a nation under god

authentic christians are anti-racist

My fingers have been tightly wound around the narrative I wrote for my own life, and God has been patiently uncurling my fingers, one by one. Dream bigger, He seems to say. Dream bigger, then bigger, then bigger. Now go.

I go, with sparkles in my eyes, and imagine myself stepping out into the wide world as a Joan of Arc. I want to be unafraid. I want to face those looking down on me, telling me I’m too young or inexperienced, too naive or out-of-touch, then surprise them with my wisdom. I want to stand my ground, confident in who I am and what I’m about, not shaken when the questioning starts or gaslighting makes my knees weak. I want to pick up my sword, my words, my voice, and fight for justice. I want to fight like God is behind me, working to save a nation, even when the sparkles are gone and all I’ve got left is a mess.

That being said, while Joan of Arc might not have had a Facebook account, I certainly do. And lately I’ve found myself doing what I’ve avoided for ages- engaging in the dreaded Facebook debate. Because somebody has to speak up, and sometimes that somebody is me.

In the process, I’ve discovered a handful of things that are starting to- for lack of a better phrase- piss me off. 

Firstly, primarily, mostly, I am sick of people who call themselves Christian spending more time arguing about protecting police than listening to or caring about people who have been marginalized. I’m frustrated, even dumbfounded, that the need to become anti-racist has become less important than the need to maintain neat politically conservative borders. Digging those heels in over whether or not Black people deserve to be heard is NOT the place your feet should be planted. 

I am sure, entirely sure, that Black people are more tired of this bizarre behavior than me. I offer my voice for those too weary to speak. 

Here it is, most clearly: Your ‘blue lives matter’ flag waves proudly in false righteousness- you might think you are innocently supporting the force, but I’m here to tell you that your timing is off. You think it means nothing, the blue stickers and posts, but right now it sends the message that your priority is more for the police than for the people who the police have harmed. That support right now is inherently political and has the capacity to be significantly damaging. Sure, shifting the focus to blue lives might be appropriate on some days, but today is not that day.

Beyond that, if we keep spending our time debating and trying to disprove racism instead of actually demonstrating real, active care for the Black community, it will only serve to further ostracize that community from our Christian spaces. They are going to feel more unwelcome in a church they should comfortably call home because we were too busy fighting to hear their stories.

We don’t listen, and we harm them further. On top of the years wasted where they were unable to join orders, take vows, or attend seminary. 

On top of the years they were, and continue to be, enslaved, taken advantage of, and neglected, while people of the Church look away.

On top of generations of artwork in cathedrals, museums, and homes that fail to depict the beauty of God reflected in dark-skinned faces.

On top of a disproportionately white canon of saints- not because saints of color didn’t exist, but because our Church has been complicit in a world of white supremacy. 

All of this pain should be ringing in our ears, calling us to action, but black voices still cannot be heard because we have hidden in our prayer groups and Bible studies to complain about the “secret liberal agenda” and anti-racist “propaganda.” We’ve wasted time instead of listening and believing, acknowledging our failings and trying to do better. Defensiveness has become the last flag waving- it’s a big one, and it’s red. 

At the very least, I will stand up. You will hear my voice- the voice of a Catholic. A Christian. A woman. White, weak, and flawed, but here. I am here and I will say, then say again, that Black lives matter. If you want to call yourself a Christian, a real one, it’s best you start acting like they do too, and start fighting like God is behind you. 

St. Joan of Arc, pray for us.

unbiased loving

an aspiration

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.” Thank you, C.S. Lewis.

I’ve been thinking about these words lately, especially in the quest to untangle the biases woven into my heart and surroundings. There’s a lot that needs to be uprooted; this has become a season for removal and replanting. A season of making space for those who have been pushed aside. They are real people, those voices crying out from the books and podcasts and blogs. They are flesh and blood, with hearts exposed. How brave, to be so open, especially after so much pain.

That vulnerability deserves to be met with something even greater than dismantled bias. That is the minimum, and we must go beyond it- we must actively support and embrace a future where those most marginalized are free to lead beautiful, messy, wonderful lives. 


