Through the 2009 “Unspoken” recording, the artist formerly known as TON3X stimulated repressed conversation about longstanding peculiar narratives within Christian rituals. On the track “Sneeze,” in particular, TON3X explores the queer, homoerotic, and questionable nature of biblical rituals. The song is loosely based upon two similar Hebrew bible resurrection accounts involving the prophet Elijah (1 Kings 17:17-24) and the prophet Elisha (2 Kings 4). In both narratives, the prophets were approached by a mother to resurrect their son. In 1 Kings 17:17-24, he took the boy to his chamber and stretched himself over the boy three times, while asking God to let the boy live. The boy sneezed three times and was resurrected. According to the 2 Kings account, Elijah’s successor Elisha went into the room with the child already lying on the bed, closed the door, the parents left them alone, Elisha prayed, and laid on the child. Unlike the biblical text, TON3X allows the boy to testify about his peculiar healing. “You see the prophet laid on top of me. He said that I should live and not die that’s why I sneeze.” In the biblical narrative, the boys’ parents do not critique the ostensibly homoerotic manner with which their healing was achieved or the ways in which the boy’s death may have been exchanged for another affliction, such as shame. Essentially, TON3X’s performance provoked Pentecostals to finally talk about concealed homoerotic Christian practices that are difficult to decipher or accept.

Because I was familiar with the aforementioned problematic discourses I was not startled when footage of Bishop Wayne T. Jackson’s controversial consecration went viral in early January 2013. The Detroit Pentecostal organization Impact Ministries International’s ritual revealed a peculiar and –because of the same-gender, intimate nature of it –homoerotic tradition of body-on-body prostration when the bishop laid on top of two prostrated adult male candidates. After the footage went viral, Bishop Jackson and other ministers defended the ritual. One woman bishop characterized it as true consecration pageantry with which other believers should become familiar. It is important to note that during her consecration, she did not participate however in the body-on-body prostration.

While a comparative inter- and intra-denominational liturgical analysis of prostration would be fascinating, it is outside the scope of this post. From a musical standpoint, I found it curious that the popular song “I give myself away” by William McDowell was performed as the consecration soundscape. It is a song of self-sacrifice and surrender to God’s will. In many ways, the musical refrain was the call and cue for Bishop Jackson’s ritual response of literally leaping into laying on top of the men. The congregation and music ministry were positioned, by virtue of their musical call, as complicit in setting the atmosphere and framing of the ritual. Through the collective reiteration of the chorus, it was unclear about whom and in what manner the candidates would “give (themselves) away.”

Discourses about TON3X’s music and Bishop Jackson’s consecration ritual evoke the following questions: Can one’s rituals be instructive about righteous interruption in inappropriate practices? In what ways can ministers develop in their congregants a balance between spirit-led submission and agency through consecration rituals for ministers? In what ways can consecration rituals cultivate an ethic of care and critical thought?

I welcome your thoughts about the ways in which we consider peculiar and intimate rituals within Christian practice.

If the only people in your immediate social group think like you, agree with you, act like you, walk you, talk you, you will find yourself stuck in a circle, and in a cycle of smallness and narrowness that new ideas and revelations of God are just too big to get in. We are often socialized to believe that our world view is not only the right one but the only one. And when our false sense of superiority is shattered, we are left with the daunted task of retrieving the broken pieces and making sense of a new existential experience. This fear of a changing landscape will ultimately minimize ministry motifs that need to emerge to engage the ever evolving demographics. Capturing this idea it was Stanford University anthropologist H. Samy Alim who coined the phrase “demographobia”. Demographobia is the irrational fear of the changing demographics. As the world turns and transforms, a monolithic modality of theological shortsightedness is inadequate.

For religion to remain relevant and to be practically applied in our diverse society, it must be broad enough and inclusive enough to incorporate the “others” as equals within a ministry framework. With intentionality we must seek not to just to proselytize but to partner. We must seek not to just teach but be taught. Our modes of ministry cannot come from one perspective alone but must emerge from a multiplicity of voices that address the cultural, sociological, sexual, racial, economical, and gender issues that make up the complexity of our society.

Rashad D. Grove
State University of New York Graduate Student

Candice M. Benbow is a Master of Divinity student at Duke Divinity School. She is and active blogger and writer. She can be reached on Twitter @CandiceBenbow.

