Where...it has been three weeks...

photo taken from http://guardianlv.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/04/Nigerian-school-girls.jpg

It has been three weeks.

Three weeks.

Three weeks since the abduction of 276 schoolgirls.

276 girls at school.

Forgive me if my words repeat, if I over explain, if I enunciate these bare bones facts as though I am speaking to people slow of thought and mind and manner.

It’s just that it has been three weeks since 276 schoolgirls were abducted

And I am speaking to myself –

For my thoughts have not drifted to these girls often enough,

My prayers have not been those of a heartbroken mother who does not know where her child is,

My passion has not been that of a fathers desperation to bring his family together once more,

My fervour has not been that of the communities torn apart by the taking of these precious young women.

Rather, I have watched it unfold, emotionally muted, hurried along by my own concerns and all of the ‘important’ things that I have to preoccupy my time with.

1 Deborah ​Abge
2. Awa ​Abge
3. Hauwa ​Yirma
4. Asabe ​Manu
5. Mwa ​Malam pogu

Why is that?

Why have I not cared enough to write, to wail, to rend my garments, to rail against a world that is in such brokenness that something like this can even occur?

6. Patiant ​Dzakwa
7. Saraya ​Mal. Stover
8. Mary ​Dauda
9. Gloria ​Mainta
10.Hanatu ​Ishaku

‘Boko Haram’

They were taken by Boko Haram.

Their name is a Hausa phrase.

It means ‘western education is sinful’…

11. Gloria ​Dama
12. Tabitha ​Pogu
13. Maifa ​Dama
14. Ruth ​kollo
15. Esther ​Usman

Right now, my western education feels sinful.

It has inoculated me against the needs of others.

It has made my world so small that only those things deemed important by the words of the media, which I so rapidly and rabidly consume, are on my radar.

16 Awa ​James
17 Anthonia Yahonna
18 Kume ​Mutah
19 Aisha ​Ezekial
20 Nguba ​Buba

I am told that I am the centre of my universe,

And so I am conditioned and moulded,

Informed and inspired,

By issues that are chosen for me.

The crashing of an airliner, which draws people to their twitter feeds with hashtags and cries,

Because, ‘the next time I get on a plane that could be me’.

21 Kwanta ​Simon.
22 Kummai ​Aboku.
23 Esther ​Markus
24 Hana ​Stephen.
25. Rifkatu ​Amos

The adoption by celebrities of the cause of a young boy dying from cancer,

Too young by far,

And very much inspiring,

Raising three million pounds in mere days.

Because cancer robs us.

26 Rebecca ​Mallum
27.Blessing ​Abana.
28. Ladi ​Wadai
29. Tabitha ​Hyelampa.
30 Ruth ​Ngladar .

A media mogul arrested for heinous acts against vulnerable women.

Because, justice has been served against those who think that they are above it.

31 Safiya ​Abdu .
32 Na’omi ​Yahonna.
33 Solomi ​Titus .
34 Rhoda ​John
35 Rebecca ​Kabu

A former IRA leader is being questioned over awful historic acts of terror.

And the whispers of ‘no more, please, no more,' are heard amongst communities that are hungering for the moving forward of all things.

Because, no-one wants to go back there again.

36. Christy ​Yahi.
37. Rebecca ​Luka.
38. Laraba ​John
39 Saratu ​Markus.
40. Mary ​Usman.

And our minds are filled with these things.

These ARE important things.

These ARE things that matter.

But they are not the only important things.

They are not the only things that matter.

41 Debora ​Yahonna.
42.Naomi ​Zakaria
43 Hanatu ​Musa
44. Hauwa ​Tella
45.Juliana ​Yakubu.

And then, the most shared story on the BBC news webpage today is that 5000 people have turned up for ‘knob throwing’.

In Dorset.

A knob is a biscuit.

That is the most shared story.

People throwing biscuits.

But it’s funny, because it’s called a ‘knob’.

And 5000 people turned up.

46. Suzana ​Yakubu
47. Saraya ​Paul.
48. Jummai ​Paul
49. Mary ​Sule
50. Jummai ​John.

Maybe it’s because the media chooses what is important?

Maybe it’s because our minds can’t go there.

To that place where 276 school girls are abducted because a group of men deem that ‘western education is sinful’.

Oh, Malala Yousafzai, your heart must break.