In the meantime, I’ve noticed that I hold a little bit more bias than I thought, in a lot more places than I thought. It’s at work, with patients who I assume will irritate me before I’ve spoken to them. It’s on dating apps, as I swipe by men with certain careers before I’ve seen their profiles. It’s in social situations, when I wander closer to the girls who look like me. I’ve done it at home, at church, in stores, online. It’s everywhere.

I’m beginning to wonder if the ideal, someday, would be for us operate with no bias at all. Is it possible to encounter each new person, each new situation, without considering the experiences behind us? Without letting the negative lessons we’ve learned about one person influence our interaction with the next person? Harder still- is it possible to untangle those predispositions when we meet the same person, but in a new moment? To perpetually offer the benefit of the doubt and maintain a disposition of charity, a complexion of peace?

I’m not suggesting a boundary-less life or existing blind to the behaviors of those who have hurt us. I’m sure it is appropriate to form opinions and act according to whatever information we are presented with. However, this intentional living, perhaps, does not exclude unbiased loving. Whatever we’ve chosen to move towards or away, we can do with a spirit of love. We can act with generosity and hold a heart for goodwill, whether that is from near or from far. We may have chosen to distance ourselves from someone or something in self-preservation or self-love, but we can still find peace, forgiveness, and hope.

I’m sure it’s the way God meets each of us, in each of our moments. It’s the way He meets me- not as the isolated, flawed piece of me that snapped at my sister an hour ago, or yelled at the guy who cut me off- but each moment, fresh, as if it’s the first most lovely moment He’s encountered me for all that I am at my worst and my best, and in that meeting He has still found me good.

He offers a blank slate, over and over and over again; His love always available, always renewable. Maybe it’s better than a blank slate- instead, it’s love like a fire in the winter, shade in the summer, the warmth of friendship in loneliness. As good, and always as good, as the first leap into a pool on a hot day or the first sip of coffee in the morning. It’s the first page of your favorite book, when somehow you’ve forgotten the plot points, so you relive it, in all it’s goodness, over and over and over. 


This love is lovely, in theory. It works for God. In practice, for humans, it’s harder. 

Hard to become anti-racist, in a world that’s pumped it into our veins.

Hard to do at work, to meet the next patient, who acts like the last patient, with fresh, kind eyes. 

Hard to do with new friends, when you’ve been bullied or burned by old ones.

Hard to do with men, when the ones before insulted, disappointed, cheated, or lied.

Hard to do with yourself, when the world has found that you aren’t quite enough.

It’s all hard. And it’s a surefire way to get hurt, this constant vulnerability. Ask C.S. Lewis. Ask Jesus. Ask your teachers, your nurses, your parents. There’s no guarantee that your openness will be matched; do it anyway. Bring your scraped knees and hearts to the source of the most perfect eternal, renewable love, then pull yourself up and offer love again. It’s the least we can do, when we’ve been given so much. 

This life isn’t for hiding or isolating, but for picking up our tired selves and meeting another moment, another person, or our very selves, with love, again. And then again.

It’s not easy. It’s messy. But it must be done, this unbiased loving. It’s the only way we’ll be free.

in service of justice

a disposition towards peace; righting the wrong of racism

When I was small, the most coveted crayon was the one we called “skin color.” We didn’t ask for it by name as we filled in our princesses; there was no mention of peach or tan, but somehow we still understood that the crayon in question wouldn’t be brown. Maybe because we were young and only thought of “skin color” as “our skin color,” or maybe, already, we thought that the default tone for skin should be white. Perhaps it was bias, already poison in our air, sinking into our hearts and lungs as insidiously as cancer. 

Whenever it started, it remains true that biases, untruths and prejudices snuck into our minds and remained a poisonous undercurrent for years. We grew up, learned in school that the civil war was over ages ago, that segregation was gone. We wondered what the problem still was.

Of course, there were many problems, but we were blind. We were handed down privilege and twisted patriotism; a lethal combination when met with willful ignorance, refusal to face discomfort, laziness, and self centeredness. The cost was high. It still is, as evidenced by the continued injustice and wrongful murders of those in the black community. 

Finally, today, we are late, but we are here. We are coming to terms with the reality that the problems we thought were gone never left- they only changed shape.

