Detail from “The Wedding of Jesus and John 'the Beloved Disciple' at Cana” by Christopher Olwage
A wedding between Jesus and his beloved disciple is one of the LGBT Christian themes explored in new paintings and performance art by gay New Zealand artist Christopher Olwage.
The artist's stated goal was not to challenge Christian faith, but to get people to think about it more deeply by considering questions such as these: “What if Christ were gay? What if the Virgin Mary was not a virgin? What if Christ had a long-time lover in John the Apostle or even Lazarus whom he raised from the dead? How different would the world be? How different would you be?”
On opening night Olwage did a dance titled “The Passion of Saint Francis” as part of the exhibit, which was hosted by Auckland’s Lot 23 Gallery in August 2015. Other paintings included a self-portrait as Saint Sebastian, who is often known as the patron saint of gay men.
Olwage is an LGBTQ activist and gender-bending ballet dancer who reigned as Mr. Gay World in 2013. His “Ecce Homo” show included monumental homoerotic paintings of Jesus and his male companions and a self-portrait as Sebastian, who is often called the patron saint of gay men.
In one of the most unusual and accessible paintings, he gives a sacred gay interpretation to the wedding feast at Cana. Jesus performed his first miracle at Cana by turning water into wine. The Bible tells the story in John 2:1-11 without ever naming who was getting married.
“The Wedding of Jesus and John 'the Beloved Disciple' at Cana” by Christopher Olwage
Olwage gives flesh to a long-standing but little-known tradition that Jesus and his beloved disciple John were the bridal couple at the Cana wedding feast. The idea is expressed in the second-century apocryphal Acts of John, where Jesus intervenes three times to prevent John from marrying a woman. Eventually John “binds himself” to Jesus “who didst make my joining unto thee perfect and unbroken.” The idea that John and Jesus married at Cana continued in medieval Europe and is re-affirmed in contemporary times by British theologian Gerard Loughlin in his introduction to the book “Queer Theology: Rethinking the Western Body.”
In Olwage’s painting, John caresses and kisses a hunky Jesus as their halos merge in the midst of an all-male gathering of servants and wedding guests. Among them stand the six stone jars holding the water that Christ transforms into the best wine. The handsome men look spiritually aware and ready to celebrate the miracle of love with their bodies and souls.
A group of men surround Jesus in Olwage’s “Crucifixion,” which appeared in the Auckland show and was featured previously on the Jesus in Love Blog. All are figures that Bible scholars believe may have had male-male sexual relationships: John, Lazarus and the Centurion and his servant.
Christopher Olwage dances in “The Passion of St. Francis”
Olwage incorporated his "Ecce Homo" painting into his dramatic vision of the Passion of Saint Francis of Assisi during his opening-night dance He put the action into words for the Jesus in Love Blog:
“I wanted to depict St Francis' mindscape as he journeyed to Mount La Verna, how he was overcome with immense Joy and Suffering at the sight of the six-winged Seraphim and how the stigmata appeared amidst the vision.
In the entrance to the performance I wore a Franciscan habit, and carried a small wooden box with a scourge in it. I'm not sure if St Francis scourged himself but I wanted to set the scene of total bodily repudiation in search of the ultimate love in Christ, a love so consuming that it bordered on the erotic. Whilst the flagellating occurs, blood began to appear on my back as the welts begin to take form (this was fake blood of course) and I became quite frighteningly elated.
From within this moment and from my mouth I began to pull a rainbow flag... a sign of love, a sign of suffering. My love for Christ was as for a lover. In the throes of my agony and ecstasy, I began to derobe myself, freeing myself of my earthly bonds and baring my flesh, and then the bandages began to seep with blood as the blood from my stigmata began to flow. My final pose saw me reaching to the Picture of Christ as if it were myeverything, recognizing my lover, contemplating our union... the lights faded and I exited stage right.”
“Los 41 Maricones” (The 41 Queers) by Jose Guadalupe Posada, 1901 (Wikipedia)
One of the world’s most notorious police raids on a queer gathering occurred on this date (Nov. 17-18) in 1901, when police arrested 41 men at a drag ball in Mexico City.
The raid on the “Dance of the 41” caused a huge scandal with lasting repercussions against LGBT people. The incident was widely reported and was used thereafter to justify years of police harassment, including more raids, blackmail, beatings and imprisonment. The number 41 entered popular culture in Mexico and continues to be used as a negative way to refer to gay men, evoking shame.
About half of the men at the Dance of the 41 were dressed as women, with silk and satin dresses, elegant wigs, jewelry and make-up. Police raided the private house where the “transvestite ball” was underway. They never released the names of those arrested because they came from the upper class of Mexican society.
As punishment the 41 detainees were humiliated in jail and then forced into the army, where they dug ditches and cleaned latrines in the Yucatan. A lesbian gathering in Santa Maria was raided soon after on Dec. 4, 1901, but it received much less publicity.
The vivid reports of the Dance of the 41 included a famous series of caricatures by popular Mexican artist Jose Guadalupe Posada. These mocking images stand in contrast to the LGBT Stations of the Cross by Mary Button, whose paintings connect police raids of queer bars with the suffering of Jesus. The raid on the Dance of the 41 is an example of police harassment that happened in many countries and continues in some.
Today same-sex marriage is legal in Mexico City and the Dance of the 41 is being reclaimed and reinterpreted by LGBT activists and scholars. A non-profit organization called “Honor 41” honors and celebrates Latina/o LGBTQ individuals who are role models. Their English-language video on the Dance of the 41 gives an accessible overview of the history.
The event is known in Spanish as simply as “el baile de los cuarenta y uno” (the dance of the forty-one) or with an added anti-gay insult “el baile de los cuarenta y uno maricones” (the dance of the forty-one fags).
All the facts and the full context concerning the Dance of the 41 are examined in the scholarly book “The Famous 41: Sexuality and Social Control in Mexico” by Robert McKee Irwin, Edward J. McCaughan and Michelle Rocio Nasser.
___
This post is part of the LGBTQ Calendar series by Kittredge Cherry. The series celebrates religious and spiritual holidays, events in LGBTQ history, holy days, feast days, festivals, anniversaries, liturgical seasons and other occasions of special interest to lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and queer people of faith and our allies.
Male beauty, same-sex eroticism and the archetypal gay soul are explored with holy authenticity in two new illustrated books: “HomoEros” by John Waiblinger and Chad Mitchell, and “Internal Landscapes” by John Ollom. The most direct Christian symbolism is expressed by Mitchell, whose poetry in “HomoEros” celebrates Christ the Bridegroom, the Sacred Heart, and the Son of Man. A full poem is posted at the end of this article to illustrate the quality of the writing and the book’s blissful tone.
