Guest Blogger, Lisa Brown, Dons an Abaya and Hijab for Eid

My friend and parishioner (Lisa we still claim you even though you moved!), Lisa Brown wrote this amazing Facebook note about her experience of wearing a hijab and abaya in honor of Eid. Not only is Lisa an amazing person, she is a fabulous writer and I hope she'll write more and often!

On wearing a hijab in rural Illinois
by Lisa Brown on Tuesday, September 14, 2010 at 11:19pm

I wore a hijab in rural Illinois. It was fascinating. There is a backstory to this.

Last Thursday, I asked Farhan (my counterpart here at EIU) if he had any plans for the weekend, and he answered, "Yeah, I'm excited for Eid [the end of Ramadan] tomorrow." He then added that he was considering wearing traditional Pakistani dress to work.

When I got home, I had a little epiphany. I have two Saudi abayas (the long, shapeless gown) and a hijab (the headscarf) which were given to me by a couple of generous students back in my ESL teaching days. I had never worn them before because I'd never had an occasion. They're so beautiful it seems like a crime to hang them in my closet, so instead I have them pinned to the wall over my sofa in lieu of a painting. Yon jokes that it makes our house look like a museum, but that's fine with me. I like museums.

I gave Farhan a call. "Since you're dressing up tomorrow, I'm going to dress up, too!"

Women, you need to know: wearing the abaya is absolutely amazing and I recommend it to everyone. I'm quite convinced that it's the perfect garment. For one, it's comfortable. I felt like I was wearing a nightgown to work. The range of motion in an abaya is incredible. It has the added bonus of covering up all of your flabbier bits. That kangaroo pouch that exists where my abs are supposed to be? Gone, thanks to the abaya. God bless the person that invented the abaya. If only I could wear it every day.

The hijab and I, on the other hand... well, we had our issues. First, I couldn't figure out how to wrap the thing. Then I was confused because the hijab I owned was totally see-through, which seemed to defeat the point. I was a little stymied, so I turned to the internetz and learned that if the hijab is see-through, you're supposed to wear something called an "underscarf" underneath.

Believe it or not, I actually had a scarf that would serve perfectly as an underscarf. When Ethiopian Orthodox women go to church, they wear a white cotton scarf on their heads. Luckily, I happen to be deeply in love with an Ethiopian Orthodox man whom I went to church with once, so I did own one of these cotton scarves. (Actually, I'm wearing it in my profile picture right now.) Therefore, the Ethiopian Orthodox scarf served as the underscarf for my hijab. I loved the metaphor of this as well. Islam and Christianity living in harmony--on my head.

So, from the internetz, I figured out (sort of) how to wrap my hijab. In case you're curious, there's really not one single accepted way of doing it. The net is full of tips for Muslim women on how to wrap their hijabs in fashionable and creative ways. So, I figured that as long as I got the scarf to cover all my hair and my neckline, I was good to go.

Honestly, though, that hijab drove me crazy all day for two reason: 1) it made my head sweat, and 2) it kept coming unwrapped and I kept having to fix it. Admittedly, number 2 is probably due to my inexperience as a hijab wrapper. But it gave me some empathy for the female Saudi students I used to teach, whom I often saw inbetween classes in the restroom adjusting their headscarves. It's amazing they usually made it to class on time.

I would imagine that Muslim women who wear the hijab every day simply see it as a practical part of being a woman, kind of like wearing a bra. I also imagine, though, that women who convert to Islam need some time to get used to it!

So, anyway, when I arrived at school, my boss and my dean were thrilled to see Farhan's and my new getups. I wished Farhan a happy Eid, but I'm never one to do things halfway, so I decided to provide a giant Eid feast for Farhan and the whole floor as a surprise.

Some South Asian cuisine would have been ideal, but we don't have an Indian restaurant in Charleston, so I went with Mexican because Farhan likes Mexican. I decided to order a bunch of different types of appetizers to make the experience more communal. I sneaked into the office across the hall to phone the order. I fibbed to Farhan that I had a meeting with Chris Hanlon in English, then went to pick up the food.

On my way, I realized that I needed a cake, too becauase Farhan has a sweet tooth and it just wouldn't be a proper holiday meal without dessert. So, I decided to go to WalMart to pick up a cake.

I wasn't sure how people in rural Illinois would act toward a woman in a hijab, but I soon learned.

A lot of people stared, but it did not come across as malevolent at all. Rather, it seemed like they were curious. As a white girl who lived in a very rural part of Japan a year, I have become quite a connoisseur of stares. I know mean stares (which of course were rare in Japan but occasionally happened), and I know curious stares. These were curious stares.