To the black community, I am sorry. I have failed you in my willful ignorance. I am sorry for the ways I’ve hurt you by my actions and inaction, the words I’ve spoken and the words I’ve failed to say. I am sorry for my bias. I’m sorry for not showing up sooner. You’ve deserved better. 

To the white community, don’t start in my words. With all humility and all respect, turn to the black community first. Listen to their words. Read their books. See their films. Hear their stories. I’m here, not as a leader, but as a small voice in the background using the tools I’ve been given to point towards truth. Members of the black community know those truths better than anyone; they live it. Open your heart. Believe them. And, seriously, please stop getting lost in debates over whatever conspiracy you think has infected the media, the country, the church. Do not turn this movement into a platform to rail against. This is more than an agenda. This is about human lives. 

Black persons deserve to live and do so abundantly; historically, they have not been afforded that freedom. They have been told, implicitly and explicitly, that they are not good, they are less-than, and they are not safe because of the color of their skin. They have been told this by governments, social structures, workplaces, judicial systems, healthcare providers, neighborhoods and friends. Centuries of these injustices have been inflicted on the black community with no promise of escape; the current system has had held the power to effectively traumatize an entire population, and to do so for generations. It must stop. 

It is time for black individuals to live in the safety that has eluded them for generations. They must be secure in their right to breathe, followed by their right to live abundantly and joyfully. They deserve to become who they were made to be, authentically alive, beautifully whole, untangled from the lies and traumas that have been inflicted upon them. They deserve to be set free, truly free, in every sense of the word.


If you have begun your journey of learning and hoping for this freedom, as I have and continue to do, I’d like to offer my thesis for moving forward in the work for justice for our black sisters and brothers:

We must remain people of peace.

To be clear- peace is not the absence of discomfort or a return to a quiet status quo. Peace, in this context, is a sense of being and operating that is moved by the Spirit and acts with eyes trained towards the hope in a well ordered world. In this world, the kingdom of God come to earth, ills are healed, injustice rectified and people are seen, loved and well. I cannot call myself a Christian, a feminist, or even a person of goodwill if I am not working for a world established in loving harmony. 

In pursuit of this harmony we must first be open to learning, then always open to learning more. In the learning, this spirit listens. It creates a space for taking in and then a time for pondering. Nothing of quality can come from what we see or hear if we don’t personally encounter and internalize what is being shared; peace will weave it together. 

This peace will allow us to incorporate new thought and root out wrong. Where the spirit burrows into our hearts, we will be ready to follow it towards introspection and humility. 

This peace will, at times, fuel anger; it will spark a heart that grows justly enraged at evil. This spark then follows through to movement- it doesn’t sulk, it doesn’t sit. It acts.

This spirit that moves to action is anchored, always, in goodness. It does not allow us to be self centered, working only to soothe our trouble consciences. It won’t allow us to walk away when the burdens are many. It does not tire. 

This spirit of peace is thoughtful. It allows critical reflection and thorough engagement with injustice from a deeply rooted place. It is intentional, as well, with both skills and time. 

This peace allows rest. If we are to prevent burn out, if we are to remain present and able to serve those who have been overloaded and overlooked for centuries, we must continue to restfully connect with the eternal source of our peace in prayer. Then, refreshed, we can show back up for more.

This peace will breed authenticity; when we do show up, we do so as integrated, whole humans, not half-selves participating for performance. It allows space to for mental, physical, spiritual and familial care, so that we may then serve thoroughly with our best selves and efforts. Our closest friends receive that effort, and it is time for our alienated black brothers and sisters to receive the same care.

Let this peace first form your own heart, then breathe life into your home, your workplace, and your world. Let this peace move you to service of God, especially in service of His black children. 

It’s time we were people of His Kingdom. Passed time. 

Let peace sustain the fight. 

a convert to feminism

adopting a movement i misunderstood

I cringe when I think of the things I used to say.

“I’m the furthest thing from a feminist.”

Feminists were frightening. They were nit-picking, angry man-haters, busy trying to become the men they hated in pursuit of power. Plus, feminists didn’t like stay-at-home-moms, and I thought I’d like to do that someday, so I distanced myself from the movement.

“Women are pretty emotional, they probably shouldn’t be president.”

