"Turn to God - rejoice in hope": reflections on the theme of the eighth assembly from a woman's perspective.

The next assembly of the World Council of Churches will take place in Harare, Zimbabwe, and the African context -- its rich culture and tradition on the one hand, and the suffering of the continent on the other -- will be of major importance for this event. In our days Africa is often seen as the "lost continent". The terrible civil wars of recent years, the suffering of the millions of refugees, the droughts or floods, hunger and diseases of all kinds: all this is very present in the media, and in our minds. But the image suggested by these reports does not do justice to Africa; it is one projected by that Western and white way of looking at reality which we find so difficult to overcome.

Perhaps it is also a rather male perspective. African women certainly see the suffering around them, and they suffer themselves. They analyze the root causes of this suffering, and describe the devastating effects of economic globalization, neocolonialism, environmental catastrophes and diseases like AIDS. I could continue this list with the critical analyses which women have made of many other issues; but when African women speak, their pride in their culture, their love for their countries, and their joy for life are very often stronger than their expressions of suffering. They tell you about the strong community, and the mutual solidarity in family and village life, which is the base of their self-understanding. They tell you, and make you feel, the incredible strength of African women who not only keep life going but, even with the most modest means, bring it to fullness. When one dialogues with them about emancipation and the rights of women they agree to a certain extent, and they act effectively -- one of the strongest movements for the emancipation of women worldwide has marked the liberation of South Africa -- but African women also insist that in that emancipation process they would never give up their communitarian identity. Transforming without betraying the strength of their African traditions -- this is their strategy. And Christian women witness again and again to how crucial their faith, and their hope in God, are for them in this transformation process, with all its many tensions. The theme of the next assembly, "Turn to God -- Rejoice in Hope", seems to speak from their heart.

An African artist has given expression to this language of the heart with a beautiful sculpture inspired by this theme. It depicts a man or woman in deep concentration, expressed by the circle which is formed by the body and by the upraised clasped hands. The head is turned upwards in a movement of openness and expectation, full of confidence and trust. Has she found consolation in his suffering? Are the two strokes on her cheek tears which will be dried? Does this person see God? One of the texts which has served as an inspiration for the assembly theme says:

Come, let us return to the Lord; for it is he who has torn, and

he will heal us... Let us know, let us press on to know the

Lord; his appearing is as sure as the dawn; he will come to us

like the showers, like the spring rains that water the earth

(Hos. 6:1-3).

"Turning to God" implies a conversion of the mind and soul. It begins with looking and seeing things as they really are, with overcoming our blindness. It leads to the refreshing healing which Hosea promises. From a woman's perspective you may ask: What does this conversion imply for men, what does it imply for women? What does healing mean for men, what for women? Is there a difference?

In the context of Hosea, as in most other biblical texts which speak of conversion, it is the men at whom these words are aimed: Hosea invites to conversion those who had killed their brothers in wars and had usurped power. Women had no active share in this; conversion and turning to God implies a different transformation for them. In most cases, "being far from God" does not mean for women being too involved in power games, but rather being caught in the trap of low self-esteem, in doubts, being fearful of responsibility and risk, in depression. The tears of the sculpture may be tears of those women who feel their alienation, and who turn to God in their hope for healing. They may also be the tears of all those who have seen God, and who tremble in front of the new horizon which opens up through this encounter. Or are they the tears of those who feel that they are close to God because, in the unjust conditions in which they are forced to live, God is the only one to whom they can turn? They are close to God since he is always "taking sides" on behalf of the marginalized, the poor, the strangers, the widows and orphans of the Bible. We all know how many people in our own day belong to this group, especially women and children.

Or are all these interpretations valid? What makes art so fascinating is that it doesn't tell you what it means, but rather invites you to make your own journey of associations, reflections or questions which are never just "right" or "wrong". Art invites us to a dialogue and to an encounter, as does the Bible. And with this sculpture in mind I try to reread some biblical stories.