Both books feature photography of semi-nude men and nature, prose steeped in Jungian psychology, and first-person poetry about gay love. Each transforms and transcends mainstream Christianity as well as standard gay/queer identity. They create enlightening, sometimes mystical visions for readers who seek LGBTQ-friendly intimacy and inspiration.
In “HomoEros,” Mitchell’s poems echo the rich tradition of mystical marriage in the medieval church the Biblical Song of Songs, where the Lover and Beloved are metaphors for God and Israel or Christ and the church. His verse can be read as worldly love songs or as prayers to the cosmic Christ. He also puts Christ in a broader context with references to various mythological figures such as Apollo and the Sky Father.
John Ollom carries Matthew Stone in a photo from “Internal Landscapes.” The scene comes from the “Men in Love… with each other” video art project. Photographer: Jim Sable. Art direction: Emma McCagg.
“Internal Landscapes” is more about un-learning what Ollom calls “Judeo-Christian body shame surrounding sexual expression.” But both books are religious in the sense that Mitchell eloquently defines in his introduction to “HomoEros”:
“The real meaning and real work of religion is the actual “re-linking” (or religio) of our individual conscious awareness to the immaterial reality of the greater truth.”
The two books come from first-time authors working independently on opposite coasts, with no knowledge of each other’s efforts. Yet both books state specifically that they seek to express man-to-man “love and longing,” giving artistic form to “internal” realities based on Jungian-inspired archetypes. They even have similar covers with a nude man in shadow against a black background.
“HomoEros: Meditations on Gay Love and Longing” is a collaboration between two Los Angeles artists: Writer Chad Mitchell has spent many years in Jungian-based dream analysis. The odes and lamentations in the book come from his personal journal, which he has kept since his early years of studying history and language at California State University, Northridge. His writing draws on the language and symbolism of his Catholic upbringing. Digital artist John Waiblinger has exhibited his work at galleries in Los Angeles and elsewhere in the United States and United Kingdom. He began his artistic endeavors in midlife after discovering digital tools that enabled him to translate his ideas into visual form. Mitchell is described in the book as a Sufi Christian and Waiblinger calls himself an atheist. “While I am in no sense religious, there are so many aspects of the Christ mythos that I find quite moving and beautiful” Waiblinger writes.
In contrast, John Ollom is a New York dancer, choreographer and dance teacher. Since 2002 he has served as artistic director of Ollom Movement Art/Prismatic Productions, Inc., a non-profit organization. Raised Christian, he received a master of fine arts degree in interdisciplinary art in 2014 from Goddard College in rural Vermont and a bachelor of fine arts degree in ballet in 1998 from Texas Christian University. His dancing has taken him across the United States and to Europe, Africa and China. He even performed at the Metropolitan Opera House with the Bolshoi Ballet. Ollom has also worked with LGBT venues: His “M.U.D. (Men Under Dirt)” piece was performed at the Leslie-Lohman Museum of Gay and Lesbian Art in New York City, the Soulforce Anti-Heterosexism Conference in Florida and the Easton Mountain Retreat Center in upstate New York.
Each book takes a unique approach and will be discussed in separate sections here.
At first glance Waiblinger’s pictures appear to be evocative, romanticized photos of conventionally handsome men, skillfully superimposed with flowers, leaves, planets, windows, and other images, mostly from nature. Reading his introductory remarks reveals that they come from his project “Art of Re-Envisioning Gay Pornography.”
Yes, “HomoEros” takes the startling approach of mixing gay porn with phrases from the Roman Catholic Mass. The juxtaposition of extremes results in an effective effort to reconcile gay sexuality and spirituality.
Waiblinger’s artistic process begins with collecting photos of men from “hard porn” websites. In the introdction he describes how he crops each image and layers it with his own original photos to “capture an internal moment… and present the reality of how I see it in my mind’s eye.”
Mitchell’s poems in “HomoEros” began as entries in his journal, chronicling his struggle as a gay man to become a whole person. They express his belief that the gay spiritual journey is a quest for union with “an archetypal Soul Figure of the same gender.” While he was journaling he became involved in gay-centered depth psychology and studied Carl Jung’s treatise “Transformation Symbolism in the Mass,” which is included in the Jung collection “Psychology and Western Religion.” He also began attending Mass regularly at a traditional Catholic church in his neighborhood. There it dawned on Mitchell that gay-male love and sexual union are archetypal expressions of the union with Christ that is celebrated in the Eucharist. These profound insights shine through his poetry.
Most of the images and text in “HomoEros” were created before Waiblinger and Mitchell met, but their work blends together seamlessly. In their conclusion they described working together as a “magical process” in which “these images and words established their own connections and ordering in an almost self-directed manner, full of synchronicity and unexpected rhythm.”
The large, 8-1/2-by-11-inch book is elegantly designed with lavish use of white space, as shown in this example.
.
Iconography meets pornography in a satisfying synthesis with “HomoEros,” but it also raises moral questions about adapting photos from an industry associated with sexual exploitation and human trafficking.
“My intent is to re-imagine the performers in the original pornographic image in a way that romanticizes and humanizes them and transforms my original connection with the image in a highly emotional manner,” Waiblinger explained in a statement that he shared with the Jesus in Love Blog.
Most images in “HomoEros” do not look pornographic, at least to the uninitiated eye. There are some man-to-man embraces and only a few images with obvious frontal nudity, tastefully presented. As Waiblinger puts it, there is much more “kiss” than “cock.” His kind of “transformative” use of copyrighted images is legal under the “fair use” doctrine, even as it blurs the boundaries that divide sanctity from obscenity and outlaw sex.
“Whenever possible, when I've used such an image or snip, I have made a paid subscription to the site in question, and verified the statement on the site that the models are verified to be over 18 years of age. Not using images of minors, or using images that are exploitive in the sense that the performers did not agree to be so captured, is of critical importance to me,” his statement says.
Waiblinger’s stated aim is to “humanize” the men in his photos, and yet they remain nameless, cut off from any identifying details. Porn is re-envisioned, but perhaps not fully redeemed. What would the men in his photos say if they knew about this re-purposing of their sex work?
