Such a bloke!

 

When I wrote ‘Miriam’s Sisters, Deborah’s Daughters’, my aim was to uncover the biblical stories of the women who had been hidden in narratives edited by the patriarchy. To re-imagine what leadership might look like if our exemplars were women rather than men. I didn’t have to look far or dig too deeply - the women are most certainly there - just covered up by the amplification of many less competent men around them.

I was reminded yesterday of just one of the things that is manifest in patriarchal leadership - that absolute confidence to take on a task even when only part of the task can be imagined: While women might pause to consider the full implications and be more hesitant, men will often leap right in as soon as they see the beginning.

This Palm Sunday, as we reflect on the story of Jesus riding into Jerusalem on a donkey, to the adulation of the crowds around him, I’m grateful for that trait in Jesus that made him ‘such a bloke’. To take on flesh and blood, not knowing where that would take him, what he would encounter on the way and the cost of paying the price in the vengeful politics of empire that don’t react well to subversive opponents. I’m grateful that he was willing to carry on regardless, meeting and enduring each part of the mission.

As we move through this week, considered holy in the Christian calendar, bearing witness to how the journey became lonelier for Jesus and how he became more isolated in ‘seeing it through’, may our gaze encompass the courage and tenacity of the women who accompanied him all the way to death and beyond. As we celebrate that Jesus was ‘such a bloke’ in embarking on a mission whose end he could never orchestrate or conceive, may we notice the women who remained with him at the cross, who prepared to anoint him in death and who were witnesses to resurrection.

Hold my Beer!

 

Truly I tell you, wherever this good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her.
Matthew 13:26 

It seems that, all of my life, I have disappointed people by not conforming to their notion of how things could or should be done. And, time and again, I have had to forge a path through territory in which it was clear I wasn't expected to thrive. All of which simply gave me more determination, not only to find a way, but to find a tribe and to form companionship along the way. For me, it seems, there is no greater motivation to succeed than being told I shouldn't go there!

I have taken inspiration from many Biblical women, named and unnamed, who displayed traits of leadership rarely recognised in any leadership tomes or seminars. Skills like tenacity, passion, creativity, or persistence, skills that subverted the culture in which they lived, and enabled them not simply to survive, but to flourish in the midst of  patriarchy.

Writing, for me, has always been a way to process and reflect. And, on occasion, those reflections have proved threatening to some.

Mary of Bethany or the woman with the Alabaster Jar, who anointed Jesus before his death, is just one of my inspirations. She was a woman unafraid to display her passion and her sensuousness, unwilling to curb her spontaneity for the sake of the men around her who were clearly discomfited by her extravagance.
What if our worship engaged more than the cerebral and we found an openness to all of our senses being scintillated? What then?

Mary, a woman of passion
who refused to indulge
the notion of propriety
held by the men around her
a woman who loved all over Jesus,
body, mind and soul
a woman who intuited the passion to come
and anointed her beloved
in preparation for his death
Through the ages,
she might have been labelled a witch
for her knowing,
her knowing what was to come,
her knowing what potion might soothe
her knowing how to love before death
May we remember her wherever the good news is told today
bewitched by Mary, a woman of passion.

(Liz Crumlish April 2025)

My book is available here: Miriam's Sisters, Deborah's Daughters When women lead the way by Liz Crumlish - Paperback / softback - 9781786226051

Living amidst the ruins

 

For Scotland I sing,

the Knox-ruined nation

that poet and saint

must rebuild with their passion

George Mackay Brown "Prologue"

I am not a saint

although there is the odd day

when I dare to call myself a poet

I am, nonetheless, all too familiar

with those broken down ramparts

that hold fast

to delusions of grandeur

and that survive all attempts

at structural dismantling

There is something in the soil

and in the water

some basic instinct 

that hoards the myths 

and jewels of religiosity

as toys for menfolk

that employs

the pointy elbows of unwitting accomplices

to repel invaders

who dare to enter the arena

and pollute

with their softness and compassion

and even steely persistence

the savage wars of status and entitlement

An unspoken claim

on the soul of a nation

that corrupts and defiles

and is perpetuated

like so many rites of passage.

And yet

Even as I dream of dismantling 

and rebuilding, 

I wonder

Is it even possible to imagine

an alternative nation

that cries FREEDOM!

not only for some

but for all?

Can the unicorn be released 

from the rubble of patriarchy

to stand proud

as a symbol

for all that is unique

and unfettered 

and otherworldly

and free?

(Liz Crumlish Oct 2024)

The likeness of God

 James 3:8-10

But no one can tame the tongue—a restless evil, full of deadly poison. With it we bless the Lord and Father, and with it we curse those who are made in the likeness of God. From the same mouth come blessing and cursing. My brothers and sisters, this ought not to be so.