The theme begins, "Turn to God". Who is God to whom we turn? How did the women in the Bible experience God so that they were able to affirm the call to "rejoice in hope"? From a woman's point of view, putting the question in that way may immediately raise a first objection: the books of the Bible have been written exclusively by men and they express only a male interpretation of encounters with God, even if occasionally they relate women's experiences. The Song of Songs, which perhaps was written partly by a woman, does not mention the name of God a single time. Therefore, concludes this argument, there is in the Bible no authentic God-talk on the part of women themselves.

Let me argue against this position. The very fact that the male authors of the scriptures paid attention to some of the encounters of women with God implies that these encounters were particularly powerful, and that the women involved gave an overwhelming witness to them. Their authority was strong enough to convince the writers, and they were different enough from the experiences of men, that it was impossible simply to subsume them under a "male" interpretation. Sometimes encounters of women with God even "complicated" the salvation story, as Elsa Tamez has so convincingly shown us in the case of Hagar.(1) So the real encounters of women with God become transparent in these stories; they are at times so outstanding and even incredible that they simply could not have been invented.

Certainly a feminist hermeneutics which tries to uncover more of these stories, to understand their context in a new way and to regain the deeper understanding of their meaning, is indispensable. Many decades ago research started which has broken the silence which had covered these stories for such a long time. This has allowed the power of those experiences of God reported in these stories to gain a fresh dynamic, one which inspires many women in the ecumenical movement to claim the hope which is expressed in the assembly theme.

So I press the questions: How do women, according to the witness of the Bible, experience God? How does God show himself to women? What does it mean for them when they "turn to him"?

"You are God who sees me" (Gen. 16:13)

It is Hagar, the Egyptian slave of Sarah, who calls God by this name. Remember her story: having been given by Sarah to Abraham to bear a child -- as a kind of surrogate mother -- she looked down on her mistress who, in turn, treated her badly. Hagar decided rather to die in freedom than to endure this treatment. She ran away from the house, which offered shelter and protection, into the desert. There, close to a spring of water in the wilderness, the angel of God approached her, finally convincing her to return. He also announced to her the birth of a son who would live in the desert, Ishmael, later the father of all desert people. In this situation only a return to slavery could save Hagar's life and that of her son.

And in this situation Hagar gives God a name: "the God who sees".(2) It seems to be an exclamation of joy and surprise about the fact that God has seen her, the slave without rights. God has turned to her before she even considered turning to him, and God saves her life, as he will do again later when she has to leave Abraham's house for good and her son is about to die of thirst (Gen. 21:17-19). In this first encounter Hagar spontaneously calls upon God and then returns to Abraham's house, leaving behind her unrealistic dream of freedom. We -- in our "enlightened" consciousness -- would perhaps have preferred God to offer Hagar her survival in freedom. But God is acting according to the reality of the situation; and Hagar acknowledged that God had "seen" her in her real condition, and not in an ideal one. And finally: Hagar meets God close to a spring of water in the wilderness. In the Middle East, these springs were traditionally places where the goddesses were worshipped, the goddesses who bring fertility and who protect life. Could the life-saving word of the angel of God to Hagar -- "Go back to your mistress and submit to her" -- be a hidden advice of the goddess?

Today Hagar is very important as a figure with whom many womanist theologians in the USA identify.(3) When North American black women look into their history they see their situation of slavery as similar to Hagar's, and they share her experience of God's presence in life-threatening situations. I have been very moved by the testimony of some of these women, testimony pointing to the struggle for survival and to the liberating experiences of God which their foremothers had. Hagar is for them a "sister in the wilderness"; God "sees" them and is on their side as he was on Hagar's side, even if she "complicated" the story of salvation. The dominant culture and religion, whatever the context may be, has to take up this challenge. This is one of the main messages of this encounter of a woman with God.