Such soul-searching questions may be addressed indirectly by considering what Mitchell says in his introduction about “felix culpa,” the Latin term for the concept that unfortunate events can lead to a happy outcome:
In Christian theology the felix culpa is the “happy fault” or the “happy fall” and refers to Adam’s sin and the fall from grace that leads to redemption. In the Easter Praeconium it states: O happy fault that won for us so loving and so mighty a Redeemer. In my opinion the fall from grace describes the human condition by which I would like to emphasize that I am not referring to the traditional concept of original sin. But, rather, I am referring to the existential crisis of being which is an inherent part of the human condition. Or, to put it in other words, we as human being do not live in the Unity of the Garden. Rather, we live in the disunity of a fallen, broken world full of conflicting dualities and, within that world of conflicting dualities, we cannot escape the questions posed by our own existence and out own conscious awareness.
“Internal Landscapes”
“Internal Landscapes” is an interdisciplinary book that aims to “go beyond traditional queer models of man to man relationships… but find imperfection, love and longing.” Author John Ollom combines memoir, manifesto, poetry, photography, drawings and background documentation on his dance and choreography performances.
The book is spiritual in the broad sense, but it also addresses the process of healing from toxic religion:
“I was raised to be a good Christian. When I was a child, I was told about sin and my separation from god and I need a savior to save me. Consequently, the more I felt my callings of homosexuality, the more separate and alone I felt. Later in life I felt a profound shift in myself when I could embrace my shadow. For me it was my homosexuality,” he writes.
Ollom writes with rare honesty about how he and his students have used the method to address homosexuality, rape and survival through trauma. He is especially compelling when he writes about his own personal journey to face his “shadow” and move beyond the gender binary that splits male from female. The book serves practical purposes for dance and theater practitioners, but it is also an inspirational resource for general readers.
The author states that he no longer believes in the need for an external savior. But he helps others find saving grace by using movement to get in touch with their inner selves, sometimes in connection with talk therapy. The book describes the “Internal Landscapes” methodology that Ollom developed through 14 years of research, teaching and personal introspection. His method helps people turn emotions into dance and “archetypal movement.” Instead of letting an external source choreograph their movements, they are guided by their own “internal landscape” to move in ways that are artistic -- but also deeply healing.
“Internal Landscapes” includes many artistic photos of nature and (sometimes nude) dance performances organized by Ollom, but unlike “HomoEros,” the photos are all original and there are no speical digital effects. The poetry is written by Ollom and his students, including a memorable poem by theater professor Robert Gross about a man’s divine same-sex erotic encounters with various Greek gods.
Ultimately both “Internal Landscapes” and “HomoEros” grow out of the gay liberation movement’s Radical Faery branch, which sees gay people as members of a distinct culture with a unique anti-authoritarian spirituality that respects the earth and unites spirit-body and male-female dualities. One of the founders of the Radical Faeries is psychologist Mitch Walker, whom Mitchell credits in “HomoEros” as the first to propose that homoerotic love is its own archetype. Walker introduced the idea to a wide audience in his groundbreaking 1977 classic “Men Loving Men: A Gay Sex Guide and Consciousness Book.” The synchronicity of both “HomoEros” and “Internal Landscapes” emerging at the same time in spring 2015 points toward ongoing evolution of gay consciousness.
The beauty of his face could raise the dead and his agony cause stones to bleed the greatest mystery is he shaped by mysteries upon mysteries to look at him is a conversion of faith to caress his cheek, one becomes betrothed to kiss his lips, to know the unknown the warmth of his beard, the comfort of home his eyes reflect rapture and sacrifice mirror pools where forever does the dreamer dream of love this mystic marriage of two men the Lover and the Beloved in union again the heavens open and the angels descend upon the Son of Man and, us, the sons of men so is our love a saving grace that elevates us to the company of saints “beneath the veil of earthly things” our love for the beloved we do Celebrate
____
This post is part of the Queer Christ series by Kittredge Cherry at the Jesus in Love Blog. The series gathers together visions of the queer Christ as presented by artists, writers, theologians and others.
A sacred vision of homosexuality and Christianity appears in monumental nude paintings of Jesus and the men he loved by gay New Zealand artist Christopher Olwage. His crucifixion painting will go exhibit starting tomorrow (Feb. 11) at the Auckland Pride Festival.
Olwage is a gifted artist and LGBTQ activist, but he is best known as a professional dancer. Fans call him “the Black Swan” for his pointe ballet performances. In 2013 he danced on “New Zealand’s Got Talent” and won the Mr. Gay World contest for the second year in a row. Born and raised in South Africa, he has lived in New Zealand since 2002.
He has completed three large-scale paintings of Jesus interacting with his Beloved Disciple and other Biblical men in classic scenes from the life of Christ: “The Last Supper,” “Ecce Homo” and “Crucifixion.”
“They are part of a series that I am devoting to the discourse on sacred sexuality, Christianity and homosexuality,” Olwage told the Jesus in Love Blog. “The themes are not new by any means but this is my take on them... I have been reading many discourses on the Beloved disciple, I myself studied ancient Greek at University, and religion has always been a passion. These artworks have been many years in the making...”
Christopher Olwage paints gay visions of Jesus and the man he loved
In “Crucifixion” Olwage shows a group of men reacting in various ways to Jesus on the cross. All are figures that Bible scholars believe may have had male-male sexual relationships. John, who is most often identified as the Beloved Disciple and lover of Jesus, kneels and throws his head back, overcome by emotion. Lazarus, who is also considered a possible sex partner of Jesus, bows his head in sorrowful prayer beneath a rainbow hood.
The scene is framed by a male couple: the Centurion on the left and the youth “who was dear to him.” Scholars say they may have been in an “erastes-eromenes” sexual relationship, but Jesus gladly healed the youth at the Centurion’s request.
Olwage’s art is informed not only by his queer religious studies, but by his personal experience of suffering and new life. In his moving video “I am the Black Swan,” he dances as he describes his transformation from an “ugly duckling” into the Black Swan. He was an overweight gay youth, bullied into attempting suicide, but he grew into the proud gay artist, activist and dancer that is he is today.
“Crucifixion” is part of the annual “Rainbow Youth Pride Art Exhibition” on display Feb. 11 to 26 at Studio One, 1 Ponsonby Road in Auckland. The exhibit showcases creativity from a range of young, emerging, and established LGBTQ (and allied) artists exploring sexuality and gender diversity in relation to politics, history, communities and identity.
____
This post is part of the Queer Christ series by Kittredge Cherry at the Jesus in Love Blog. The series gathers together visions of the queer Christ as presented by artists, writers, theologians and others.
Rumi and Shams together in a detail from “Dervish Whirl” by Shahriar Shahriari (RumiOnFire.com)
Rumi is a 13th-century Persian poet and Sufi mystic whose love for another man inspired some of the world’s best poems and led to the creation of a new religious order, the whirling dervishes. His birthday is today (Sept. 30).