51.Yanke ​Shittima.
52. Muli ​Waligam .
53. Fatima ​Tabji.
54. Eli ​Joseph.
55.Saratu ​Emmanuel.

School should be a safe place.

School should be a place where minds are unleashed, where potential is released, where a world in which 276 girls are abducted is broken into pieces and put back together again with hope and love and compassion at its centre.

56. Deborah Peter.
57.Rahila ​Bitrus.
58. Luggwa ​Sanda.
59. Kauna ​Lalai.
60. Lydia ​Emmar.

But, Nigeria is far away.

I don’t mean geographically.

It is only 4205 miles from London to Lagos.

61.Laraba ​Maman.
62.Hauwa ​Isuwa.
63. Confort ​Habila.
64. Hauwa ​Abdu.
65. Hauwa ​Balti.

It is 11389 miles from London to Auckland, New Zealand

And even that is the shortest calculable distance between my location and the place that my heart travels to so readily.

Yet the 4205 miles that lie between my desk and Nigeria feel like an insurmountable void.

66. Yana ​Joshua.
67. Laraba ​Paul.
68. Saraya ​Amos.
69. Glory ​Yaga.
70. Na’omi ​Bitrus.

It is a moot question, but one that nonetheless haunts…

‘Would the world care more if these were white girls from a ‘developed’ nation?’

71. Godiya ​Bitrus.
72. Awa ​Bitrus.
73. Na’omi ​Luka.
74. Maryamu Lawan.
75. Tabitha ​Silas.

Of course it would.

Of course we would.

76. Mary ​Yahona.
77. Ladi ​Joel.
78. Rejoice ​Sanki.
79. Luggwa ​Samuel.
80. Comfort ​Amos.

No-one wants to say it.

No-one wants to own it.

No-one wants to be like that.

No-one wants to admit to that.

81. Saraya ​Samuel.
82. Sicker ​Abdul.
83.Talata ​Daniel.
84. Rejoice ​Musa.
85. Deborah ​Abari.

But it remains nonetheless.

That thought, that truth.

That we just don’t care enough.

86. Salomi ​Pogu.
87. Mary ​Amor.
88. Ruth ​Joshua.
89. Esther ​John.
90. Esther ​Ayuba.

I WANT to disagree.

I want to be able to shout from the rooftops, even if I am the only one that hears my voice, that I am doing all that I can do to help in whatever ways I can to secure the release of those precious, precious girls.

91. Maryamu Yakubu.
91. Zara ​Ishaku.
93. Maryamu Wavi
94. Lydia ​Habila.
95. Laraba ​Yahonna.

But I can’t.

Because my heart is only just beginning to absorb the truth.

The girls are only now finding their way into my well shielded centre.

96. Na’omi ​Bitrus.
97.Rahila ​Yahanna.
98. Ruth ​Lawan.
99. Ladi ​Paul.
100. Mary ​Paul.

And why?

Because I now know their names.

180 of their names at least.

 

I don't know why it took me so long to think that knowing their names was important.

101. Esther ​Joshua.
102. Helen ​Musa.
103. Margret Watsai.
104. Deborah Jafaru.
105. Filo ​Dauda.

As I sit and read them,

as I stop and remember them,

as I light a candle,

as I whisper their given monikers,

they are real.

106. Febi ​Haruna.
107.Ruth ​Ishaku.
108.Racheal Nkeki.
109. Rifkatu Soloman.
110.Mairama yahaya.

And my inaction gives way to holy rage.

Rage that this situation had even a possibility of coming to pass.

111.Saratu ​Dauda.
112.Jinkai ​Yama.
113.Margret Shettima.
114.Yana ​yidau.
115. Grace ​Paul.

Rage that some of these girls are being married off for the price of $12.

Rage that these men are stealing the innocence of those who merely want to learn.

Rage at the thought of what might have been endured by these infinitely valuable, beautiful girls.

116. Amina ​Ali.
117. Palmata Musa
118. Awagana Musa
119. Pindar ​Nuhu
120. Yana ​Pogu.

Rage that tonight these girls might once more live in fear of what will happen next, instead of being safe in their community.

Rage that it has taken me this long to care.

Rage about what that says to me about my life and my priorities.

121. Saraya ​Musa
122. Hauwa ​Joseph.
123. Hauwa ​kwakwi.

124. Name missing from list
125. Hauwa ​Musa.

Rage that, even in my rage, I know not what to do.

I am impotent in the face of such horrors.

