In the beginning…

I’m 34 years old. When I was 29, I was ordained as a priest in the Episcopal Church. I’m a woman.

I love God so much. I love God so much it makes me cringe to write that sentence. Not necessarily because people will read that sentence and think, “Wow, that’s shallow.” (I wouldn’t blame you if you did.) But because of the limits of my ability to make that statement any better. (Maybe one of these days I’ll have the talent of C.S. Lewis or Madeleine L’Engle or Dante to say much with few words.)

Madeleine L’Engle. Author. Episcopalian. Bad ass.

Yet as much as I may love God, I know it is a wee sliver of light reflected from the cosmic uncreated Light that God loves us, and even me, with, first. And as long as I can remember, I have felt that unconditional love. In the best of times, in the worst of times.

And as long as I can remember, I have found God in the Church. Not in every church, but in the Church (Universal). In this big old group of ungainly people, even unseemly people. And yes, I have also seen “the enemy” at work in churches. And in the Church. (Jeezy creezy, the Church is not God — it’s an institution with a foot in the created realm and a foot in the eternal, ergo it’s fallible (a concept members of the Anglican Communion are okay with — see article #XIX of the 39 Articles on page 871 of the Book of Common Prayer).)

Christine de Pizan, the medieval literary bad ass who turned up in a Google search of “women in the scriptorium,” along with five other similar images and three images of lovers making out.

My first church was American Baptist; then Southern Baptist; then Episcopal beginning age 12 and from there on out: I put my hand to the plow and didn’t look back. I’m a millennial, I know my scripture, I can pray extemporaneously and from the BCP, I sing boldly, I’m a feminist (cuz wasn’t Jesus?) and I love me some theology, science & social justice, lower-case-O orthodoxy and ancient Benedictine traditions (What, you didn’t know that the BCP is Benedictine? It is.) I am a member of the Protestant Episcopal Church and I appreciate how those two adjectives check and balance each other nicely.

The Son of God is the Logos and the Logos became incarnate to say some shit; God also made lots of different creatures and lots of different kinds of humans, all who are able to reflect God’s glory in some way. So it matters for God’s diverse creatures to pipe up. Imma gonna Login and let the Holy Spirit do its thang.

What’s cooler than a nun in the scriptorium with an angel clothed in the red of the Holy Spirit whispering into her ear?

P.S. I realize that the last paragraph may have been a bit subtle, so to be explicit: I’ll be writing here about my thoughts and experiences of God, the Church and the World, viewed through the lens of an unapologetic Episcopal woman.

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