"Sing to the Lord, for he has triumphed gloriously; horse and rider he has thrown into the sea" (Ex. 15:21, "Miriam's Song")

God is a liberating God

The exodus from the country of slavery, the long march through the desert and finally the entrance into the promised land is the story of the crucial encounter of the people of Israel with God.

Contemporary women theologians have taken the symbol of the Exodus, the march through the desert and the entrance to the promised land to describe the encounters of God experienced by women today, in this time of transition and uncertainty. Miriam with her drum has become an important figure with whom women who are longing for freedom can identify. The experience of the glorious triumph of the Lord who made the liberation of his people possible is crucial for women in their often-difficult search for new role models in a "new land" in which they are autonomous, responsible partners.

But the Exodus and the freedom which it signals can only bring life if the people respect the commitments of the covenant which God has offered them. In the centre of this covenant is the notion of justice, which is not basically a legal question, or a matter of calculating rights and wrongs,(4) but a question of relationships which allow everyone to have a fullfilled life. Justice tries to restore broken or unjust relationships. It judges every form of misuse of power, of economic or social exploitation. Its goal is reconciliation, an acknowledgment and forgiveness of guilt and a new beginning, one which builds on renewed and transformed relationships. The Bible is full of admonitions to the people to seek this justice, not primarily for moral reasons but because a fullfilled life is not otherwise possible. This means that the experience of God's liberating acts is linked to the commitment to those who are always in danger of being excluded from the community because they are weak and cannot defend themselves: to the widows and orphans, to the strangers and the poor. The texts always refer to the experience of the people of Israel itself: "You know the heart of an alien, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt" (Ex. 23:9).

"After that, God heeded supplications from the land" (2 Sam. 21:14)

God is a God of justice

In situations of injustice, resistance to the abuses of power is the first step to be taken to restore shalom, that all-encompassing peace of the community. Women had little power and few possibilities to exercise this form of resistance. Nevertheless some women did act in that way, and they experienced God's support; but they have been largely forgotten in our church tradition, since they did not fit into the "approved" image of womanhood. Consider, for example, Rizpah, the concubine of King Saul: who knows about her? I read of her for the first time only one or two years ago, in a German collection of women's stories and interpretations, and I thought of her as the biblical Antigone. Why was this? Because Rizpah saw her husband, King Saul, die on the battlefield and knew that he was not given an honourable burial. Later her sons were delivered by King David to the Gibeonites and were impaled by them "on the mountain before the Lord", without receiving a proper burial, so that their bodies were lying out in the field (2 Sam. 21: 10). Then the story continues:

Then Rizpah the daughter of Aiah took sackcloth, and spread it on a rock

for herself, from the beginning of harvest until rain fell on them from

the heavens; she did not allow the birds of the air to come on the bodies

by day, or the wild animals by night. When David was told what Rizpah

daughter of Aiah,, the concubine of Saul, had done, he went and took the

bones of Saul and the bones of his son Jonathan from the people of

Jabesh-gilead, who had stolen them from the public square of Beth-shan,

where the Philistines had hung them up, on the day the Philistines killed

Saul on Gilboa. He brought up from there the bones of Saul and the bones

of his son Jonathan; and they gathered the bones of those who had been

impaled. They buried the bones of Saul and of his son Jonathan in the land

of Benjamin in Zela, in the tomb of his father Kish; they did all that the

king commanded. After that, God heeded supplications for the land (2 Sam.

21:11-14).

Rizpah had succeeded in converting David, and God confirmed her by liberating the people from the famine which had ravaged the land for three years.

With her courage, her silent vigil and her astonishing political influence Rizpah is the foremother of all the women for peace, the women in black, 4he mothers who search for their children who have "disappeared" in the prisons and camps of the dictators. She is the foremother of all the women who resist, through their silent witness, the arrogance of power and of war, the foremother of the women who accompany the dying and who know how important a decent burial is for mourning. Rizpah was closer to God than King David with all his power. She experienced God as the God of justice.