“Did God say…” the serpent whispered to the woman

sowing a seed of doubt and of mistrust

so that in every age, those born women 

have been doubted and viewed with suspicion

The whisper continues… denying the likeness of God

in all who are different 

an insidious toxin that worms its way into the fissures 

created by discrimination

Those soft whispers are amplified 

until they become voices raised in anger and hatred

The seeds they sow take root and flourish

until whole sections of community

are riven by discontent

that acts as kindling

for conflagrations of violence

And those who stand on the sidelines

are recruited to a cause

that sweeps up all in its path

to resist any who are different

Blinded to the likeness of God

that resides at the core of every human being

We who blithely share the poison

in humorous memes on our ‘influencer’ pages

continue to perpetrate the ‘othering’

by providing fuel for the fire of prejudice

And we who are silent 

fail to dampen the flame of intolerance

that denies our shared status: Beloved of God

How shall we raise our voices

from a whisper

to a thunderous roar

that asserts the wisdom of God

who created all in the likeness of God?

Liz Crumlish September 2024

Perhaps

 

North Shore, Iona

Perhaps

when we have sat on a beach in a storm

and contemplated the force of the wind

and the ferocity of the waves

we might have greater respect 

for those who risk their lives

taking to small boats in unpredictable weather 

to find safety

Perhaps

when we have meandered through the woods

or been awed by the stillness of the forest

noticing how life bursts through

in the least expected places

Or contemplated how ecology connects and communicates

with myriad species

we might learn to join their conversation

to ask before taking of the abundance we find

Perhaps

even in the midst of the concrete laden squares

of our towns and cities

we might notice the foxes raking through the bins

or the heron flying overhead

or the buzzard perched on the lamp post

eying the rats or the hatchlings, potential food for their young

we might wonder at how the animal world

takes what it needs to survive

knowing that, in time to come, they too, will return to the earth

Perhaps 

even the slightest nod to nature

that surrounds us in myriad ways

will still us and ground us sufficiently

and help us to contemplate the wonder

that everything belongs

and for any to flourish

all must flourish 

Perhaps

with eyes open and fists unclenched

the beating of our hearts may find connection

with the beating heart of all creation

compelling us to work together

for the healing of the earth

Liz Crumlish September 2024

Weaver of stories

Thirty years ago today, I was 'licensed to preach' by the then Greenock Presbytery of the Church of Scotland. During the discernment process, I was unable to answer affirmatively the question "Do you have a desire to preach?" posed by the men who were assessing my call. 
In 30 years of ministry I can't say I have ever experienced a desire to preach.
Back then I wasn't able to articulate it but now I know that the role to which I felt called was more akin to that of a story weaver. A role that involved more listening than speaking, allowing folks to hear their own and others' stories and to make connections with one another and with the God who created each of us as storied beings. Forging connections with a God who beholds humanity through tear filled eyes, extending love filled arms, imploring us to look at one another and to listen to one another's stories. For only in hearing one another's stories and, through them, holding one another sacred, will we be able to protect the fragile light from being snuffed out by the darkness of conflict.

Story Weavers

The heavy threads of fear and grief
are borne gently
their weight acknowledged as they are interspersed
with gossamer light filaments of love
whose strength belies their fragility
They are laid out in an intricate pattern
that extends an invitation to draw near
to see better
to hear better
tales of war and violence
and hunger and greed
interrupted by incidents
of reverence and kindness
that offer some salve
to the hurt and anguish
And while the darkness is barely diminished
a thread of hope begins to emerge
to infiltrate despair
as stories are held with sacred regard
bringing transformation in their sharing.

Liz Crumlish August 30, 2024

Wisdom, bread and wine

 

Proverbs 9:1,2,5,6

Wisdom has built her house,

she has hewn her seven pillars.

She has slaughtered her animals, she has mixed her wine,

she has also set her table.

“Come, eat of my bread

and drink of the wine I have mixed.

Lay aside immaturity, and live,

and walk in the way of insight.”

Wisdom comes slowly

a gradual dawning that emerges

to change perspective

to soften the edges

of all our binaries

It seeps in like an infusion

that slowly affects its host

like yeast in bread and wine

leavening, fermenting, transfiguring 

wherever it is afforded space to breathe

To capture its nurturing essence

it is necessary to linger

tasting the bread of compassion

and savouring the wine of abundance

allowing their goodness to infiltrate

the lives of the host and the guest

creating a fertile plain

in which wisdom may flourish

for the life of the world.