I’d heard this argument and agreed. I was emotional, and this meant I could step into that office and be one missed Midol away from sending nuclear weapons to God-knows-where. Emotions were unpredictable, hormones unruly, so how could any of us be expected to rule the free world? Better leave those jobs to people with more even-keeled brains. Thank God He gave us men.

“Allowing women in combat is a bad idea.”

I used to nod along, quietly listening to the debates of military minded men and soak in the lessons they taught. According to them, adding women to their combat teams would change the dynamic and, ultimately, their world-saving capabilities. They made sense, for a while. Women aren’t biologically built the same. Maybe it really would distract men to have to worry about protecting their female counterparts. Maybe women wouldn’t be able to keep up. 

But then I started to ask questions.

What if she could keep up?

What if she was perfectly capable, and she just hasn’t had the chance to prove it?

What if she wanted that chance?

The questions continued. One debate-heavy night I got to the heart of the issue with another military-minded man, and it turns out there was another problem, which was, perhaps, the real  issue: a woman on the team meant that “men couldn’t act naturally.” Really, this meant that men would have to stop making derogatory, sexist, over-sexualized comments and cursing as much as they pleased. Or they wouldn’t stop, but they’d be too self-aware, and that would no longer be entirely comfortable. It would get in the way of the workflow.

I called bullshit; most people in the world need to learn how to regulate inappropriate behaviors, and the military shouldn’t be an exception to this norm. And, honestly, wasn’t it time to stop worrying about how free you are to say what you want and just worry about doing your job? Or, heaven forbid, reprogram your thinking so rude/inappropriate/sexist comments don’t even cross your mind?

The discussion (argument) spiraled out of control to end with a surprising, even more disturbing conclusion. That night I learned that some people actually think that men are smarter, as well as stronger, and women make sub-par career choices because of their limited capabilities. They were small-minded, unintelligent, and weak.

I was there, faced with these comments and questions and this male’s narrow-minded belief system, and I was dumbfounded. Shocked, really, and much angrier then I thought I’d be. This moment changed all; it goes down in history as was the moment I realized that I am, and probably always was, a feminist. 

I used to be afraid of being lumped in with those angry protestors. I was not the man-hating type, and I thought that if I didn’t don a labia-hat to march about town I had no right to the movement. Plus I had opinions that contradicted the loudest in the platform, so it would probably be best if I just keep my mouth shut altogether. Most of all, I thought that if I wanted to be a mother, forgo a career, and love a husband from home, I shouldn’t consider myself liberated or enlightened. 

That night set something free in me, though, and I realized that I had been wrong. Feminism is not, and should not, be narrowed down to a select group of political policies, reproductive laws, or who’s doing what with their jobs or their homes. It is more than that. 

Feminism is the belief that women are of equal dignity as men. As worthy of respect as men. Women are valuable, capable, contributing members of society, and should be treated as such.

Today I thank the man who was so absurdly wrong that I now see what is right: I am a feminist, and feminism is good. I have finally seen that this is not the movement I once hid from, but a well-founded belief that women are humans deserving of respectful treatment.

We are not playthings, trophies, or rewards. We are not sheep. 

We deserve the opportunity to serve wherever we please, in whatever capacity we please, and to do so with support. We should feel free to serve in the home, if that is where we’ve found our most authentic selves, but also free to pursue that same whole-hearted living in the classroom, the boardroom, the battlefield or wherever else we walk. We deserve to do so without being cat-called, shunned, or shamed. 

We deserve to engage with this world as whole persons, not divided into half-selves that don’t feel or make mistakes. We do both, and we need our male counterparts to continue letting us in anyway. Not in spite of our differences, but because of them. Without us an entire portion of the human experience is lost.

We are owed equal freedoms and the chance to pursue what is good without the pre-conceived judgement of men who believe they are wiser before they’ve even known us.

And then when they do come to know us, we should be free to embrace our nature, with all the mess and hormones and emotions, as our gift; perhaps this feminine range of experience would make us wiser leaders, not wild ones.

At the very least, no matter what we choose to do, it must be clear that we are more than mere ornaments, and we are not more worthy of respect if we are smaller, more attractive, or more pleasant.

As women, our hearts and minds and souls are as wide as the sky, as diverse as the earth, and we are all good.

Thank God for that.