"As a mother comforts her child, so I shall comfort you" (Isa. 66:13) "For a brief moment I abandoned you, but with great compassion I will gather you" (Isa. 54:7)

The prophet Isaiah speaks of God in the image of a mother, and talks about God's compassion. The Hebrew word for compassion, chesed, is closely related to the word which indicates a woman's womb, where the child is carried and nourished.

God's compassion is understood in terms of such a close relationship as the love of a mother for her unborn child. Even before the child knows her, she knows and loves her child. The child will never fall away from this love; and the Bible suggests that God loves us in this same way. Thus we read in Psalm 139:

Where can I go from your spirit or where can I flee from your presence? If

I ascend to heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, you are

there. If I take the wings of the morning and settle at the farthest

limits of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand

shall hold me fast (vv.7-10).

and later:

My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret (v. 15).

One of the most beautiful German Christmas songs, by Paul Gerhard, uses the same image for Jesus' love, saying: "Before I was born you were born to me; you have chosen me before I knew you. Before I was made by your hand, you have meditated how you could become mine"(5) All these are images and metaphors for the motherly love of God. And, like the love of a mother, this encompasses the beginning and the end of life. This brings God close to all the women who are mourning for their beloved ones, women like Rizpah, like the women at the tomb, like the mothers of the Plaza de Mayo, and close to all of those who resist the forces which destroy life.

I have emphasized this motherly character of God's compassion because, in our traditional understanding, God's compassion is so closely linked to the parable of the prodigal son and the loving, forgiving father (Luke 15:11-32). It is a wonderful parable which tells, so to speak, the theme of the assembly in the form of a story. And the forgiving father offers a comforting image of God, one which counterbalances other, much more severe male images of God in the Bible. This is good. But Jesus did not tell any parable which illustrates God's love through the image of a mother, and we must look for other texts to discover this motherly image. None of these images can ever encompass God's reality -- for God is always much more than our imagination can tell. But this discovery -- that the God to whom we "turn", and through whom we can "rejoice in hope", also has a feminine and motherly side -- includes women in our "God-talk". It invites different and complementary images: different associations and memories complementary to those of the forgiving father. It enriches our reflection on the theme.

"And she felt in her body that she was healed of her disease" (Matt. 5:29)

God is a healing God

The hope for and the experience of salvation and healing are closely related. In German the two words are very similar: Heil and Heilung. One of our deepest longings is to be healed in body and soul -- this is the hope for salvation. For a long time in our Christian tradition this hope was seen mainly as transcendent, a hope for the redemption of our souls, the remission of our sins through Jesus Christ. In this traditional perception the bodily side of healing was somehow neglected, was not considered really important; suffering was, in any case, the fate of human beings in this world. One could try to ease it, and many faithful Christians did this; but in the end only the salvation of the soul was theologically important. For women generally, and for most women theologians in particular, the experience of healing and the hope for salvation have a different meaning. For them the kingdom of God, which promises healing and salvation, is a reality which begins here and now; and in this they are close to all the concepts of liberation theology. Speaking of salvation means first to speak about a very down-to-earth hope for this world and its social and environmental reality. The hope of overcoming the secondary -- and so often discriminated against -- position of women in patriarchal society is, in this regard, as important as the healing of their hidden, controlled or despised bodies.

This is why, from a woman's perspective, the stories which tell the healings of women are of such importance for the experience and understanding of salvation. These are the healings which, according to the earliest gospel, that of St Mark, were at the centre of Jesus' ministry and mission. In Jesus, the healing God is present. It has been an important discovery for women that these stories speak about women's bodies which were considered to be religiously "unclean", but which were healed when Jesus touched them -- thereby accepting the women in their bodily existence. The healing process, that is, not only restored their bodies but helped women to feel fully accepted in their unique identity as children of God, and as full and respected members of the community.