While we encourage our congregations to thank God for creation, we must also become involved in the gratitude. It is through the intentional teaching, preaching, care and advocacy that clergy honors God for creation. If the church desires to remain a transformative force for generations to come, it must get serious about preserving resources. God’s house must care for God’s world.

When Florida Avenue Baptist Church became the first solar powered Black Church, in 2011, the discussion of the role of African-American congregations in environmental issues was revisited. Black churches have historically been at the forefront of calls for social justice and they are now being presented with an opportunity to become even more involved in environmental justice causes.

Earlier this year, author and pastor Dianne Glave issued a clarion call to the African-American religious community to “fall in love with the planet and meet the environmental needs of those who are impoverished.” In her book, Rooted in the Earth: Reclaiming the African American Environmental Heritage, Glave enables Black churches to find their voice in environmental justice and conservation efforts.

As clergy and church leaders, we are faced with environmental challenges every day. We’re asked to pray for someone suffering from a nutrition related illness. We see obesity conquering our congregations. Asthma and other respiratory illnesses are at record highs in urban areas. We cannot escape the impact of the environment on the lives of our parishioners. If we choose to do so, are we failing to preach and teach ways to be good stewards over all of God’s creation?

If 3 John 1:2 is to be made manifest in the lives of the people we lead, then we must lead in innovation. Robust ministries that collaborate with community health agencies in order to defeat diabetes, hypertension and the like are only the beginning. Churches must examine their own ecological footprints to identify where we step too heavily or where we have yet to travel. Do we use too much electricity? Can we cut back on our usage of printed-paper? How do we begin to overcome the shortages of healthy food in our neighborhoods? Have we taken seriously the threat of climate change and encouraged our elected officials to do so the same? These questions and more must be answered if the church is to become a critically engaging voice for those who do not have one.

While we encourage our congregations to thank God for creation, we must also become involved in the gratitude. It is through the intentional teaching, preaching, care and advocacy that clergy honors God for creation. If the church desires to remain a transformative force for generations to come, it must get serious about preserving resources. God’s house must care for God’s world.

            Alas, the many months leading to our elections gravely affirms there are two nations under God. Both divided, legalistically bound, and unclear (perhaps, intentionally) about God’s true meaning of justice. The schism is due not only to political ideologies, religious beliefs, worldviews, economic conditions, gender, race, age, geography, and historical experience, but in its failure to care for the most vulnerable amongst us and love one another. The manifestation of our divided hearts is well articulated through the words of political aspirants, their supporters, church leadership in the pulpits and across the television screen, in sanctuary pews, and in the deepest closet prayer.

          We find Biblical parallel with the minor prophet, Amos. In the 8th century B.C., Amos lived in the complexity of two nations under God: the Northern Kingdom of Israel and the Southern Kingdom of Judah. Israel was entrenched in a deep socioeconomic divide, an ancient 99% movement without progress and media spin. The wealthy lived in luxury and extravagance, lavishly decorated homes and appearance, unfair business practices, corrupt and brutally negligent to the needs of the poor. Does it sound familiar?

            God was not pleased and His judgment brewed. Outwardly religious, the Israelites condoned by word and deed dishonest, immoral, and oppressive means to preserve their milieu. Their inner man (heart) truly did not know God and sought not His known character. Amos’ reprimand to find God’s mercy and personal and national course correction applies to us. “Seek good and not evil— and live! You talk about God, the God-of-the-Angel-Armies, being your best friend. Well, live like it, and maybe it will happen. Hate evil and love good, then work it out in the public square. Maybe God, the God-of-the-Angel-Armies, will notice your remnant and be gracious.” (Amos 5:14-15, the Message).

           How do we heal our deeply divided nation? Brother and sister, we must seek forgiveness for dividing that which God made one. “Every kingdom that is divided against itself is brought to desolation, and every city or house divided against itself shall not stand.” (Matt. 12:25; Mark 3:24-25, and Luke 11:17). Most troubling, this “kingdom”, city and house is occupied by those who profess a doctrinal understanding of the faith,  relationship with the Savior, Jesus the Christ and call themselves, Christians. A nation is built upon communities. Individuals, like you and me, form the foundation of the latter. Sincerely, we must repent for our separation from Him and our sins of omission and commission against Him…and others. Harken back to Paul’s remarks to the Colossians, in this reconciliation with God and in bearing with each other and forgiving one another as the Lord forgave, we will be bound together in perfect unity. We heal our divided hearts. Then, only then, we can stand as one before God.