No one was openly rude to me. On the contrary, I felt like people were almost going out of their way to be nice, as if to communicate, "I am not racist and I have no problem with you shopping here." It was a bit awkward, but much preferred over hostility. When I went to the check-out counter, the woman asked brightly, "So, how are YOU doing today?"

"Oh, I'm just FABULOUS!" I answered just as enthusiastically.

"Oh, that's just GREAT to HEAR! Most people just say they're GOOD, but you are FABULOUS! Well, I'm leaving work soon, so I'll be FABULOUS, too!"

"Oh, that sounds GREAT!" I bubbled.

At Los Potrillos, the Mexican place, I literally had to tell the staff four times that it was fine, I could carry my bags to my car by myself. I had to demonstrate, "See? I can do it. Three bags on this arm, four on this one!" Now, granted, I've never picked up seven bags of food from Los Potrillos before, so I don't know how they usually act (though it would be a neat experiment), but it seemed a little excessive.

In general, though, rural Illinoisans lived up to my thesis that Midwesterners really are the nicest people on earth, and I was proud to be one.

What surprised me, though, was how wearing the hijab changed MY behavior.

On one trip home from Japan, I surprised my parents by meeting them in the airport wearing a kimono. However, I wasn't concerned about my behavior because I still felt like I was representing myself. No one would ever mistake me for a Japanese. Everyone would guess correctly that I was someone who just visited Japan.

However, the abaya and hijab, for better or worse, have become not just cultural clothing but also religious clothing. When I walked into WalMart wearing them, most people probably assumed that I was a Muslim--not a study abroad coordinator playing dress-up. I understood the implications of this. Unintentionally, I had become a representative for a religion that's not my religion! Since there are few Muslims in rural Illinois, I had no doubt that many of the people who saw me would form their opinions of Muslims based on the behavior they witnessed from an Episcopalian girl from Ohio. This means that I had a great responsibility to be on my very, very best behavior.

Therefore, not only was everyone very nice to me, but I was also extremely nice to them. No fist was shaken at the guy who cut me off in the parking lot. A big smile remained plastered to my face.

This made me reflect--if everyone I met judged my religion, my workplace, and family by my actions, how would they feel about those things? I think this was the best effect that wearing the hijab had on me. It made me seriously consider my actions before taking them and act with more love and compassion toward others.

Unfortunately, this wasn't enough to make the hijab stay on my head. At about noon, I decided that four hours of head sweat was enough, and I retired the hijab for the rest of the day. I'm so sorry to my Saudi students--I tried, but I just couldn't do it!

The abaya, however, remained on long after I arrived home. You know, I really think that's a tradition that the Episcopal Church needs to pick up on...

No One Cries Alone...

Our firm belief in the love of God--compounded with something I once read that stated that a child's understanding of God is fully formed by the time they are five--has caused me to consider the importance of how we respond to our little guy's needs. And, we try to respond with love because his understanding of God is going to be grounded in the understanding of love which he has learned from us.

Therefore, when he cries we tend to him. We do not leave him to cry alone and we respect that his only way of telling us that something is amiss in his world are his cries. This does not mean that we never allow him to cry or give him everything he might want in the moment...it means that he knows that his cries were heard, and that when he needs us we will come to him. We may not be able to "heal what ails him" (for who can stop teething pain?) but we will be with him. Because, if we want our son to understand that God is the unfailing presence, the abiding love, the lover of souls and the one who answers our cries, then we must respond to him with love at all times.

When I worked in the children's hospital I witnessed this response of love in the midst of some of the most horrific situations parents could find themselves in. Parents who could not stop the pain of mucositis or the shivering and shaking of seizures--these are the parents who taught me the most about God's presence. For in the midst of the screaming (for often it was screaming--but even worse was silence) they would hold their child and wipe away their tears. "Mommy's right here..." again and again and again they would whisper. They could not take away the pain, but no one cried alone.

Now, thank God (and this is prayer not profane) that I am not that parent in the hospital. And, I pray that I will never be. But, my lesson has been learned...our child will not cry alone. He will not face the darkness without the knowledge that his mommas will be there if he needs us.

Sermon from August 29th "The Guest List"

Proper 17, year C...The Guest List

Sabbath and laws; the roll of law in Jesus’ world

If you recall, in last week’s Gospel the synagogue leader criticizes Jesus for doing a work of healing on the Sabbath. Jesus’ retort was roughly that healing was a setting free from bondage and that the “work” of healing was not only allowed but a needful action on the Sabbath. You may wonder why I am bring up the Sabbath again today…but today’s Gospel, which immediately follows the portion appointed for last week, continues in an examination of the role of law in the lives of the hearers—and how strictly to interpret those laws.