This is shown in the story of the healing of the bleeding woman (Mark 5:24-34, Matt. 9:20-22, Luke 8:43-48). The episode happens in public, on the way from the Sea of Galilee to Jairus's home, where his little daughter lies dying. Jesus is surrounded by a large crowd of people who press against him. A woman who has suffered for twelve years due to haemorrhaging takes the courage to touch Jesus from behind; she tells herself that if she just touches his garment she will be healed. Her audacy is enormous, and for two reasons. First, in an ancient cultural context she was not supposed to go into the street unaccompanied by a male protector, not to mention the fact that she should never touch a man whom she doesn't know. Secondly, in the Jewish context her bleeding placed her in state of constant cultic impurity (see Lev. 15:25-30), meaning not only that she could not participate in cultic activities, but also that she would have "infected" everyone who touched her, who sat on a chair on which she had been sitting, or lay in a bed in which she had slept.

Her illness, then, has placed her outside the religious community and perhaps also isolated her from her family and friends.(6) So when the woman comes from behind and touches Jesus in public -- knowing that he would then become unclean himself -- she does something quite unheard of. Her hope must have been greater than the taboo which she was breaking. And her hope did not betray her: immediately "she felt in her body that she was healed" (Mark 5:29).

But the story does not end here. Jesus was "immediately aware that power had gone forth from him" (Mark 5:30), but he does not know to whom and to where. He could have left it at that, without knowing, but this would have prevented him from entering into a process of healing which involved Jesus in his own full identity, as well as the woman in hers. Therefore he asks the crowd who had touched him. The woman, who has returned to to her conventional role, hides away and remains silent. The disciples comment on the futility of asking such a question -- "You see the crowd pressing; how can you say, `who touched me?'" (5:31) -- and this is interesting because ironically it shows that the woman's touch was different from the jostling of the crowd; it was a touch of faith.

Jesus calls her out from her hiddenness and silence. She trembles from fear, how could she not? Her story is so unbelievable, and to speak in public demands such courage on her side, that she can do it only in a gesture of deep humility. She may also feel that she is entering into a new space, into a place where she is a beloved child of God and a transformed, fully accepted member of the human community: such a transformation can indeed make you tremble. In falling down at Jesus' feet and telling her story she is healed in mind and soul; "I am this woman", she says, thus accepting her identity. It is noteworthy that Jesus encourages her to break a second taboo, that which reserved public speech to men. No wonder that Jesus came into conflict with the authorities!

At the conclusion of the story Jesus says to her: "Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease." It is as if the healing is completed only now, after the woman has spoken, for being healed from her body's affliction and being healed from her silence are, for this woman as for so many others, two sides of one and the same healing. And Jesus acknowledges by his words that the woman had her own share in this healing process, that she had done well to take the initiative. Healing in this story is a mutual process: in Jesus lives the power of God, but it is set free only in the encounter with others, and these others very often take the initiative, as did this woman. It is a story which illustrates the divine as "power in relation", as Carter Heyward has called it. The healing would not have been possible without the active participation of the woman, and Jesus himself experiences, realizes and enlarges his own power in and through his relation to her.

This story bears a message which is full of hope for many women, and particularly for those suffering from violence. As the team visits midway through the Decade of the Churches in Solidarity with Women have shown once again, violence against women is a terribly widespread phenomenon even in the churches, where it is often hidden and disguised but is now less and less a secret. Women have begun to name this reality and to break the "circle of silence" which has covered it for far too long. Comparative studies, for example those in the context of the United Nations, suggest that violence against women cannot be explained solely on the basis of so-called "external" conditions such as the perpetrator having experienced violence during childhood, or now experiencing frustrations in the work place, or unemployment, alcoholism, poverty, displacement or being a refugee. Rather, violence against women is much more rooted in the lack of recognition of the dignity of women, and of women's bodies.

In most cultures, this state of affairs has not changed since the time of Jesus. Psychological research has made us aware of the cycle of domestic violence, a cycle in which both men and women are caught. Among the three essential stages of this cycle a very important component is the shock of the woman, and her attempt to take upon herself the responsibility for having experienced violence, or to cover it up. There is a mutual dynamic of reinforcement between the silence or inability to speak which expresses the feeling of inferiority on the woman's part, and the silence which expresses the position of power, and the lack of willingness to change, on the part of the man.