Stephanie Thomas is the founder of iPolitics365,LLC (www.ipolitics365.com). Stephanie endeavors to further the scope of faith, public affairs and social justice and impact the 21st Century mission field

On September 10, 2012, the Washington Post published an article asking whether political conventions have outlived their usefulness with opinions from politicians and strategists in both parties.  In the last week of August, thousands of Republican delegates inundated Tampa to attend their convention.  They heard countless speeches that trumpeted the virtues of their party agenda, lambasted the other party’s failures, and valorized their presidential candidate, former Massachusetts governor Mitt Romney (although Governor Chris Christie spent most of the keynote address talking about himself).  A week later, a different but no less passionate band of Democratic delegates met in Charlotte to do the same.  And in addition to the tens of thousands in attendance, over twenty million Americans watched each night of the conventions on their television sets.  On Wednesday, September 7, former President Bill Clinton’s speech at the Democratic National Convention drew more viewers than the inaugural pro football game between the Dallas Cowboys and the New York Giants!   Despite their contrasting political ideologies, the one thing both conventions celebrated was the greatness of the American nation.  Yet, a number of pundits and politicians are questioning whether conventions are even worth having.  They charge that conventions are expensive productions that neither inform nor persuade undecided voters and accomplish little more than stoking the already inflamed passions of the rabid (and too often ribald) party faithful. 

Though political and not explicitly religious in nature, political conventions have much in common with Protestant revivals throughout U.S. history.  Both employ charismatic speakers delivering resounding messages to fervent listeners.  In the eighteenth century, a barnstorming Anglican cleric, George Whitefield, earned the nickname, “the Divine Dramatist,” for his popular preaching tours up and down the American colonies.  Not unlike Senator Marco Rubio in Tampa and Mayor Julian Chavez in Charlotte, Whitefield mesmerized large crowds with his powerful oratory.  But whereas Rubio and Chavez spoke of the efficacy of certain government policies, Whitefield vividly depicted scriptural teachings like the parental love of God and the eternal torments of hell.  Apparently, he could even reduce an audience to tears by the way he said “Mesopotamia.”  In the nineteenth century, famed revivalist Charles Grandison Finney introduced the “anxious seat” at his meetings, in which those who had not converted to Christianity sat at a specially marked bench near the preacher.  Imagine if political conventions employed the anxious seat for undecided voters such that one would see “Tammy the Teacher” or “Robby the Receptionist” placed next to Congressman Paul Ryan or Vice President Joe Biden while they spoke.  In the twentieth century, evangelists like Aimee Semple McPherson and Billy Graham transformed their religious revivals into elaborately staged productions that targeted physical audiences in large arenas and remote audiences via radio and television.  And just as the Republicans discovered with Clint Eastwood and his chair, revivalists sometimes found that the converts they invited to give public testimonies deflated audiences with either bland testimonials or incoherent ramblings. 

In his essay on religion as a cultural system, anthropologist Clifford Geertz defined religion as a (1) system of symbols which acts to (2) establish powerful, pervasive, and long-lasting moods and motivations in men by (3) formulating conceptions of a general order of existence and (4) clothing these conceptions with such an aura of factuality that (5) the moods and motivations seem uniquely realistic.  Both political conventions and Protestant revivals have utilized symbols, such as the ubiquitous American flag in Tampa and Charlotte or the anxious seat at Finney’s revivals, and sermonic appeals to generate in people the kinds of moods and motivations Geertz theorized about in his landmark essay.   But Protestant revivalists, even (or perhaps especially) the most illustrious ones, have been sharply criticized for encouraging shallow converts who display overwrought emotions but have little understanding of basic religious doctrine and less concern for the larger social problems ailing the nation.  At the height of Billy Graham’s popularity in the 1950s and 1960s, Reinhold Niebuhr (President Barack Obama’s favorite theologian) thought Billy Graham’s sermons presented a far too simplistic message in their increasingly complex age.  American church historian Grant Wacker has noted how Niebuhr charged Graham for using his ever-expanding pulpit to persuade Christians to give up peccadillos like smoking and cussing overnight, but failed to address the racial problems engulfing the nation.  After both conventions, a columnist from the Washington Post criticized the spouses of both presidential candidates for trivializing the real struggles of the American poor with their pithy stories of eating pasta and tuna fish, using an ironing board as a dining-room table, and driving old rusty cars.  Other pundits have criticized the presidential candidates for delivering convention speeches long on flowery promises and short on governing specifics.  Answering the question about whether political conventions have outlived their usefulness, Dan Schnur, director of the University of Southern California’s Unruh Institute of Politics, believes that most of the country has stopped paying attention to them because “hearing one side of a two-way argument over the course of a week is largely unsatisfying for the media and for voters.”  On the other hand, Donald Trump contends that political conventions remain an important tool for people to learn about both party platforms and offer “a celebratory platform for our political heritage.”  Just as political conventions and Protestant revivals will surely continue in America, the debates over their value and persuasiveness will also persist among pundits, theologians, and laypeople alike.  

