Deconstructing Faith

 

For over fifteen years

I wholeheartedly and unapologetically

Devoted my life to empowering women, 

Especially young women, 

On their faith journeys.

I worked with an organization whose primary focus is women

And how women can use their lives to serve others on mission.

I lived, breathed, and dreamed my work with the organization 

And I believed in it so much that I chose to ignore a blaring truth:

The organization’s primary ministry partner 

Ultimately does not support women. 

 

I believed that the good outweighed the bad. 

I believed that women needed a challenging yet encouraging voice of support from within. 

I believed that I could stand in the middle between conservative and liberal beliefs. 

I believed that I could make a difference. 

And I did.

I know that. 

 

But I have come to realize that the biggest difference that was made

Was not me on the system,

But the system on me.

 

After years and years and years

Of overtly and covertly hearing and seeing

That women are inferior to men,

That women can serve in churches but not be the pastor,

That women must be submissive to their husbands no matter the cost,

That Christians should hate the sin but love the sinner,

That other religions are bad and wrong,

That Christianity is a conquest, 

That we will one day be held accountable for the souls we saved, 

That humankind is wretched and depraved and that we are nothing save for the blood of Jesus Christ,

I realized that there had to be more to the narrative. 

 

I realized that the extremely damning and negative view I had of myself 

Was suffocating and causing me to live in fear and shame and resentment.

And that’s not how I believed God wanted 

me to live.

 

Deconstructing faith is hard. 

Naming the beliefs that have influenced us, and realizing that they no longer jive with who we have become is challenging. 

This is the questioning stage of faith, 

When faith becomes our own, 

And when we no longer simply associate with the groups that have formed us. 

 

For all those years,

I did my best with the information and experience that I had.

But when the system is trying to control you and hold power over you

Through micro aggressions masked as morals and absolute truth

It’s hard to know that you need to break free.

 

May we all break free from the chains that bind 

And the deep rooted systems that try to tell us that we are less than because of 

Gender, race, sexual orientation, nationality, socioeconomic status, education level, or anything else that does not fit the 1950’s American dream. 

 

God is so much bigger than we make God

And God‘s love is so much deeper than we can comprehend.

May we learn to empower others with that love and 

May we be exactly who God made us to be—

Without a glass ceiling of limits.

 

Amen.

Holding the Faith

 

I spent a lot of time in the chapel when I was at Meredith.

From worship services to meetings to handbell practices,

I was there quite a bit.

I loved looking at the cross made by the organ pipes

And I felt safe in the quiet of her sacred space.

 

Neither of those things has changed.

 

I visited the chapel twice yesterday,

And I sat in her space for over four hours.

 

In the morning,

I had the privilege of leading a little choir of three

As they sang the anthem during the Meredith alumnae worship service.

I heard a moving Pentecost sermon that reminded me of the importance of breath,

Of the sigh,

And that helped me reframe my many sighs of late not as points of worry or consternation but

As prayers too deep for words.

I was challenged to “be a breath of fresh air in a suffocating world,”

And I was reminded that sometimes

It is the people who love us who hold faith for us when we can’t.

 

In the afternoon,

I had the honor of listening to Amelia-The-Niece

Sing with her girls choir.

My heart almost burst with pride as she sang two solos,

And my eyes were moved to tears as the group surrounded the audience and sang,

“Even when the dark comes crashing through
When you need a friend to carry you
And when you're broken on the ground
You will be found.”

It was a powerful performance,

And a great reminder that sometimes

It is the people who love us who hold faith for us and carry us through.

 

These days, heartache is palpable.

Complicated grief.

Childhood and religious trauma.

Abuse and neglect.

Broken relationships.

Struggling to make ends meet.

Not feeling loved or important.

Not feeling seen.

Living in fear.

 

Whatever the hurt,

It is there in all of us,

And it is real,

And it requires safety and light and breath

To make it through.

 

We may not all be able to sit in a literal safe space

Like I had the privilege of doing over the weekend.

 

So in its stead,

May each of us,

As best as we can,

Be that safe space for one another,

Holding faith,

And carrying one another through

With sighs and prayers and groans too deep for words.

 

May each of us,

Truly,

Breathe life into this dying world.