Because in Jesus’ world the laws you followed told you and everyone else whether or not you were part of the community. The way you behaved and the laws which dictated your actions defined whether or not you were a member of the Jewish community. Insider status was determined by how well one followed the laws laid out in scripture and rabbinic teachings. Unlike speed limits or stop signs, these laws were about much more than keeping people safe…they were about helping people understand who was, and who was NOT, a member of their community.

Laws define who is in and who is out. Jesus’ social critique

The Pharisees were actually considered by others, like the Saducees, to be rather lax about their observance of Jewish law. So, the depiction of Jesus eating in the home of a Pharisee is the first red flag. Further, he critiques the guest list…and tells everyone how to behave when invited to a meal. He is violating all social protocol here…the social protocol that tells people who they are and to whom they belong—how can you be the chosen people if you don’t follow the rules.

Who is Jewish; the Hassidic neighborhood

For a short period of time in my early 20s I lived in a Hassidic neighborhood in Cleveland Heights. In this neighborhood I was exposed to one of the major infights of modern religious life—the question of who is actually Jewish. A matrilineal faith tradition, in order to be considered Jewish from birth one’s mother must be Jewish. And, in some Jewish communities this just isn’t adequate and it starts to sound like a series of bad "yo'mama" jokes…mmmm, your mama was a reform Jew, sorry that’s not good enough…ohhhh, you were adopted and your birth mom wasn’t Jewish, well then you’ll have to formally convert to Judaism…ohhhhh, you’re a reconstructionist, you must not be religious. It’s a complicated debate and one that colors the relationship between the different factions of Judaism, politics in Israel and the relationship between American and Israeli Jews.

Who is Christian; Barack Obama/NPR

Now, lest you think that this kind of “othering” is unique to Judaism, on NPR this week I listened to a man question Barack Obama’s faith by talking about how the president wasn’t from a real Christian church, that it didn’t look like the Christianity he knew and that because this “radical” offshoot of Christianity (in case you’re wondering, the United Church of Christ ;) wasn’t like the church in which the caller had been raised that the president wasn’t a Christian. The caller’s argument, when challenged, boiled down to “he doesn’t go to my church, he must be Muslim!” Extreme, yes, common, unfortunately. But, lest we think ourselves above such behavior…

Othering in the progressive/liberal church

We may be tempted to think that such othering only lies at the fringes of our faith communities…yet I myself have found myself thinking of folks, such as my Mormon cousins, as not really Christian. Somehow I think my cousins would beg to differ. I have to humble myself and remember that I do not own the copyright on Christianity. Yet, somehow I find myself wanting to distance myself from my brother’s and sister’s who do not have the “right” kind of faith—those who have not yet discovered the truth of love, hospitality, acceptance and forgiveness that we offer here at Church of Our Saviour. If only they’d learn, if only they’d hear the truth as we see it. Now, I pause and realize that I am a hypocrite, that when Jesus calls his dining companions hypocrites I need to listen up.

I’m not that kind of Christian

Because I often feel like I need to announce…I’m not that kind of Christian…I’m a better kind, I’m a kinder, gentler, more inclusive, more welcoming, more progressive Christian. Yesterday at Art in the Square volunteers took turns representing Church of Our Saviour at a booth with flyers, photos and lollipops. Early in the day I turned to one of our parishioners and said, “don’t you feel like you need to tell people that we’re not scary or weird…that we’re the nice kind of Christians?”

We’re not like them…and it is worrisome to think people might confuse us with them. You know, those people who don’t welcome everyone…

The dark side of radical hospitality, it is constantly challenging us to step up our game.

It’s easy to start thinking that anyone who doesn’t practice this kind of radical hospitality just isn’t a Christian. Hmmm, radical hospitality, do I (or we) really want to welcome the folks who don’t agree with us to this table. Do we ever glance to our right or left and wonder why that person came here, why they don’t know what we know, why they don’t behave in the manner to which we are accustomed here? Have we ever used inspeak to discern whether someone belongs, do our conversations require a decoder in order to be understood?

Just as an experiment, lets pause for a moment. "The Lord Be With You" (the congregation responds with "And Also With You" I've been in circumstances when the phrase "The Lord Be With You" has been met with silence and I knew, I knew then, that I wasn't with my people. Code speak anyone?

Who does Jesus love best? What underlying truth unites us?

