Our theme for the month of June is “sex and the church.” To read posts from our first pass at this theme, check out our June 2018 archives.

I’ve got a perfect body, but sometimes I forget. I’ve got a perfect body ‘cause my eyelashes catch my sweat, yes they do.

I am awed by these simple lines in a classic Regina Spektor song because I know how much work it takes to digest and say them with confidence. They redefine what makes a body desirable outside of gaze, ability, economic access, or gender presentation.

I remember the years when those lyrics did not feel true. When Sunday messages instilled that my body belonged to the weaker sex spiritually, emotionally—more prone to be deceived and possessed. With that logic, our ideas and feelings were all too easily dismissed. The extensive rules that took their place only reinforced the idea that women were vessels where God’s work was somehow limited.

Regardless of how much I studied, read, and prayed, I would never be permitted to preach in front of a congregation. (In irritated confusion, I played with different scenarios in my mind: Would it be okay if a man presented a sermon I wrote? Or if I read a man’s devotional word-for-word?)

So I folded myself, and pursued modesty. But even when I was draped to my toes in fabric, I was still warned, “Be careful, don’t be flashy with your appearance.”

I yearned to feel free as me.

But when the year of freedom finally arrived, my excitement was tempered with surprise and frustration at how hard it was to leave an ingrained posture behind, how old fears and shames lodged within my collarbone and under my tongue. I was overwhelmed by how much I didn’t know about my body, how much I did not understand about “right” and “wrong” or what I truly wanted. In this environment of unknowns, what I did know was that each overanalyzed, tearful “first” felt precious to me. The first:

Swimsuit worn with less nervous self-consciousness

Resistance to thinking of my body in competition with others

Messy attempt to paint my nails, even if with neutral colors

Transparent conversations with friends about relationship challenges

Times replying “no” and feeling good about it

Times replying “yes” and feeling good about it

Embraces of a compliment with delight

Pauses at an ache and strain to listen and ask what my body is telling me

Each “first” helps me understand what my body means to me and affirms my agency on a distinct path, at my pace. They even connect me with other women, whose firsts continue to expand my world. Together, we bask in the words of poet Lucille Clifton,

won’t you celebrate with me
what i have shaped into
a kind of life? i had no model.
born in babylon
both nonwhite and woman
what did i see to be except myself?
i made it up
here on this bridge between
starshine and clay,
my one hand holding tight
my other hand; come celebrate
with me that everyday
something has tried to kill me
and has failed.

Before they become afterthoughts, remember your firsts and seconds and hundredths… and give thanks.

1 Comment

  1. Alex Johnson

    I absolutely love that poem by Lucille Clifton, and I really liked where you took this theme! There are so many messages surrounding women’s bodies in the church and in culture, and it is very much work to unlearn them.

    Reply

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