Historically, attempts at ecumenical and interreligious dialogue have focused on finding common ground, shared beliefs, or analogous practices as ways of bridging the divide between communities that have found themselves in conflict with, or at best suspicious of, each other. These meetings often conclude with trite affirmations of sameness or claims that “all religions teach peace” or “each tradition is a different path up the same mountain.” In doing so the assumed solution to conflict is the promotion of generic sameness. This is not unlike well-intentioned attempts at “color-blindness” in American social life that often hinder more than help in overcoming the negative legacy of racism in the United States.

In contrast to this approach, scholars and practitioners have begun to emphasize the uniqueness of religious communities as a resource for mutual learning and social transformation. In its own way, the Christian Scholars’ Conference is an exemplar of this approach to dialogue and learning.  A conference born out of the Churches of Christ, a historically insular and sometimes sectarian Christian fellowship, the conference intentionally reaches out to “outsiders” while remaining palpably “Church of Christ” in ethos and the subject matter of a significant number of sessions.

One helpful example of learning across traditions and institutions at the conference was a session, of which I was a part, in which Reformed Church of America-affiliated New Brunswick Theological Seminary’s Anti-Racism Transformation Team initiative was discussed as an example of an institutional way to address racism at Christian institutions of higher education. Another example of such dialogue was a session that occurred in a prison in Nashville, Riverbend Maximum Security Institution, in which a chaplain and residents of Riverbend discussed the possibilities of reconciliation in the context of prison. Finally, a third example of learning across boundaries occurred in a session about Lee Camp’s book Who Is My Enemy? Questions American Christians Must Face about Islam—and Themselves. In this session Christian ethicists and Muslim scholars reflected on Camp’s argument about the different ethics of Jesus Christ and Prophet Muhammad. Perhaps surprisingly, one Muslim scholar said that Camp’s book taught him more about his own faith. In these and many other sessions, the CSC embodied the kind of dialogue that both embraces the uniqueness and independence of traditions and institutions while opening up the kind of hospitable space in which true learning can happen across differences.

The conference is held each summer at one of two Church of Christ-affiliated universities: Lipscomb University in Nashville, TN or Pepperdine University in Malibu, CA. The theme of the conference changes annually. Last year’s theme was “The Path of Discovery: Science, Theology, and the Adademy,” and the theme for this year’s conference was “Reconciliation: At the Intersection of Scholarship and Practice.” The plenary speakers of this year’s conference, showcasing the interdisciplinary nature of the conference, included a theologian, a lawyer and mediator, and a genocide survivor. The highlight of the conference for many was the ceremony in which Fred Gray, lawyer to Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King Jr. and a life-long member of the Churches of Christ, was awarded an honorary doctorate from Lipscomb University, a school he once filed a lawsuit against in protest of the closing of the African-American school Nashville Christian Institute and the transfer of its funds to Lipscomb. Thus, the CSC, at least for one moment and in a symbolic way, embodied the conference theme. Those intrigued by such experiences would do well to attend the conference in the future.

From a Christian perspective, death, in a grammatical sense, is not a period but a comma. It is not the culmination of one’s life but a transitory event. Pop culture, conversely, wrestles with the notion of death, particularly its finality, especially when considering the death of one of its heroes. Mortals always seek to transcend and transgress the certain and permanent grip of death.

At the 2012 Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival, Dr. Dre and Snoop Dog resurrected slain pop culture and hip hop legend, Tupac Shakur, to perform live onstage (as a hologram or something like it) for a surprised and captivated audience (see the performance here). Tupac is a hero whose death caused millions to think about death and the traumatic interruption of creative genius. I, like many others, often think about the limitless possibilities Tupac had yet to explore. After his murder fifteen years ago, there were (and still are) people who did not believe he had died. Now, technology allows people to frame their own history and contemporary interpretation of the legendary hip hop artist. The popularity of this supposedly singular event, coupled with plans for a similar “resurrection” of the King of Rock and Roll, Elvis Pressley, only further enhance this issue.

