“Ms. Raspante, you seem normal, how do you still believe in the Church?”
It is around this time every year that this question comes, usually from a female or queer student. Some days it is easier to answer that question than others, but the day this question comes is my favorite day. It means that I get to lay the groundwork to tell my students about all of the fantastic work that grassroots organizations like WOC do and to talk about the church that I do believe in and hope they get to see in their time.
Many of the high schoolers, though jaded about many things, still have glimmers of hope about their faith and the church and some are entirely naive to the idea that people are upset with the institution. My university students on the other hand, though only a year or two older in most cases, fall mainly into two camps; in defense of the faith and in opposition to it. There are not many in the middle ground.
Normal. In my years decoding teenage speak, I understand this to mean that they can tell I don’t fit in one of the two camps I described above. I’m not a “crazy church lady” and I’m not (obviously, I teach their theology courses) anti-religion. This greatly confuses their not-quite-developed brains; there is a box for everything, and it seems like the church I talk about doesn’t fit in the boxes they have built for church in their head.
Last week I had the opportunity to sit on a panel to discuss the ordination of women to the diaconate, and I was stunned to learn that there are people working and engaging in the church who “didn’t realize that this was a thing.” Since I minister to young brains all day, my expectations for those with more experienced brains is pretty high. Maybe that’s unfair, but I was very taken aback that an ordained man didn’t realize that there were people of other genders who could possibly have a vocational call like his. The lack of awareness that people experience different realities from our own keeps us from being the church that I want for my students: A renewed church–free of clericalism, with all genders answering vocational calls to serve and minister, with all people having a voice in their faith communities.
When we don’t look outside of our bubble, we can become unaware of the ways in which our actions, lifestyle, and interactions affect others. The idea that the church is fine right now and doesn’t need a renewal is boggling to me. These are the same clerics that will then lament about empty pews, the dwindling number of people getting married in the church, parish mergers, but they don’t look deeper as to why people are leaving. They won’t look outside of their box.
We have access to so many narratives these days, the stories and experiences of others are literally living in our pocket but the media and narratives we see are curated by our own bubbles. This mono vision when mixed with a religion that claims to be inclusive is so dangerous. My realization there are still so many in the church who are ignorant to the idea that people other than men could be called to ordained ministries shook me. (As my students say, I am shooketh.) I have, especially in recent years since being more active with WOC, assumed as well that there were two camps. I had boxes in my own head; those who want gender justice in the church and those opposed to that (for varying reasons). Intellectually, I know that many don’t pay attention to the things that don’t affect them, but I assumed that people in the church would realize that leadership and representation matters, for everyone in the room and those that have chosen to leave the room. There are still so many people ignorant to the call to ordination that women and non-binary people experience.
It makes me proud to be involved with an organization like WOC that works not only for changes in the larger structure of the church, but also works tirelessly to tell the stories of those who are called. WOC normalizes the call to ordination for all people.