126. Maryamu Musa.
127. Maimuna Usman.
128. Rebeca Joseph.
129.Liyatu ​Habitu.
130. Rifkatu Yakubu.

I reel in the wake of my white, western privilege.

I wrestle with even these awakening feelings as they bear the hallmarks of a saviour complex,

Emerging from one who is free to sit on this, a national holiday, and pour streams of words out on to the page,

without being able to do a single effective thing to secure a release.

131. Naomi ​Philimon.
132.Deborah Abbas.
133. Ladi ​Ibrahim.
134. Asabe ​Ali
135. Maryamu Bulama.

I do not know what to do.

136.Ruth ​Amos.
137.Mary ​Ali
138. Abigail Bukar
139 Deborah Amos
140. Saraya ​Yanga

Lord, have mercy.

Christ, have mercy.

141. Kauna ​Luka
142. Christiana Bitrus
143.Yana ​Bukar
144. Hauwa ​peter
145.Hadiza ​Yakubu.

Lord, have mercy.

Christ, have mercy.

146. Lydia ​Simon
147. Ruth ​Bitrus .
148. Mary ​Yakubu
149. Lugwa ​Mutah.
150 Muwa ​Daniel.

And so, I will write.

I will pen these stream of consciousness words

I will parse my thoughts and my feelings.

151 Hanatu ​Nuhu
152. Monica Enoch.
153. Margret Yama.
154.Docas ​yakubu.
155. Rhoda ​peter

I will put out into the universe the truth that these girls are no longer nameless to me.

156. Rifkatu Galang
157. Saratu ​Ayuba.
158. Naomi ​Adamu.
159. Hauwa ​Ishaya
160. Rahap ​Ibrahim

I will embrace the stench ridden reality that there is little that I can do,

That even these actions of pen to paper and fingers to keyboard speak of my privilege and arrogance and inaction.

161. Name missing from list

162. Deborah Soloman.
163Hauwa ​Mutah
164. Hauwa ​Takai.
165. Serah ​Samuel.

But these girls are no longer anonymous to me

And I will cry their names into the wind

I will scream the words as though a parent seeking a lost child.

166. Aishatu Musa.
167. Aishatu Grema.
168. Hauwa ​Nkeki
169. Hamsatu Abubakar
170. Mairama Abubakar.

When I can lobby I will lobby,

When I can awareness raise, I will awareness raise,

Should a plan come to light that I, with all my skill-less passion, can impact -  I will join.

171 Hauwa ​Wule
172. Ihyi ​Abdu
173. Hasana Adamu.
174. Rakiya ​Kwamtah
175 Halima ​Gamba.

I will post and I will rage and I will pray in a dervish of passion and intensity.

176. Aisha ​Lawan .
177. Kabu ​Malla
178. Yayi ​Abana.
179. Falta ​Lawan.
180. Kwadugu Manu.

I so desperately want to rescue them.

But, in this moment, all I have are their names.

 

Where...Twitter has baited me. Again.

***I am on sabbatical right now, and I’d promised myself that the only words I would write were in my journal, or working on ‘the book’, but as I lay in bed last night, tossing and turning, I couldn’t let these words stay inside my head. Maybe they should have, but here they are nonetheless .***

 

 

Oh, twitter, you have baited me.

I should know by now not to click on that link.

I should read the name and know that no good will come of engaging with this.

I should leave it and click on that link that leads to funny cats,

or a boy demanding a cupcake,

or movie stars remaking something about Charlie biting a finger.

But…

///

People have been making lists again:

of rights and wrongs,

behaviour and belief,

thought and heart.

 

I survey the words and they read like poison – destructive and harmful and life depleting.

 

My blood pressure rises and my spirit screams out against these missives from men who claim to love and yet sow seeds of discord.

 

These seeds that take root in the hearts of those who don’t feel strong enough to challenge; of those for whom this is just another in a long line of messages which state that they are not ‘enough’; of those who have been under oppression of one form or another for so long that words which should bring life and health – words like Jesus and Scripture, like Spirit and Truth – bring a slow death to hopes and dreams and truth of beauty that is incarnated in ways which cause heaven to rejoice. 

 

Anger rises.

 

Anger for the ones who will be shamed and silenced and corralled in to spaces small enough for them to be controlled within – spaces that are too tight for their chests to expand and take in the deep full breaths of life that Pneuma, Ruach, Spirit, invites us to take.