With sensuous beauty and deep spiritual insight, Rumi writes about the sacred presence in ordinary experiences. His poetry is widely admired around the world and he is one of the most popular poets in America. One of his often-quoted poems begins:
If anyone asks you
how the perfect satisfaction
of all our sexual wanting
will look, lift your face
and say,
Like this.*
The homoeroticism of Rumi is hidden in plain sight. It is well known that his poems were inspired by his love for another man, but the queer implications are seldom discussed. There is no proof that Rumi and his beloved Shams of Tabriz had a sexual relationship, but the intensity of their same-sex love is undeniable.
Rumi was born Sept. 30, 1207 in Afghanistan, which was then part of the Persian Empire. His father, a Muslim scholar and mystic, moved the family to Roman Anatolia (present-day Turkey) to escape Mongol invaders when Rumi was a child. Rumi lived most of his life in this region and used it as the basis of his chosen name, which means “Roman.” His full name is Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Balkhi-Rumi.
His father died when Rumi was 25 and he inherited a position as teacher at a madrassa (Islamic school). He continued studying Shariah (Islamic law), eventually issuing his own fatwas (legal opinions) and giving sermons in the local mosques. Rumi also practiced the basics of Sufi mysticism in a community of dervishes, who are Muslim ascetics similar to mendicant friars in Christianity.
On Nov. 15, 1244 Rumi met the man who would change his life: a wandering dervish named Shams of Tabriz (Shams-e-Tabrizi or Shams al-Din Muhammad). He came from the city of Tabriz in present-day Iranian Azerbaijan. It is said that Shams had traveled throughout the Middle East asking Allah to help him find a friend who could “endure” his companionship. A voice in a vision sent him to the place where Rumi lived.
Meeting of Rumi and Shams
16th-17th century folio
(Wikimedia Commons)
Rumi, a respected scholar in his thirties, was riding a donkey home from work when an elderly stranger in ragged clothes approached. It was Shams. He grasped the reins and started a theological debate. Some say that Rumi was so overwhelmed that he fainted and fell off the donkey.
Rumi and Shams soon became inseparable. They spent months together, lost in a kind of ecstatic mystical communion known as “sobhet” -- conversing and gazing at each other until a deeper conversation occurred without words. They forgot about human needs and ignored Rumi’s students, who became jealous. When conflict arose in the community, Shams disappeared as unexpectedly as he had arrived.
Rumi’s loneliness at their separation led him to begin the activities for which he is still remembered. He poured out his soul in poetry and mystical whirling dances of the spirit.
Eventually Rumi found out that Shams had gone to Damascus. He wrote letters begging Shams to return. Legends tell of a dramatic reunion. The two sages fell at each other’s feet. In the past they were like a disciple and teacher, but now they loved each other as equals. One account says, “No one knew who was lover and who the beloved.” Both men were married to women, but they resumed their intense relationship with each other, merged in mystic communion. Jealousies arose again and some men began plotting to get rid of Shams.
One winter night, when he was with Rumi, Shams answered a knock at the back door. He disappeared and was never seen again. Many believe that he was murdered.
Rumi grieved deeply. He searched in vain for his friend and lost himself in whirling dances of mourning. One of his poems hints at the his emotions:
Dance, when you’re broken open.
Dance, if you’ve torn the bandage off.
Dance in the middle of the fighting.
Dance in your blood.
Dance, when you’re perfectly free.
Rumi danced, mourned and wrote poems until the pressure forged a new consciousness. “The wound is the place where the Light enters you,” he once wrote. His soul fused with his beloved. They became One: Rumi, Shams and God. He wrote:
Why should I seek? I am the same as he.
His essence speaks through me.
I have been looking for myself.
After this breakthrough, waves of profound poetry flowed out of Rumi. He attributed more and more of his writings to Shams. His literary classic is a vast collection of poems called “The Works of Shams of Tabriz.” The Turkish government refused to help with translation of the last volume, which was finally published in 2006 as The Forbidden Rumi: The Suppressed Poems of Rumi on Love, Heresy, and Intoxication. It was forbidden both because of its homoerotic content and because it promotes the “blasphemy” that one must go beyond religion in order to experience God.
Rumi went on to live and love again, dedicating poems to other beloved men. His second great love was the goldsmith Saladin Zarkub. After the goldsmith’s death, Rumi’s scribe Husan Chelebi became Rumi’s beloved companion for the rest of his life. Rumi died at age 66 after an illness on Dec. 17, 1273. Soon his followers founded the Mevlevi Order, known as the whirling dervishes because of the dances they do in devotion to God.
___
Related links:
Rumi and Shams: A Love of Another Kind (Wild Reed)
Ramesh Bjonnes on Rumi and Shams as Gay Lovers (Wild Reed)
Another Male's Love Inspired Persia's Mystic Muse (GayToday.com)
*“Like This” is quoted from The Essential Rumi, which has translations by Coleman Barks with John Moyne. For the whole poem, visit Rumi.org.
___
This post is part of the GLBT Saints series by Kittredge Cherry at the Jesus in Love Blog. Saints, martyrs, mystics, heroes, holy people, deities and religious figures of special interest to lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender (LGBT) and queer people and our allies are covered on appropriate dates throughout the year.
Rumi and Shams together in a detail from “Dervish Whirl” by Shahriar Shahriari (RumiOnFire.com)
Rumi is a 13th-century Persian poet and Sufi mystic whose love for another man inspired some of the world’s best poems and led to the creation of a new religious order, the whirling dervishes. His birthday is today (Sept. 30).
With sensuous beauty and deep spiritual insight, Rumi writes about the sacred presence in ordinary experiences. His poetry is widely admired around the world and he is one of the most popular poets in America. One of his often-quoted poems begins:
If anyone asks you
how the perfect satisfaction
of all our sexual wanting
will look, lift your face
and say,
Like this.*
The homoeroticism of Rumi is hidden in plain sight. It is well known that his poems were inspired by his love for another man, but the queer implications are seldom discussed. There is no proof that Rumi and his beloved Shams of Tabriz had a sexual relationship, but the intensity of their same-sex love is undeniable.
Rumi was born Sept. 30, 1207 in Afghanistan, which was then part of the Persian Empire. His father, a Muslim scholar and mystic, moved the family to Roman Anatolia (present-day Turkey) to escape Mongol invaders when Rumi was a child. Rumi lived most of his life in this region and used it as the basis of his chosen name, which means “Roman.” His full name is Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Balkhi-Rumi.
