

Oh that you would stand in exclamation. Back straightened and strengthened. Seen and set free from this bondage.

In the comfortable silence there came a knock, a call. “Let me in.” But on the other side of the door, those in control of the lock acted as if they heard nothing and so they said nothing. Did nothing.

Again there came a knock and the call grew louder. “Let me in.” But they stopped up their ears. They stifled the sound. In the silence they manufactured their comfort increased and just as they were about to sigh in relief--

A knock resounded. A call echoed. “Let me in.”

Unable to deny the sound they finally issued a response with a hiss. Shhh!

And again there came a knock, now pounding with bloody knuckles. And a call carrying more voices. “Let us in.” Then they said, “Fine. Let us make space...if we must.” 

As those who were outside entered in, those in control of the lock on the door puffed up with pride and patted one another on the back. “Look at what we have done. Just look at all of the space we made! And yet, we receive no thanks...”

Overhearing, one who had been outside said, “Why would we thank you? You haven’t made space. You have only opened up the locked door that you made to the space God created. We give our thanks to God. God who knocked on the door for us. God who issued a call for us.”

This world, it denies our name. And it explodes so often that it seems to be  in a near constant state of dust and ash settling, choking the alleluias in our throats and leaving us outside of a tomb to weep in darkness.

But there is one who lights a match to the dark and rolls away the stone. One who frees our vocal chords to sing and washes the soot that marks us as Death’s own. Who, like a seed exploding into fruit, brings new life and then comes to us, calling us by name.

And so we are not left weeping, in spite of the realities of this world, for we have seen Resurrection enter locked doors with greetings of peace.

She came to me on her knees during the stillness of a Sunday morning. In contrast, her body trembled so fiercely as if an earthquake was rumbling within her. Tearing her apart.

“Are you amazed at how different you can be?” she asked. “How many different pieces that seem to make you? So many beings in this one body and still I don’t feel whole.”

“Tell me their name,” I said. Giving her a permission that had been hers all along.

“Their name is Death. Their name is Shame...”

I listened to her name one after the other until there were no more. 

“...Grief, Pain, Outcast, Violence, and Bullshit.”

My body is crime scene. Wounds like chalk outlines, scars like yellow tape.

            But I believe in the resurrection of the body.

My body is flooded home. Wounds like buckled floorboards, scars like high water marks.

           But I believe in the resurrection of the body.

My body is cemetery. Wounds like gaping grave holes, scars like headstones.

Pierced by sin, saturated in suffering, death has been dug into my flesh.

           But I believe in the resurrection of the body.

So I come, wounds, scars, and all because He bared His so that I might believe.

So I go, wounds, scars, and all because there are those who have not seen. 

And so I come, hands open like fields to receive. To eat of this bread and drink of this wine.

And so I go, hands outstretched like shoots of wheat to share because I know there are bodies like shot up schools, like hospital rooms, like prisons. Bodies like battlefields, like refugee camps, like morgues. And they, like me, are hungry

When it comes to sexual assault, we are failing. Case in point, the rape trial unfolding which involves young teens at St. Paul’s Boarding School in Concord, NH. 

Below are quotes taken from a recent article of The New York Times detailing the now 16-year-old girl’s account of what transpired between her and the defendant, who was 18 at the time. Some come directly from the girl’s testimony. Others are written by the journalist. I think you’ll be able to distinguish between voices just fine, but please do read the article itself to better understand the context and the case itself.  

We Are Failing Our Daughters   

“I tried to be as polite as possible.”

“I wanted to not cause a conflict.” “…she worried about offending him…” “I was telling myself, ‘O.K., that was the right thing to do, you were being respectful.’” “I thought, I’m at St. Paul’s right now, this is graduation weekend, I cannot be dramatic about this.”

We are failing our daughters when we only teach them to be “good girls.” Manners and niceties are utterly meaningless when they aren’t reciprocated. Indeed, they can even be dangerous when they aren’t reciprocated. We must empower our daughters and foster their strength, their voice, their wisdom. 

Don’t teach girls to be “good.” Good is a matter of opinion. Teach them what is right and wrong–and not only in the sense of what they do to others, but also with regards to what others do to them.

I give thanks that this young girl did eventually work her way pass what she felt might be “dramatic” and was empowered enough to come forward.

The Media Is Failing     

“It was all a sign of the growing interest in the case against Mr. Labrie, a former star student who earned a scholarship to St. Paul’s and had been headed to Harvard until the young girl came forward with her accusations.”

Once again the media talks up the privileged defendant, this “former star student.” The girl, on the the other hand, is only painted as “victim” under the light of “she said.” 

Tell me about this young woman. Tell me about how her future was promising until the young man attacked her. And then tell me about how her future is still promising because she’s young, resilient, and courageous. That it’s still promising because she’s surrounded by people who believe her and who support her. 

This trial is in process, but if the defendant is found guilty it will be his fault that he’s no longer headed to Harvard. Place blame where it belongs.

We Are Failing Our Sons 

“The senior salute, in which, they have suggested, some boys compete to have sexual encounters with as many people as possible. It is one of many rituals at the school that encourage hierarchy, according to alumni, and Mr. Labrie told the police he had been actively engaged in the tradition, trying to ‘score’ and win.”

“Crying on the stand here, she described the sex acts she said he performed, saying he spit on her, and called her a tease.”

When it comes to preventing sexual assault, we cannot only educate our daughters. If we only put the onus of sexual violence prevention on those who are typically victimized we fall short of true prevention. Additionally, when we only educate our daughters on “how to not get raped” we deny that our sons can be victimized, too. If we only speak to our daughters, this incredibly important conversation is over before it can even begin. That is not a preventative mentality. That is a mentality that nothing can be done to stop our sons from raping, sexually assaulting, sexually abusing, or sexually harassing. You know, “boys will boys.” 

This “approach” works about as good as it would to tell trees to not get burned when a wild fire is ripping through a forest. 

Alas, it seems that far too often girls receive a message of submission and boys a message of conquest. Girls are object. Boys are subject. So we shouldn’t be surprised that, when it comes to sex, girls often become the means for a boy to conquer and a mere thing to spit on. 

Yes, we shouldn’t be surprised given our common culture. But we should be outraged. We should be outraged because we should want more for our sons. We should be outraged because our sons deserve more. 

And, clearly, our daughters deserve more, too. 

We must move beyond reducing our daughters to bodies and our sons to bodily urges. We must truly educate on what healthy and consensual sex is and what relationship looks like. We must do this in our homes, our schools, our churches–in all places of community–and in our media. 

We must do this today.