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Power & Privilege (and me)

Sep 6, 2006 | My sort-of Sermons, Sacred Stories, Women's Voice & Power

These words: power and privilege, have been part of numerous conversations lately. Some of those conversations have considered both from the perspective of not having either. Others have considered what it means to acknowledge both the words and their reality in our own lives and be aware of the “other” more intentionally. In all of them, the words seem to be tricky, hard to pin down, misunderstood,
confusing, and hard to stay focused on or do anything about.

Toward that end, I’ve been thinking about the story of Hagar – and Sarah – as example of power and privilege gone bad…on a number of levels.

Sarah is clearly the person in this relationship with power and privilege. Not as much as her husband, obviously, but still more than her maidservant, Hagar. When tension rises, Sarah uses her power/privilege card to get her way and Hagar is sent into the desert – twice! The
first time alone and pregnant and the second time with her young son.

This story disturbs me, in part because the conflict is between two women. Power and privilege belong to one and are used against the other, seemingly without any consideration of how that might be harmful, unfair, etc. I would hope for better. And, it still happens. So sad.

It also disturbs me because Sarah’s behavior has no element of self-reflection. It seems second-nature for Sarah to get her way – a mark of privilege’s familiarity for those who have such AND a lack of how such can be so profoundly damaging to those without.

I’m also disturbed by this story because historically as it’s been exegeted, we’ve focused on Hagar’s “insolence” and then implicitly assumed that she deserved to be cast away. After all, Sarah was the chosen one – the wife of Abraham, the bearer of God’s covenant. We’ve excused her behavior more often than not and have nearly ignored the plight of this powerless woman who is banished into distant lands, never to be heard from again. This common textual emphasis in itself, speaks loudly to our own comfort with power and privilege as predominantly white, middle-class Americans.

There’s enough to struggle with just in these realities but I think there’s more:

When we look more closely at Hagar’s story we come to see that she has a powerful and privileged encounter with God…unlike Sarah. She, the marginalized, powerless, unprivileged one is seen by God and sees God. She, the outcast, is the first theophany in all of Scripture. She, the one we’ve too often ignored, is the one who knows God in far more profound ways than Sarah, certainly, and frankly most of us.

What are we to learn from this? For me, it makes me wonder what I “miss” of God as long as I hold on to my own power and privilege. Power and privilege are woven into everything; they are not all or nothing “qualities.” I have them both – and both are used in ways that harm me and those around me.

These are hard conversations and they seem to me to be at the core of much, if not all, of the struggles of which I’m so acutely aware: issues of gender, race, inclusion, diversity, social justice, politics, theology…Is there anything untouched by these two words?

May I be a woman who is aware of her power and her privilege – its benefits and its potential to harm. May I be a woman who is not afraid of naming the misuse of power and privilege as it harms me – and those around me.

A quickly typed post. Lots more thoughts spinning in my head and heart. Undoubtedly, more to follow.

Prophet as Female

Aug 9, 2006 | Hope & Encouragement, My sort-of Sermons, Sacred Stories, Spirituality, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom

While I was still a student at The Seattle School, I remember hearing one of my professors lecture on the categories of Prophet, Priest, and King. He said that a prophet “dreams of that which will one day be. He exposes and invites. And he is not liked. We try to silence prophets with shame by telling them that they are too emotional and/or that they just see too much.” In another class, when covering similar material he said, “The prophet is the guardian of hope. He envisions glory as it will one day be.” 

Let’s change all those pronouns, shall we?

I think these statements sound exactly like the soul of a woman.

Most of the women I know see well. They can name what they see – even if at great personal cost. And when they speak what they see and reveal what is true, many attempts are made to silence them – culturally, institutionally, and interpersonally. 

So what would it be like for women to intentionally embrace this persona as prophet as theirs? 

For me? I would know, beyond a shadow of doubt, that the potential for misunderstanding, dislike, and harm would be high. And I would still speak. I would name what I see, reveal what is, and repeatedly invite hope – functioning in ways that feel profoundly more true and consistent with who I most truly am. 

The bind here, of course, especially when we look at examples of prophets – particularly in Scripture. is that a) none of them are women; and b) none of them lived lives we’re remotely interested in! They did crazy things and had crazy things done to them. They weren’t heard. Or if they were, they were seen as practically diagnosable. Their own self-doubt was mammoth and their questions of the God who had purportedly “called” them were laden with conflict and angst. All because they spoke the truth. They called the people back to the God they’d forgotten. They spoke with kings and confronted corruption. They brought about change. And usually at great cost to themselves. 

Yes, that’s the bind. But it’s also the beauty.

Choosing to see myself as a prophetess  changes the way in which I choose to engage. It alters my readiness and expectation of potential harm. It increases my stamina, courage, and capacity to persevere. And I consistently hold on to hope and continue telling the truth. Beautiful, to be sure.

Rise up, prophetesses. We have much to say, much to offer, and redemption to bring about!