For this reason this story in which Jesus encourages the woman to reveal herself, and to speak, is so essential for our understanding of healing. It could release a liberating power in the pastoral care exercised by churches with couples who are caught in the cycle of violence; it could become "gospel", that is, a "good news" which enables change and opens space for renewed life.

"Rejoice in hope"

The second part of the assembly theme speaks of hope. I do not want to add much on this; but clearly the nature of hope is related to our experience of God. It is the hope for wholeness, for liberation, the hope for justice and peace, for love and mercy. In the history of Christian thought hope has often been understood in otherworldly terms, such as the hope for the parousia, the "final coming" of God when all tears will be wiped away and we shall live in communion with God in the beauty and peace of the new Jerusalem. This hope is certainly intended in the theme, and it is a source of inspiration for all of us. It is so radical that we cannot imagine it being realized in our present world, and yet we are sustained by the faith that the kingdom of God which is the object of our hope has already begun.

Turning again to the Bible in order to be inspired by the women present there, I think immediately of Mary and Elizabeth, the two unexpectedly pregnant women who, meeting each other, are empowered through their encounter for the radical hope which is reflected in the Magnificat (Luke 1:46-55). In the perspective of this hope, the conditions of the world are turned upside down. Such hope presents an alternative to the dominant world-view; this alternative retains its challenging character and does not become outdated. Sometimes it is surprising that this hope continues to inspire people.

At the same time there is the incredible experience that, even in the worst situations, people are again and again supported by this hope and thus can give a truly revolutionary testimony like the Magnificat. It is as if overpowering suffering could generate just that boundless energy and confidence we have encountered in the biblical stories. Specifically I think of the social movements at the grassroots which resist the arrogance of power, and struggle tirelessely for an alternative, democratic and humane form of life. I also think of the many groups of women who struggle to safeguard women's rights and to win respect for women's lives, and I think of the groups within the churches which are advocates for renewal. All over the world they establish networks of mutual solidarity and they are, for me, the carriers of the hope of which the assembly theme speaks.

NOTES

(1) Elsa Tamez, "The Woman Who Complicated the History of Salvation", in New Eyes for Reading: Biblical and Theological Reflections by Women from the Third World, John S. Pobee and Barbel von Wartenberg-Potter, eds, Geneva, WCC, 1986, pp.5-17.

(2) I follow here the translation of the Jerusalem Bible.

(3) See e. g. Delores S. Williams, Sisters in the Wilderness: The Challenge of Womanist God-talk, Maryknoll, NY, Orbis, 1993.

(4) Thomas F. Best, "`Turn to God -- Rejoice in Hope': An Approach to the Theme of the Eighth Assembly of the WCC", in The Ecumenical Review, vol. 48, no. 3, 1996, p.408; reprint 1997, p.8.

(5) The German original is: Als ich noch nicht geboren war, do bist du mir geboren und hast mich dir zu eigen gar, A ich dich kannt, erkoren. Eh ich von deiner Hand gemacht, da hast du schon bei dir bedacht, wie du mein wolltest werden.

(6) Cf. the article on Mark by Mary Ann Tolbert in The Women's Bible Commentary, Carol A. Newsom and Sharon H. Ringe, eds, London, SPCK, 1992, p.267.

Elisabeth Raiser teaches theology at the ecumenical theological course sponsored by the Catholic and Protestant churches in Geneva, and gender studies at the European women's college in Zurich, Switzerland. This article, originally written in German for Okumenische Rundschau, has been prepared in English by the author.

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Title Annotation:	"Turn to God - Rejoice in Hope": Unfolding the Eighth Assembly Theme
Author:	Raiser, Elisabeth
Publication:	The Ecumenical Review
Date:	Apr 1, 1998
Words:	5317
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