Me Too - a response

(From my beloved, Terry Butler)

A long time ago, when I was in my late teens, I hit my girlfriend. It was done in a moment of grief, anger, and high emotion. She was having an emotional meltdown due to factors that had nothing to do with me. In my naivety, I tried to calm her, but being a clumsy teenager, what I said did not help an already volatile situation. She lashed out, hitting me quite hard in the face. I was shocked, not so much by the pain, but that someone would hit me. She hit me again, even harder, on the side of my head, giving me terrible pain to my ear. I was really stunned and now in pain. When she tried to hit me again I slapped her on the face. The slap shocked her into stopping her tirade of abuse, which in hindsight I realised was not really directed at me. It took a much wiser head to explain that to me a few days later. However, I was stunned at my own behaviour.

My brother and I were fortunate growing up. Our Dad instilled in us a good understanding of right and wrong, especially when it came to how you treat the opposite sex. He told us that any man who hit a woman is not real a man at all, rather a coward would be more appropriate. There were many other great bits of wisdom from him, and mum as well, but that was a real deal breaker in his eyes when measuring the worth of someone.

For days after the slap, I was racked with guilt. I was not trying to justify my actions to myself, and I’m certainly not trying to do that now. This is just an explanation of what happened. Eventually, I had to tell dad, mainly because I couldn’t bear to look him in the eye while carrying around the horrible thing that I’d done. So, when I told him, he asked me a lot of questions about the circumstances that drove me to the slap. Some of which were; Was she still talking to me? Yes. Do you still care about her? Yes. Would you do it again? No!

The important part of this story, for me, was how I felt when I did it. I didn’t feel powerful. I didn’t feel manly. I didn’t feel strong. I felt mortified.  I had apologised profusely to my girlfriend, and she said she forgave me, and laughingly apologised for beating me up and giving me a black ear.

The point is, how do men who inflict physical and sexual violence upon women and girls live with themselves? The recent wave of stories about men in positions of power, raping, groping, abusing, and physically attacking woman, makes me feel ill. How do they sleep at night? How do they look in the mirror, thinking things are ok? What kind of twisted world do they inhabit?

I don’t have to name them, you’ve all read the stories, you know who they are. However, there are lots more. Would they want their sisters treated that way? Or their mothers? Or do they just see women as ‘cock fodder’, another scalp to make them feel more like a man? Well not in my eyes.

I’m bereft of an answer to this disgusting problem and I’m still trying to get my head around the motivations, the justifications, the misremembering, and the denials.

I think men should start being real men and call it out when they see it. Groping, touching up, slapping. These things are not ok. Being with a bunch of mates, having a few drinks, and sexually intimidating women with lewd suggestions and catcalls is not ok. Be a real man and have some respect. We will all be better off. 

- TB

Giving Voice - singing a new song

Psalm 96:1
1 
O sing to the Lord a new song...


When I was a teenager, I loved to sing in the choir. Actually, I just loved to sing, but the choir was a particularly good place to do it. Singing took me away from the mundane and allowed me to glimpse something beyond. You could say, it was spiritual experience. It was available. It was accessible. It allowed my voice to get out of my body.

The Choir at my school was a joy to be a part of... there were several choirs and each held joy for me. Two weeks ago, I attended my 35 year reunion and I was reminded that Choirs (and the friendships made there) were a highlight. The Choirs sang interesting works. Some of them made me think... not just about the words, but about beauty and possibility. The songs helped me to believe in hope and heaven. They also provided my earliest theological fodder.

The school I went to had been shaped by some of the finest Australian feminists: Betty Archdale and Kath McCredie and a raft of brilliant and dedicated teachers... many of whom I still count as friends. They taught, stretched, questioned, cajoled, cared and blessed us by drawing us out. You always get a few dodgy teachers, but, on the whole, they liberated our hearts and minds to embrace the world. Seeing so many fine women thirty-five years later, we are strong and proud.

Last weekend, my voice was questioned and criticized. I was attacked not only for what I say, but also for being a woman saying it. I was shocked and angry. In gradually letting people know about this violation of identity, I have been grateful for the support and empathy of many friends and colleagues. I also have a heightened consciousness about who responds as a friend and who uses their influence and power to combat such behaviour in our society and our particular communities.

(My work, undertaken with a male colleague, was also criticized publicly with allegations of a flawed approach to the use of the Scriptures. This, coming from people who had not read our actual work.  Our publications stand on their own merit and cannot be interpreted in that way. I have previously experienced this same type of criticism from male academics who have seen fit to criticize my work without reading it. When called out, they revert to... ‘well, that is what someone said to me...’)

Many of my friends are in positions of respect and authority. They have the opportunity and capacity to give voice to justice and rebuke those who diminish us. In reality, we all want to speak up for ourselves, but sometimes it is those beyond (allies and companions), whose voices in harmony allow us the liberty of singing out. As a woman, I invite men to speak up. For people who are marginalized (whether it be migrants experiencing racism or people who identify as LGBTIQ who experience homophobia), I encourage ‘others’ to speak up, stand with, and provide harmony. We should not leave people alone in their struggle for inclusion love and acceptance.

So, just to respond to those who have contacted me, in whatever capacity - I will not shut up.

Missyology

Missy-ology

- the study of women responding to God’s mission to the world.

(Thanks to Ian Packer, from whom I first saw the term.)

I am a Missy-ologist.

I celebrate curves and communal instincts. I do not conform to an ordering or power in the world. For women, from Eve onwards, have subverted masculine dominance. It has something to do with breathing... with blowing the hair off your face while breastfeeding, because your hands and arms are busy holding the life of the world in your embrace.

I do not have time for cigars and whisky - leave that to the pontificating whisky-boys. They can enjoy their sessions of measuring the walls in front of them. I long for the creative circle, where generative and gentle conversation involves a sharing of experiences and ideas to try. Such circles prioritize a culture of refinement through encouragement rather than criticism. Rather than hacking off rough edges, as those boys are want to do, the Missies add some sugar and cream, growing the softer and more responsive parts of themselves, to better nurture the Realm of Heaven.

The embrace of Missies is the firm and authoritative encompassing of all the love for all the world. We do not own or control the embrace. Rather, we hold up our tuck-shop arms and join shoulders in acts of knitting the fabric of the fullness of humanity. We are found among Matrons and Maidens. We aspire to be spiritual Nannas.

Celebrate the Missy-ologists you know - hear our breath blowing the hair from your face as we encourage you as you embrace the world God loves.



(PS - the people who drink whisky and play board games are ok...)