His father died when Rumi was 25 and he inherited a position as teacher at a madrassa (Islamic school). He continued studying Shariah (Islamic law), eventually issuing his own fatwas (legal opinions) and giving sermons in the local mosques. Rumi also practiced the basics of Sufi mysticism in a community of dervishes, who are Muslim ascetics similar to mendicant friars in Christianity.
On Nov. 15, 1244 Rumi met the man who would change his life: a wandering dervish named Shams of Tabriz (Shams-e-Tabrizi or Shams al-Din Muhammad). He came from the city of Tabriz in present-day Iranian Azerbaijan. It is said that Shams had traveled throughout the Middle East asking Allah to help him find a friend who could “endure” his companionship. A voice in a vision sent him to the place where Rumi lived.
Meeting of Rumi and Shams
16th-17th century folio
(Wikimedia Commons)
Rumi, a respected scholar in his thirties, was riding a donkey home from work when an elderly stranger in ragged clothes approached. It was Shams. He grasped the reins and started a theological debate. Some say that Rumi was so overwhelmed that he fainted and fell off the donkey.
Rumi and Shams soon became inseparable. They spent months together, lost in a kind of ecstatic mystical communion known as “sobhet” -- conversing and gazing at each other until a deeper conversation occurred without words. They forgot about human needs and ignored Rumi’s students, who became jealous. When conflict arose in the community, Shams disappeared as unexpectedly as he had arrived.
Rumi’s loneliness at their separation led him to begin the activities for which he is still remembered. He poured out his soul in poetry and mystical whirling dances of the spirit.
Eventually Rumi found out that Shams had gone to Damascus. He wrote letters begging Shams to return. Legends tell of a dramatic reunion. The two sages fell at each other’s feet. In the past they were like a disciple and teacher, but now they loved each other as equals. One account says, “No one knew who was lover and who the beloved.” Both men were married to women, but they resumed their intense relationship with each other, merged in mystic communion. Jealousies arose again and some men began plotting to get rid of Shams.
One winter night, when he was with Rumi, Shams answered a knock at the back door. He disappeared and was never seen again. Many believe that he was murdered.
Rumi grieved deeply. He searched in vain for his friend and lost himself in whirling dances of mourning. One of his poems hints at the his emotions:
Dance, when you’re broken open.
Dance, if you’ve torn the bandage off.
Dance in the middle of the fighting.
Dance in your blood.
Dance, when you’re perfectly free.
Rumi danced, mourned and wrote poems until the pressure forged a new consciousness. “The wound is the place where the Light enters you,” he once wrote. His soul fused with his beloved. They became One: Rumi, Shams and God. He wrote:
Why should I seek? I am the same as he.
His essence speaks through me.
I have been looking for myself.
After this breakthrough, waves of profound poetry flowed out of Rumi. He attributed more and more of his writings to Shams. His literary classic is a vast collection of poems called “The Works of Shams of Tabriz.” The Turkish government refused to help with translation of the last volume, which was finally published in 2006 as The Forbidden Rumi: The Suppressed Poems of Rumi on Love, Heresy, and Intoxication. It was forbidden both because of its homoerotic content and because it promotes the “blasphemy” that one must go beyond religion in order to experience God.
Rumi went on to live and love again, dedicating poems to other beloved men. His second great love was the goldsmith Saladin Zarkub. After the goldsmith’s death, Rumi’s scribe Husan Chelebi became Rumi’s beloved companion for the rest of his life. Rumi died at age 66 after an illness on Dec. 17, 1273. Soon his followers founded the Mevlevi Order, known as the whirling dervishes because of the dances they do in devotion to God.
___
Related links:
Rumi and Shams: A Love of Another Kind (Wild Reed)
Ramesh Bjonnes on Rumi and Shams as Gay Lovers (Wild Reed)
Another Male's Love Inspired Persia's Mystic Muse (GayToday.com)
*“Like This” is quoted from The Essential Rumi, which has translations by Coleman Barks with John Moyne. For the whole poem, visit Rumi.org.
___
This post is part of the GLBT Saints series by Kittredge Cherry at the Jesus in Love Blog. Saints, martyrs, mystics, heroes, holy people, deities and religious figures of special interest to lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender (LGBT) and queer people and our allies are covered on appropriate dates throughout the year.
Holy women icons, including some lesbians, are painted in a lively contemporary style by the multi-talented Angela Yarber: artist, scholar, dancer and minister based in North Carolina.
“It is long overdue for LGBT persons to be affirmed and told their lives, bodies, and beings are holy and beloved,” she explains.
Voluptuous, vibrantly alive and life-giving women dance through her paintings. She sees her art as a “redemptive act” because it highlights people whose stories are rarely heard and affirms their alternative forms of holiness.
Yarber is the pastor for Preaching and Worship at Wake Forest Baptist Church at Wake Forest University in Winston-Salem, NC. She has a PhD in art and religion from the Graduate Theological Union in Berkeley, CA, and is author of Embodying the Feminine in the Dances of the World's Religions. Yarber has been a professional dancer, artist, and clergywoman since 1999.
(UPDATE: Yarber's book "Holy Women Icons" was published in spring 2016 with nearly 50 color images of her folk feminist icons, along with accompanying articles about the women portrayed. “Holy Women Icons Contemplative Coloring Book” was published in 2016.)
In 2010 she began painting an ongoing series titled “Holy Women: Icons.” It includes lesbians such as Sappho, Mary Daly and the Shulamite -- plus a wide variety of historical, Biblical, literary and mythological women. Most are uncanonized by the church, but Yarber’s paintbrush consecrates them to become unconventional saints whose lives inspire people with new models of holiness.
Her artistic style combines swirling patterns reminiscent of Van Gogh’s “Starry Night” with scintillating dots and hearts. Like Sister Corita Kent, she uses text as a visual element to reinforce her artistic statement.
Yarber discusses her life and work in the following interview with Kittredge Cherry, art historian and author of the Jesus in Love Blog.
Kittredge Cherry: Why did you decide to do the “Holy Women: Icons” series?
Angela Yarber: I was serving as Associate Pastor of Arts and Education at Shell Ridge Community Church in Walnut Creek, CA (2006-2010) while I was finishing my PhD in Berkeley. One of my responsibilities was curating our gallery space. I rotated shows between individual artists and group projects so that the entire congregation could be involved. Our 2010 Lenten theme was “The Many Faces of Jesus” and the gallery was going to host an array of triptychs. I was commissioned to create one triptych and opted to paint Sophia on three canvases. As I worked on the painting, I was also contemplating what I would personally do during Lent (give up chocolate, take on a new piece of choreography, etc). As I created Sophia as a triptych icon, I decided to take on painting more holy women as icons as a Lenten discipline. So, I brainstormed a list of women, created templates, and chose 6 of them to paint during the Lenten season (one each week). After that I was hooked and couldn’t stop creating icons. For my first exhibition of these icons (summer 2010), I opted to name the show “Holy Women: Icons.” I still have many more women I want to create, so I see it as a life-long project.