Breath on me, Breath of God and fill me with life anew.

All too easily words spill out and occupy that 140 character world where:

enough is said, but not enough;

emotions expressed but meaning unclear;

arguments started but nuance denied.

 

And some give challenge.

 

They say, ‘What does it look like to the outsider when all that is seen is the infighting between people who declare that they are followers of Jesus?’

 

‘Is there not more power in words that bring life and truth and beauty and grace, in words that are civil and allow room to disagree without dehumanising and name calling and demonising of the ‘other’?’

 

‘Doesn’t scripture tell us,‘they will know that you are my disciples when you LOVE one another,’ not, ‘they will know you are my disciples when you have spats and fights and disagreements in clumps of words too short to allow for grace’?’

 

But, scripture tells me also that ‘perfect love drives out fear,’ and, whilst the writers of the words that so disturb would never claim that their love is yet perfected, their ‘love’ does not drive out fear.

 

It instils it.

 

Your words do not bring life.

They do not bring freedom.

They do not bring hope and joy and peace.

 

You see, you have a choice.

You do.

 

You can choose how to read and interpret and frame the words in scripture that appear to so define for you the rightness of your gender and the wrongness of mine – whether you would state your intent as boldly as that.

The ‘fit for all purposes’ nature of those bedecked with male anatomy, and the narrow parameters within which I, with all of my magnificent femininity, must operate.

You can choose to embrace a narrative which is bigger, which leaves space, which does not deviate from truth and life, but which enhances and brings harmony.

There is space for that within the words of God.

Believe me, there is.

You do not have to move from underneath the authority of Scripture, you do not have to stretch any points, you do not have to ignore any of the very few passages which talk about the role of women within the church.

You can choose.

And yet, you do not.

You choose systems of oppression.

But you won’t like me calling it that - ‘oppression’.

 You will make statements about Biblical Truth and God’s ordered way of life.

You will make statements filled with erroneous statistics about the decline of churches that are led by women, about the erosion of family values that happen when a woman’s role is enlarged beyond the already incredible realm of homemaking, about what happens to little boys when they see women in charge and what happens to women and their God given femininity when they are ‘forced’ to step up to the plate in leadership – presumably because the men have not been ‘man’ enough and left some kind of leadership vacuum only to be filled with ‘the ladies who lead because no-one else will.’

 

You might even go further and make declarations about women who will suffer the wrath of God for daring to operate in roles which are outside of the tight parameters that you choose to interpret from scripture. Doling out scare stories that are so preposterous, I almost want for you to continue as it so clearly shows the dark heart of what it is that you are saying.

 

But if something looks like oppression, talks like oppression and smells like oppression, then it most likely is oppression.

And, if this oppression is in the light; if it is public; if my friends who are intrigued by the life of Rabbi Jesus are coming across this stuff and drawing conclusions about what it means to be a Jesus follower from YOUR words, before deciding that they do not want a part of a system of belief that is obsessed with keeping women in the places that certain people deem appropriate for them?  

 

Well, you’d better believe that I count it as an act of LOVE to challenge you.

I will rail against and pray against your words. I will cry hot tears of anguish over them and write words of my own that flow from my fingertips like fire.

And I will do it all from a place of love.

A place of love for a Jesus who hung out with hookers and harlots, sinners and saints, bleeding women and weeping women.

A place of love for a Jesus who met a woman at a well and transformed her from the social outcast into one who led the whole town into the presence of Messiah.

A place of love for a Jesus who knelt in sandy ground before a group of men with rocks in their hands and challenged the legal system of the time, ensuring the freedom of a woman whose life was in the hands of men who would rather kill her than confront the reality of the fact that ‘it takes two to tango.’

I will do it from a place of love for the Jesus who, eschewing all social normity, first revealed his resurrected self in the garden to a woman.

Jesus chose that a woman whose testimony would be considered invalid in the courts of the land should be the first to speak the truth of the conquering of death and hell, of life everlasting, of the empty grave and the turning back of death itself.

She was the one who got to tell the tale.

Apostle to the Apostles.

A woman.

And so I will challenge.

I will do it in love.

I will do it in sentences of 140 characters if I need to.

‘People will know you are my disciples when you love one another.’

Sometimes love looks like calling you out on your crap.

 Because, my friends, half of the sky belongs to me and my sisters, and you do NOT get to put out our Sun.