The use of holograms to re-imagine and canonize our dead heroes demonstrates our desire to frame history. We are able to remember the figure in ways that are suitable and profitable to the marketplace. This frozen projection of a figure may help some connect to a figure with whom they were unfamiliar, but it may also truncate the figure’s complex legacy or decontextualize that person, potentially leading to an artistic misinterpretation.

Our desire to redefine the powers of death and use technology to equalize the natural attrition of cultural memory places us in interesting territory. Humans have always longed for immortality, whether it be in this life or the next. Perhaps we can conceive of the creation of these incorporeal holograms as an attempt to condense the past and present into an eternal now in which our favorite artists provide  soundtracks and live performances for our embodied struggles.

Global mission is definitely something special for many Korean Christians. There are currently about 20,000 overseas Korean missionaries working in 170 different countries. They engage in a wide spectrum of mission work that ranges from church planting to aid and development operation. Recently, my field research related to Christian mission took me to Panama where I met a Korean missionary who has been involved in a unique mission – working with homeless people. As I arrived at Tocumen International Airport in Panama City, a middle-aged Korean man in a clean black suit came up to me and greeted me with a big smile. This was my first time meeting Daniel Wong-Sup Woo, who is a part of Korean Presbyterian Global Mission Society. Also, his mission has been partly supported by Korea Food for the Hungry International (KFHI) – a Korean aid and development organization that I have served as an international operations advisor. A mutual friend of ours from KFHI introduced us to each other.

As a devout Presbyterian, Woo has always been passionate about international mission. He hopes to spread the gospel of Jesus Christ both through word and deed. Woo currently works with homeless people and underprivileged children in a town called David, about a seven-hour drive from Panama City. In this area, locals call the poor “indigente” or “indijena,” both of which have derogatory connotations. Woo has spent the past seven years in Panama serving as missionary along with his Peruvian wife Sherly. Before Panama, he had lived in Lima, Peru again as missionary. Unfortunately, his ten-year long service in Peru ended abruptly following the tragic loss of his only son. After this insurmountable loss, Woo desperately searched for meaning in life. His long discernment and grief eventually gave him a new calling, which is to serve “the least of these.” In a way, his own experience of loss and grief helped him become more compassionate about the loss of others. Initially, Woo was involved with church planting and ministry for children. But after noticing a need for the destitute and homeless in the area, he decided to focus his ministry on helping them. Sadly though, most regular church members stopped coming to the church after Woo decided to have a joint service with the homeless people. He shared with me that the lack of support has disheartened him a great deal. Despite all the challenges, his mission for the poor continues.

“The field” gives me a valuable opportunity to put missiological concepts into context. For example, the mission of Woo demonstrates one of the ways in which a kenotic – emptying oneself in light of the ministry of Jesus Christ – mission can be actualized. On the one hand, some missiologists might find Woo’s mission self-sacrificial and admirable in the sense that he stands with the poor by tending to their physical and spiritual needs. On the other hand, however, others would criticize Woo’s lack of interest in political and structural injustice issues in Panama. Whichever position one takes, missiology, the theological and critical reflection about mission, cannot be separated from mission practices in various fields.

In May I attended an international interdisciplinary symposium focused on ethnic conflict, sponsored by Sabanci University. Sabanci is a new university in Turkey, and though located outside Istanbul, the attendees were hosted in a small center owned by Sabanci in the Karakoy section of the city. The symposium’s location was well chosen on the land bridge connecting Southwestern Asia and Southeastern Europe, an area of the world that has seen its fair share of some of the world’s most deadly ethnic conflicts and genocides. We met in the shadow of Galata Tower, the old Genoese fortress that overlooks the Golden Horn and the Ottoman imperial palace, a reminder of a time when Istanbul was itself a contested city familiar with war and subjugation. The conference papers were of high quality, and everyone I met was eager to collaborate. We were all drawn there by the chance to present our research to scholars from around Europe, to make new contacts, and perhaps find a spot in a book the conference organizers promised to make from the presenters’ papers.