(Text: “Because she looked into the eyes of fragile humanity and saw the face of Jesus, her heart shattered at the sight of oppression and injustice…so she committed herself to a lifetime of picking up the broken pieces by standing for peace and dancing for justice…And now when she looks into the mirror, she sees the face of Jesus once again.”
KC: How did you choose the particular women in the series?
AY: Some of them are women in my life that are particularly important to me, such as my partner, my mother, or my aunt. Others are women, dancers, scholars, artists, and historical, mythical, or biblical figures whose lives or stories have been influential in my life. A few are commissioned works for friends, students, and colleagues during special life events, such as an ordination, calling, or graduation. All of them would be considered feminists in some way or another.
AY: As a sexual minority, I live in world where some of my rights are denied. Whether it is LGBT youth who are not protected from bullying, couples who cannot file for joint adoption, students who are not permitted to learn about their own LGBT history in school, couples who are not afforded the thousands of government privileges of straight married couples, or individuals who risk being fired from their jobs simply because of their sexual orientation, there are countless LGBT voices that are not being heard.
I am a strong believer in the sentiment: “if you can’t see it, you can’t be it.” It is for this reason that I am a preacher. It is for this reason that I earned a PhD. It is for this reason that I paint. I do these things because of the myriad LGBT persons who have never seen a preacher who was one of them, a scholar who was one of them, or a painting that depicted them.
Also, as a scholar and artist I think it is past time for feminist and queer theory to work together. My art is one way I put these theories into practice. It is my way of giving voice to persons and communities whose stories are rarely heard. In Saved From Silence Finding Women's Voice in Preaching, Mary Donovan Turner and Mary Lin Hudson propose that “When a person who has been oppressed and silenced stands and speaks, that person experiences redemption.” By painting these women—many of whom are lesbian or queer—and calling them “holy,” it is my hope that I am contributing to their redemption and to the redemption of the LGBT community. In these ways, I see my paintings, much like my preaching, as a redemptive act.
KC: Who is the Shulamite (pictured above) and what does she have to do with queer sexuality?
AY: The Shulamite is a dancer in Song of Songs 7, which says in part, “How beautiful are your sandaled feet, O prince’s daughter. The curves of your (quivering) thighs like jewels crafted by artist hands.” I first discovered her when a dance historian mentioned her dance as a form of bellydance. This passing reference led me to translate, exegete, and publish an article about the Shulamite’s bellydance called “Undulating the Holy.” Since bellydance is historically a dance performed by women in the context women, men were rarely permitted to witness bellydance. In other words, it would be an anachronism to propose that the lover doting upon the Shulamite was male. Additionally, many of the women in all female harems performed bellydance and engaged in same-sex relations with other women in the harems. Consequently, the queer history of bellydance, combined with the absence of male pronouns in the poem describing the Shulamite in Song of Songs 7 led me to conclude that the Shulamite’s lover was likely another female.
What is more, the idea of homo and heterosexuality are not transhistorical essences, but instead are relatively recent socio-historical constructs. To say that there were strict sexual binaries in the ancient world in which the Shulamite lived would also be an anachronism. Sexuality was much more fluid. This dance and the poem describing the Shulamite are also very affirming of the female body. In these ways, the Shulamite is holy and empowering not just for women in general, but also for lesbians in particular.
KC: It’s a delightful surprise to see lesbian poet Sappho among your “Holy Women.” She’s not usually known for her holiness, so why did you choose to include her?
AY: I created a Sappho icon for the same reasons I mentioned earlier: if you can’t see it, you can’t be it. It is long overdue for LGBT persons to be affirmed and told their lives, bodies, and beings are holy and beloved. Painting Sappho, in all her beautiful and bodily wisdom, was my way of affirming and redeeming the love and life she represents. There are many ways to be holy. Her life and poetry is an example of this.
KC: Feminist philosopher Mary Daly is an especially unusual and inspired choice for an icon. How did your Mary Daly icon come into being? Daly wanted to replace the “masochistic martyrs of sadospiritual religion” in traditional hagiography with “Hag-ography” -- writing/living the real history of women. How does your “Holy Women” series relate to her vision of Hag-ography?
AY: I have a very distinct memory of my first encounter with Mary Daly. I’d learned about her in college and at first I just wasn’t ready for her radical philosophy; it scared me. The more I learned and grew in my understanding of feminism, however, the more I grew to love Mary Daly. Her Amazon Grace, The Church and the Second Sex, and Beyond God the Father were pivotal in my own formation as a scholar, activist, and preacher.
But I first encountered Daly when I attended the American Academy of Religion in Philadelphia in 2005. She was wearing green sweat pants and what looked like house slippers; she took one look at the table for panelists and the rows of chairs and scoffed. She announced that she and the panel wouldn’t use the table and we would put all the chairs in a circle for a more egalitarian discussion. It was both hilarious and meaningful at the same time.
I know that her work is not without its faults. She has a tendency to essentialize and sometimes ignores or sweeps over the voices of women of color. Because I created her as an icon does not mean I think she’s perfect or that I agree with everything she’s ever said or done. But she passed away at the beginning of 2010 when I started the Holy Women Icons project and her influence on my work kept coming to the forefront of my mind. So, I decided that she was a holy woman and deserved a painting in her honor.
There are other radical feminist and womanist scholars that I hope to create in the future. One example is Marcella Althaus-Reid.
KC: The historical Jesus was male, so why did you create a female Christ figure in your triptych “Sophia”?
AY: In Jacquelyn Grant’s White Women's Christ and Black Women's Jesus, she states, “It is my claim that there is a direct relationship between our perception of Jesus Christ and our perception of ourselves.” Many feminist and womanist theologians speak of how Jesus was male, but that the Christ could be female. Jesus was born into a particular socio-historical context. That context was patriarchal and androcentric; a woman’s voice was not valued. The message of Christ—inclusion, justice, peace, welcome, liberation, compassion, love—would not have been heard if it was proclaimed by a female during that time.