We are called to treat others as God treats us…with mercy, love and kindness…elevating them beyond their place. Yet, we continue to erect artificial divisions between ourselves.

It’s funny how quickly our own radical inclusion can build walls and how easy it is to think that we are the only ones who have it right. It is too easy to claim, as a bumper sticker I once saw wryly stated “Jesus loves ME best” (can anyone relate to this?)! Yet, scripture makes no claims about who Jesus loves best, rather we are encouraged to practice mutual love…a love that honors and respects the dignity of all human beings; a love that builds up relationships and is grounded in the simple truth that Jesus’ love will never leave nor forsake us. And, it is a love that bears with it a responsibility to love and serve.

Once again this year Church of Our Saviour has partnered with churches that are VERY different in beliefs and teachings…partnered around the simple truth that as Christians we are called to serve those in need. So, once again Church of Our Saviour and St. Luke’s are building a home through Habitat for Humanity…suspicion set aside long enough to remember that scripture calls us to care for those in need and that Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever. That Jesus still calls us to dine with those outside of our social circles and that through Jesus we must continually offer a sacrifice of praise to God, that is, the fruit of lips that confess his name. And that in that confession we must not neglect to do good and to share what we have, for such sacrifices are pleasing to God.

Facebook Commentary

One of my relatives recently "liked" on Facebook the life fever application's statement, "never make someone a priority when they just make you an option".

If the rule of life suggested by this statement (and the many people who "like" it) is to be followed, then this has some very interesting implications for the church.

Thoughts?

Blog shout out!

A friend and parishioner, Lisa, wrote a guest blog and gave me a shout out! I'm flattered and half tempted to run off to where she now lives to start a GLBT friendly church (just kidding, but seriously, NO GLBT friendly churches in central IL?!)

"Lack of Gay Friendly Churches"

Can anyone help her out with some suggestions (I'm thinking moving back home may not be an option!)?

32

Today I am 32...and I wanted to share 32 things for which I am grateful

1. Our little boy
2. My wife
3. A loving community
4. Colleagues who understand when I need pastoral care and have the ability to listen to "what I'm not saying" (thanks Happeners!)
   
5. Friends who share their love with our boy
6. The progress our dog has made
7. Financial stability (for which I am grateful but feel oddly guilty about)
8. A positive birthing/mothering experience
9. Health care
10. baby grins and giggles
11. Our house and the home it has become
12. Good naps
13. COFFEE
    
14. A sense of humor
15. Cloth diapering (see #14)
16. Baby wearing (Mei Tai; ring sling; Ergo; storch; moby...)
17. breast feeding (see #14)
18. The older parishioner who made it clear that she missed me when I was away at a wedding
19. Volunteers!
20. Good books (most recently "The Coroner's Lunch")
21. People who "welcome the stranger", M in Minneapolis who took us to church and the airport.
22. The smiles H elicits in complete strangers
23. The big tree in our front yard
24. Picking (and eating!) fruit
25. Our baby's godparents
26. The ability to connect via the internet with long lost friends and relatives
27. reading to the baby (I can always get him to laugh by reading "We're Going on a Bear Hunt")
28. Coffee...oh, that's a repeat. Hmmm, vacations!!!
29. Good massages
30. Hugs from kids and the trust of parents
31. Discernment (even tho' figuring out the direction to which one is called can be VERY hard)
32. Today
    

frailty

When our little one was about a week old we were on what would become a multiple times a day walk around our neighborhood. About 100 yards away from our house I stopped and looked closely at the boy. Then I informed him of what I hope and pray will be the truth...someday he will be very sad because Mama and Mommy will die. And, I'm very sorry about that but it is his job to be sad about us. He is NOT allowed to die first and he will have to plan our funerals. So there, that is just the way it is.

I'm not sure if many parents feel compelled to inform their week old baby of this hope/prayer/rule. But, we did. We have both spent enough time with the sick and dying that we know all too well how close it can be. And, no matter how old he becomes, it will be our hope and prayer.

When my own father died at the age of 53 his grandmother (my gramama) was still living. She had had a stroke several years before his death and was in a locked in state (cognitively she was in there but could not move or express herself). However, when told of his sudden death, she cried.

La Pieta again. Is there a greater pain?

Meanwhile, our healthy, beautiful boy is sleeping. He grows and thrives...babbling up a storm and holding court with his "guys" (the beetle mobile that hangs above him in the crib). Yet, the melancholy persists for the Mama...and I resist the urge to scoop up the sleeping baby so that I can squeeze his chubby thighs and kiss his round cheeks and cupid's bow lips.