For a doctoral student from the United States such as myself, this was a great opportunity to find out how my colleagues in Europe, and one from Africa, approached the study of ethnic conflict, yet I came away with an even stronger sense of how cut off we still remain. After nearly two centuries of social scientific work, we still approach such important topics as ethnic violence from within our own disciplines, and even within our own countries and regions. Ethnic conflict often involves religion, yet religious studies was not represented. The experience of genocide and ethnic cleansing is profoundly moral, however moral philosophers and ethicists, even those with a social scientific bent, were not represented. There was only one historian in attendance that I was aware of, and he too was saddened at the lack of historians. Most of the participants were, to gauge the conference papers, from political science. What does this say of the state of international academic cooperation when a single discipline dominates an interdisciplinary conference, located in an ancient city situated between two continents where at least a score of civilizations have traversed?

I do not want to fault the conference organizers. This is a systemic issue. Yet how do we move forward in constructive ways that are truly interdisciplinary and transnational? This is an important question, for without including diverse approaches and perspectives, how else can we be sure that our methods and conclusions do not overly mirror our own social locations and cultural biases? As I watched the presentations, I noticed that, for example, the Turkish scholars studied European countries with Turkish immigrants, and those from former colonial powers studied societies that their home countries had once ruled. In such an international setting, it seems crucial to reflect on how our histories, such as colonialism and empire, still drive what we research.

This is an issue that will remain but one that needs more attention. Perhaps the third symposium at Sabanci can be a reflection on interdisciplinarity, or lack there of, in the study of ethnic conflict? We are human, after all, bringing our histories and assumptions with us. And we all need more assistance from our colleagues to help each of us become more aware of our biases, as well as aid one another in addressing these issues.

On June 4^th, the Vatican censured Sister Margaret A. Farley, because, according to the church hierarchy, her books are out of step with official church teaching on human sexuality. On April 18^th, the Vatican’s Congregation for the Doctrine of Faith issued a report declaring that the Leadership Conference of Women Religious (the LCWR), an umbrella group representing eighty percent of American nuns had strayed from church doctrine and adopted “radical feminist themes.” The announcement also accused the LCWR’s leaders of focusing too much on poverty and economic injustice while keeping “silent” on abortion, euthanasia, and same-sex marriage. Last year, U.S. Catholic bishops rebuked another nun and theologian, Sister Elizabeth Johnson, accusing her writings of misrepresenting the reality of God within traditional Catholic understanding.

Although the Vatican is denying a connection between these series of reprimands against American nuns, it seems obvious that the church hierarchy feels very uncomfortable about the nuns’ leadership and the impact that they would make on the church now and in the future. Admittedly, there is nothing new about the church’s fear of women. Throughout history, the church has struggled to keep women under control. Particularly, when women gathered together to form a community, whether monastic or secular, male church leaders went to scrutinize them and implement intervention in their works. The tragedy is that the Vatican is completely consistent with its two thousand years of misogynist history and calls it “the tradition,” while naming the sisters’ works being “strayed from” the tradition. The Vatican is ignoring the importance of dialogue, which is one of the critical theological methods favored and enriched by many doctors of the church.

As a Roman Catholic convert, I have been asked many times why I became a Catholic. I sense that the real curiosity behind that question is ‘why have you, as a feminist, submitted yourself to an archaic, patriarchal hierarchy.’ My answer has been always the same: I did not come to the church to be part of that ugly side. I came to the church to be part of its strong female bonds and the community built by great women leaders throughout history—such as, to name just a few, Catherine of Siena, who courageously challenged the church leaders to accept the authentic teaching of the gospel; the Beguines, who deeply influenced the lives of lay Christians with their faithful commitment to the body of Christ in and outside of the institutional church; Teresa of Avila, who is remembered both for her reform movement and for her life of contemplative prayer; Dorothy Day, who tirelessly worked for the poor and fought against war and violence; and most of all, the nuns, who give me a living connection to these great women leaders by their humble work in schools, charities, prisons, and impoverished neighborhoods. For me, the women have been and are the heart of the church tradition and the very reason I joined Catholicism. The Vatican fails to recognize great theological richness constituted by its own tradition. If the church tries to cut such a noble part of tradition and keep women’s voices under control, the tradition will remain only defective and aggrandize its ugly side which is already overwhelmingly judgmental, overprotective, unfriendly, and exclusive towards differing views. And so, I ask church leaders, “Why do you not appreciate your own tradition?”