Since Sophia is the feminine Greek word for wisdom and often ascribed to the Christ by feminist and womanist theologians, I felt that painting Sophia-Christ-Wisdom was an appropriate embodiment of the theme, “The Many Faces of Jesus” that began this project. Additionally, the church has used the maleness of Jesus to oppress and silence women for centuries. Looking at an image of Christ and seeing yourself in that image (both as a woman and in the broken pieces of mirror that bear your reflection) is empowering. It emboldens us to be the presence of Christ in the world.
KC: How do viewers respond to your “Holy Women: Icons”? Was there any controversy or censorship?
AY: To my knowledge there has not been any major controversy or censorship. That is probably because of the supportive galleries where it was shown, though. My next showing will be at Gaia, a local shop in Winston-Salem, NC starting in April. Since Gaia is the name of the Earth Goddess and it’s a feminist and earth-friendly store, I’m not too worried about controversy there.
Viewers have responded in a myriad of ways. The primary response from people who do not know me is that they ask the gallery owners, “Is the artist an older black woman?” I absolutely love this! I’m actually a 30-something white woman. But I desire so much to be an anti-racist ally and to constantly be aware of my own white privilege. Many of my icons are women of color. Many are also biblical or mythological figures that are traditionally depicted as white in Renaissance paintings, but I find this likely inaccurate due to their historical locations. If our perception of these holy women impacts our perception of ourselves, it’s important for the holy women to portray that beautiful rainbow of diversity of our world. Holy women come in every color, shape, size, and from a diversity of religions. They aren’t just straight, white Christians.
Another common response is to ask about the hearts and the hair of the icons. The heart of each holy woman is essential. The idea of the giant hearts came from the sermon preached by Baby Suggs, holy, in Toni Morrison’s Beloved. She admonishes hearers to love their flesh and all their inside parts, but “more than these, love your heart,” she told them, “for this is the prize.” And the wild hair comes from the idea of Dionysian and Bacchanalian abandon where women are so filled with enthusiasm (literally meaning “having God within oneself” in Greek) that they wave their hair in wild abandon.
KC: Your website describes you as “unapologetically Baptist and unabashedly feminist.” It’s rare to find openly lesbian ministers in the Baptist church (or any church!). Were you raised Baptist? Why is it important for you to be in the Baptist church?
AY: I was not raised Baptist or in any particular religious tradition. I learned about Baptists in a church history course during college. The more I learned about historic Baptist principles—separation of church and state, the priesthood of all persons, local church autonomy, soul freedom—the more I realized that the core Baptist distinctives aligned with feminism. Baptists do not ascribe to any form of hierarchal structure that dictates beliefs or practices. Each individual is free to discern what to believe. And each local church is free to determine where they stand. It is for this reason that we see such extreme versions of Baptists in the media.
With churches like Westboro Baptist Church engaging in the most homophobic, anti-Christian, bigoted behavior, one would wonder why anyone would want to be Baptist! But their “church” isn’t affiliated with any Baptist organization. Because of Baptist polity, no hierarchy can tell them, “stop calling yourself Baptists; you’re giving us a bad reputation and you’re acting like jerks!” In the same way, no hierarchy can tell Wake Forest Baptist Church (where I am pastor) not to be the only Baptist church in the country with two lesbians as head pastors. We are each autonomous.
Wake Forest Baptist Church and I are affiliated with three welcoming and affirming Baptist organizations: the Alliance of Baptists, the Association of Welcoming and Affirming Baptists, and the Baptist Peace Fellowship of North America.
Historically, Baptists were complete radicals. They were inclusive. They challenged the status quo. I’m proud to be a part of this radical and inclusive tradition along with the likes of Martin Luther King, Jr., Alvin Ailey, Peter Gomes, and Jimmy Carter.
KC: Have you done any other paintings of special interest to LGBT people?
AY: In addition to the Holy Women you’ve displayed here (Sappho, Sophia, Mary Daly, and the Shulamite), I’ve also painted others that are LGBT. Isadora Duncan had female lovers and she is one of my icons. I’ve also been commissioned to paint other icons for some of my LGBT friends or colleagues for their ordinations.
And I’m hoping to continue and expand this Holy Women Icons project by painting the icons on old doors. One side of the door would be the icon as I currently have them on canvas and the other side of the door would include more written information about the particular woman. Ideally, I’d like door frames to hold each icon so that viewers can physically walk through the door, a metaphorical doorway to divinity, if you will. Doing this is a big (and likely expensive) project though! I’ll probably need to research and find a grant in order to complete it.
KC: Female Christ figures are close to my heart and I wrote about them in my book “Art That Dares: Gay Jesus, Woman Christ, and More.” Your Sophia moves me deeply with Her heart made of broken mirrors and your powerful text. How do the words connect to your own life, art and ministry?
AY: Yes, I love your book Art That Dares! The words certainly connect to my own life, art, and ministry. Since Sophia was my first official icon the text was much longer than on the rest, but I still find it fitting. When it was in the Lenten triptych show I had a couple in the congregation approach me and tell me that when they saw Sophia they saw me and all that I stand for. That was probably one of the greatest compliments I’ve received in my art and ministry!
The texts on all the icons embody who I want to be, but more than any of them Sophia is an embodiment of my calling as a woman, lesbian, artist, scholar, and preacher. It’s not descriptive so much as it is constructive. The words are constructing who I want to be in this world; painting and writing them is one step in the process of fulfilling and actualizing them.
(UPDATE in 2013: Yarber's book "The Gendered Pulpit" was published in spring 2013. t is divided into four sections—gender, sexuality, dance, and disorder—and the author’s entry point is personal narrative. She uses her experience as a lesbian Baptist minister, artist and scholar to provide theological reflections and practical methods for including women and LGBTQ people in worship and preaching.)
For more on Angela Yarber, watch the video below and visit her website www.angelayarber.com. People can purchase or commission her paintings by contacting her through her website.
___
This post is part of the Artists series by Kittredge Cherry at the Jesus in Love Blog. The series profiles artists who use lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender (LGBT) and queer spiritual and religious imagery.
March is Women's History Month, so women will be especially highlighted this month at the Jesus in Love Blog.
Rumi and Shams together in a detail from “Dervish Whirl” by Shahriar Shahriari (RumiOnFire.com)
Rumi is a 13th-century Persian poet and Sufi mystic whose love for another man inspired some of the world’s best poems and led to the creation of a new religious order, the whirling dervishes. His birthday is today (Sept. 30).
With sensuous beauty and deep spiritual insight, Rumi writes about the sacred presence in ordinary experiences. His poetry is widely admired around the world and he is one of the most popular poets in America. One of his often-quoted poems begins:
If anyone asks you
how the perfect satisfaction
of all our sexual wanting
will look, lift your face
and say,
Like this.*
The homoeroticism of Rumi is hidden in plain sight. It is well known that his poems were inspired by his love for another man, but the queer implications are seldom discussed. There is no proof that Rumi and his beloved Shams of Tabriz had a sexual relationship, but the intensity of their same-sex love is undeniable.