 

Amen.

Labor Trafficking

When I worked in vocational ministry over a decade ago,

One of my areas of focus was human exploitation.

My job was to teach people about the subject and

To equip church members and organizational leaders from across the state to do the same.

During those years, I was very mindful of

How my actions affected the environment (land exploitation),

How media was using its power to influence society (media exploitation), and

How products were harvested, made, distributed, or sourced (labor trafficking).

I was involved in boycotts and petition campaigns and

I had my own compost bin in the backyard of the apartment that I was renting.

While years have passed and my mindfulness has faded a bit,

The lessons I learned during those years are still with me.

When I can, I still do my part,

And I when I can’t, I feel guilty…

 

Which leads me to the guilt I recently felt when I realized that a company I had purchased from most likely uses child labor and is involved in questionable ethical practices.

 

I didn’t know.

If I had known, then I would have steered clear of the deals that sucked me in.

And boy did they suck me in!

After I’d ordered so many things—

For myself, for friends, for school, for home—

And spent way more money than I should

On deals that seemed too good to be true,

A friend said,

“If it seems to good to be true, then it probably is.”

 

That statement both humbled me and brought me back to reality.

 

I should have known.

I should have known that such deals come at a price—

And the price is human lives.

It is forcing underage children to work in sweatshops.

It is not paying workers a fair wage for working in unsafe, inhumane conditions.

It is promising workers one thing but not living into that promise.

It is taking immigration documents and holding persons hostage.

It is labor trafficking.

 

God: Help us to be mindful of the things we purchase and the ways our actions affect people we will never meet. We are all part of a broken system much bigger than ourselves. Help us, however small and insignificant we may feel, to do our part to heal it. Amen.

Bearing Witness

 

Eleven years ago,

On a Wednesday night,

In a hospital room at Wake Med,

I unofficially officiated my first wedding.

The bride-to-be’s mom had had a massive stroke the Sunday before and was on life support.

She was not going to recover.

The family had made the decision to take her off life support that night,

But before they did,

The couple wanted to be married so that the bride’s mom could be there.

I took my guitar and my Book of Common Prayer to the small little room in ICU.

Standing at the foot of the mother’s bed,

I sang a song,

Guided the couple through their vows,

And pronounced them husband and wife.

There were tears:

My tears, the family’s tears, the nurses’ tears.

It was a beautiful moment,

And it was so very real…

Even though there was no license and no way to declare the ceremony legally binding.

 

Yesterday,

On Palm Sunday,

At a beautiful outdoor venue with the sun shining down,

I officiated another wedding.

The couple was having a hard time finding an officiant,

So a friend recommended me.

I exchanged e-mails with the bride-to-be a handful of times.

I sent a copy of the ceremony for approval.

I met the bride and the groom at the rehearsal on Friday.

I showed up for the wedding yesterday,

Held the groom’s ring on my pointer finger and the bride’s ring on the tip of my pinky finger,

Guided the couple through their vows, and

Pronounced them husband and wife.

There were claps and smiles and tears all around.

It was a beautiful moment.

And it was so very real…

Right down to the signing of the marriage certificate that made everything legally binding.

 

As a Reverend Music Teacher,

Ordained into the gospel ministry

But living out my call in the public schools,

I have the privilege of bearing witness to a lot of life’s beautifully, vulnerable moments.

From the classroom to performances to weddings to funerals,

When families look at me and say, “Thank you,”

I get to respond truthfully, “It was my honor to be here.”

And it IS an honor

To get to walk alongside persons on their journeys

And to represent the presence of God in real and tangible ways.

 

Dear God: Help each of us, in the ways we are gifted, to walk alongside others and to represent You in real and tangible ways. Help us to show up for one another and to do the work of Love…legally binding or not. Amen.

Despite It All

I am a preacher’s kid, so my dad was my pastor growing up.

He has supported women in ministry for my whole life,

So it didn’t occur to me until I was much older that there were people who didn’t support me,

A woman in ministry.

 

One time many years ago,

I had a pastor exasperated that I spoke from the pulpit.

He wanted me to say nothing.

The next time we led worship together,

I did as he requested,

And he was thrilled.

He even patted me on the head,

Grinning,

And told me what a great job I had done leading worship.