Rumi was born Sept. 30, 1207 in Afghanistan, which was then part of the Persian Empire. His father, a Muslim scholar and mystic, moved the family to Roman Anatolia (present-day Turkey) to escape Mongol invaders when Rumi was a child. Rumi lived most of his life in this region and used it as the basis of his chosen name, which means “Roman.” His full name is Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Balkhi-Rumi.
His father died when Rumi was 25 and he inherited a position as teacher at a madrassa (Islamic school). He continued studying Shariah (Islamic law), eventually issuing his own fatwas (legal opinions) and giving sermons in the local mosques. Rumi also practiced the basics of Sufi mysticism in a community of dervishes, who are Muslim ascetics similar to mendicant friars in Christianity.
On Nov. 15, 1244 Rumi met the man who would change his life: a wandering dervish named Shams of Tabriz (Shams-e-Tabrizi or Shams al-Din Muhammad). He came from the city of Tabriz in present-day Iranian Azerbaijan. It is said that Shams had traveled throughout the Middle East asking Allah to help him find a friend who could “endure” his companionship. A voice in a vision sent him to the place where Rumi lived.
Meeting of Rumi and Shams
16th-17th century folio
(Wikimedia Commons)
Rumi, a respected scholar in his thirties, was riding a donkey home from work when an elderly stranger in ragged clothes approached. It was Shams. He grasped the reins and started a theological debate. Some say that Rumi was so overwhelmed that he fainted and fell off the donkey.
Rumi and Shams soon became inseparable. They spent months together, lost in a kind of ecstatic mystical communion known as “sobhet” -- conversing and gazing at each other until a deeper conversation occurred without words. They forgot about human needs and ignored Rumi’s students, who became jealous. When conflict arose in the community, Shams disappeared as unexpectedly as he had arrived.
Rumi’s loneliness at their separation led him to begin the activities for which he is still remembered. He poured out his soul in poetry and mystical whirling dances of the spirit.
Eventually Rumi found out that Shams had gone to Damascus. He wrote letters begging Shams to return. Legends tell of a dramatic reunion. The two sages fell at each other’s feet. In the past they were like a disciple and teacher, but now they loved each other as equals. One account says, “No one knew who was lover and who the beloved.” Both men were married to women, but they resumed their intense relationship with each other, merged in mystic communion. Jealousies arose again and some men began plotting to get rid of Shams.
One winter night, when he was with Rumi, Shams answered a knock at the back door. He disappeared and was never seen again. Many believe that he was murdered.
Rumi grieved deeply. He searched in vain for his friend and lost himself in whirling dances of mourning. One of his poems hints at the his emotions:
Dance, when you’re broken open.
Dance, if you’ve torn the bandage off.
Dance in the middle of the fighting.
Dance in your blood.
Dance, when you’re perfectly free.
Rumi danced, mourned and wrote poems until the pressure forged a new consciousness. “The wound is the place where the Light enters you,” he once wrote. His soul fused with his beloved. They became One: Rumi, Shams and God. He wrote:
Why should I seek? I am the same as he.
His essence speaks through me.
I have been looking for myself.
After this breakthrough, waves of profound poetry flowed out of Rumi. He attributed more and more of his writings to Shams. His literary classic is a vast collection of poems called “The Works of Shams of Tabriz.” The Turkish government refused to help with translation of the last volume, which was finally published in 2006 as The Forbidden Rumi: The Suppressed Poems of Rumi on Love, Heresy, and Intoxication. It was forbidden both because of its homoerotic content and because it promotes the “blasphemy” that one must go beyond religion in order to experience God.
Rumi went on to live and love again, dedicating poems to other beloved men. His second great love was the goldsmith Saladin Zarkub. After the goldsmith’s death, Rumi’s scribe Husan Chelebi became Rumi’s beloved companion for the rest of his life. Rumi died at age 66 after an illness on Dec. 17, 1273. Soon his followers founded the Mevlevi Order, known as the whirling dervishes because of the dances they do in devotion to God.
___
Related links:
Rumi and Shams: A Love of Another Kind (Wild Reed)
Ramesh Bjonnes on Rumi and Shams as Gay Lovers (Wild Reed)
Another Male's Love Inspired Persia's Mystic Muse (GayToday.com)
*“Like This” is quoted from The Essential Rumi, which has translations by Coleman Barks with John Moyne. For the whole poem, visit Rumi.org.
___
This post is part of the GLBT Saints series by Kittredge Cherry at the Jesus in Love Blog. Saints, martyrs, mystics, heroes, holy people, deities and religious figures of special interest to lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender (LGBT) and queer people and our allies are covered on appropriate dates throughout the year.
%2C_El_baile_de_los_41_maricones_-_1901%2C_p._1_dett.jpg)
. It was forbidden both because of its homoerotic content and because it promotes the “blasphemy” that one must go beyond religion in order to experience God.
, which has translations by Coleman Barks with John Moyne. For the whole poem, visit 
. Yarber has been a professional dancer, artist, and clergywoman since 1999. 
, Mary Donovan Turner and Mary Lin Hudson propose that “When a person who has been oppressed and silenced stands and speaks, that person experiences redemption.” By painting these women—many of whom are lesbian or queer—and calling them “holy,” it is my hope that I am contributing to their redemption and to the redemption of the LGBT community. In these ways, I see my paintings, much like my preaching, as a redemptive act.
, 
, and 
were pivotal in my own formation as a scholar, activist, and preacher.
, she states, “It is my claim that there is a direct relationship between our perception of Jesus Christ and our perception of ourselves.” Many feminist and womanist theologians speak of how Jesus was male, but that the Christ could be female. Jesus was born into a particular socio-historical context. That context was patriarchal and androcentric; a woman’s voice was not valued. The message of Christ—inclusion, justice, peace, welcome, liberation, compassion, love—would not have been heard if it was proclaimed by a female during that time.
. She admonishes hearers to love their flesh and all their inside parts, but “more than these, love your heart,” she told them, “for this is the prize.” And the wild hair comes from the idea of Dionysian and Bacchanalian abandon where women are so filled with enthusiasm (literally meaning “having God within oneself” in Greek) that they wave their hair in wild abandon.
.” Your Sophia moves me deeply with Her heart made of broken mirrors and your powerful text. How do the words connect to your own life, art and ministry? 