I hadn’t led worship.

I had been a puppet, announcing hymn numbers, and waving my arms.

To this day,

I have a visceral reaction when I hear that pastor’s voice and think about the condescending nature of his actions.

I feel sick.

And the pain from those few experiences comes right back to the surface.

 

Clearly, in his mind,

And in the minds of many others’,

Maybe even you,

I am less than because I am a woman.

 

I know the scriptural arguments against women in ministry.

I know the scriptural arguments in support of women in ministry.

I know denominational beliefs and

I know that we don’t all have to feel the same way.

 

I also know that damning or demeaning someone’s understanding and experience of God and God’s call on their life creates religious trauma that lingers for years and years and leaves many people wondering why they stick with the church at all.

 

Why stick with a Church that puts you down, tries to silence you, and does everything it can to tell you you’re less than?

 

I know many people who haven’t.

I know many people who have given up going to church because they are never good enough,

Even with the Christ they profess but who they hear is constantly upset with them for falling short.

 

After awhile,

After being told that you are bad, and wrong, and a depraved sinner,

And in the case of women,

Less than man because you ate the fruit of the apple,

It gets kind of hard to want to keep going.

It gets kind of hard to want to follow the Jesus who opened his table to all,

When the table is closed to you because of who you are.

 

Religious trauma is no joke.

It is real.

It runs deep.

And it pushes people away from a God who deemed Godself Love,

And who inspired the scriptures to say that, “There is neither Jew or Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ.”

 

Oh God: Help the Church, Your Body, to stop the self-harm and to do better. And God? Help us to heal. Despite it all, I love you so much. So very, very much. Amen.

Ministry-Sized Hole

 If you’ve known me for awhile,

Then you know that I am an ordained Baptist minister

Who once thought herself called to full-time vocational ministry.

 

I have two graduate degrees:

A Master of Divinity in Christian Education and a Master of School Administration.

If I were to get another degree, I would most likely pursue a Doctorate of Ministry,

But unfortunately, I haven’t found a program compatible with my life as a public-school music teacher because

I’m technically not “in the ministry,” and

My schedule is not set up for day-time school.

 

Yet there is a constant yearning—

A ministry-sized hole that longs to be filled.

I often wonder what I’m doing with my life,

Spending my days with snotty-nosed kids who don’t know how to tie their shoes or

Stinky kids who haven’t yet figured out that they need deodorant.

I often hear echoes of voices telling me that I’m “wasting my gifts” and that

I could be “doing so much more.”

 

…

 

I didn’t want to go to church yesterday.

Sometimes, when church is over 30 minutes away,

One just doesn’t feel like making the drive.

But I did.

And the Holy Spirit completely, totally, 100% unexpectedly showed up and poured certainty into my ministry-sized hole.

 

Pastor Ann’s sermon was not about vocational call.

She spoke about that a few weeks ago.

I was moved by the notion that all vocations are called to share the love and grace of Jesus Christ.

But even then, the ministry-sized hole gaped open.

 

Then yesterday, while preaching a sermon about “The Good Life,”

Pastor Ann briefly mentioned something about ministering to children.

Tears formed in my eyes.

I quickly pulled myself together, though, because the statement was passing and not the focus of her sermon.

A few minutes later, in total context of what she was preaching, Pastor Ann asked how we would feel if Jesus looked at us, like he did Peter, and said, “Get behind me Satan.”

Tears swelled in my eyes as my gut reacted to the statement and

I knew that I never wanted to hear Jesus say those words to me.

Then, as Pastor Ann was ending her sermon, she once again mentioned something about children,

And at that point I couldn’t contain the tears.

They rolled down my face.

I was hearing the words I never wanted to hear yet they were revolutionizing my life:

Get behind me voices telling me that I’m wasting my life.

Get behind me voices telling me I could be doing so much more.

Get behind me Satan.

 

I, Deanna Deaton, am called to be a public-school music teacher for such a time as this.

And there is nothing more important that I could be doing.

 

God has a way of moving when we least expect it.

God has a way of planting us exactly where we need to be.

God has a way of commanding evil to get behind the cross.

And God has a way of speaking fullness into the gaping holes of our hearts...

 

Amen.