Ask a Recovering Alcoholic...(Response)

Our friend Heather Kopp did an amazing job responding to your questions for "Ask a Recovering Alcoholic..."  

Heather is an author, editor, and blogger at HeatherKopp.com. She’s published more than two-dozen non-fiction books. Her recovery memoir, Sober Mercies: How Love Caught Up with a Christian Drunk  (Hachette/Jericho) releases TODAY, May 7. 

As a long-time Christian, Heather never expected to become an out-of-control alcoholic who kept private stashes of booze all over the place—tucked behind books in her study, zipped into a special compartment in her oversized purse, at the back of her closet stuffed inside her boots. 

In Sober Mercies, Heather shares her journey into darkness…and back to the light again. Her story reveals the unique challenges and spiritual conundrums Christians face when they become ensnared in an addiction, and the redemption that’s possible when we finally reach the end of ourselves. 

I had the pleasure of reading an advance review copy of Heather's book, and absolutely loved it. I was surprised by how little I knew about alcoholism, particularly how hard it can be for recovering alcoholics to be surrounded by social drinkers who aren't always sensitive to the challenges their friends in recovery face. I found Heather's chapters about her twelve-step group inspiring and challenging, a little picture of what the church is meant to be.  Heather's story--honestly and beautifully told--invites us all to the table, baggage in tow, to confront our shared brokenness, our shared hopes, and our shared need for community, forgiveness, and grace.

I hope you learn as much from Heather's responses as I did!

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From Paula: What is that you wish pastors knew about alcoholism? What can the church community do to walk along side those struggling with addiction?

I wish more pastors didn’t still view addiction in primarily moral terms. Yes, addictive behaviors often begin with a moral failing like selfishness or overindulgence. But full-blown addiction involves physiological and psychological components that go beyond sin or even choice. Trying harder, reading the Bible more, or praying more are rarely the solution. 

I don’t think the answer is for churches to get more involved in diagnoses or administering recovery. But I do think they could do more to bring awareness to the issue, help people feel safe enough to admit to addictions, and help them connect with professional help or recovery groups. Thankfully, many already do this.

I know from personal experience that pastors can communicate shame or reinforcement of stigma without ever uttering the word “addict” from the pulpit. This is especially true when a church puts a strong emphasis on people being delivered from any bondage or weakness through repentance alone. When a pastor declares that “Jesus is the answer” to all our problems, he is implying that reaching for outside help is a show of weakness or lack of faith. We’re over that when it comes to appendicitis—alcoholism, not so much.

I spent more than twelve years trying to overcome alcoholism through prayer, repentance, doubling down on devotions, and begging God for miraculous deliverance. It didn’t get me sober. What it did, though, was make me doubt my own faith, doubt the Bible, doubt God’s love for me. An active alcoholic—that was me—who wants to get sober but can’t, and who is coming to believe that every good thing she once thought about God is a lie, is in a scary place.

I think we do people a huge disservice when our message is: If you’re truly a Christian, you should be able to pray and repent your way out of this! Or worse: If you can’t pray and repent your way out of your addiction, you’re probably not a Christian.

One concrete way many churches support recovery is to make their buildings available for meetings—even for recovery groups that aren’t exclusively Christian. Lots of churches and hospitals already do this and I’m grateful every single week.

Plus, simply listing in the bulletin that such a meeting takes place on the premises speaks volumes to the congregation about a church’s stance toward alcoholics and addicts and their families. What’s a few cigarette butts in the parking lot when you’re taking a stand as the community of Jesus on one of the great plagues of our time?

From Brenda: Could you talk a little about the work you do to maintain sobriety? In the media we hear about people going to rehab, but we don't hear as much about the work they continue to do 1, 5, 10 years down the road. I'm curious to know about the mix of practical and spiritual resources you use now.

Thanks to celebrities, we hear a lot in the media about in rehab—and about relapse. I guess we don’t hear much about the success stories because, well, there’s no headline there!

The reality is that few if any addicts will stay sober without a follow up program of recovery. I personally am part of a 12-step community, so I work these steps with a sponsor and I apply the principles on a regular basis. I sponsor other women who are newer to recovery than me. To stay spiritual fit, I observe a regular morning time of prayer, meditation, and reflection.  I’ve found that sitting still is important, too—if for no other reason than to be intentional about feeling my feelings.

But this is just what I do. I’m a fan of any recovery program that works long term. A clean and sober person who is living fully is a miracle, however he or she got there. I wrote about two of the most well known approaches to getting and saying sober here.

Probably the most important thing for my continued sobriety is attending meetings. (I usually attend three or four hour long meetings a week—scant compared to the time I used to spend drinking!) I know that this behavior mystifies some folks, so I’ll share a few reasons most recovering alcoholics and addicts continue to attend support groups long after we’re “recovered”:

1. Recovery is the solution to alcoholism, but there is no cure. For example, once you become an active alcoholic, you’ll never become a “normal” drinker. People who can eventually resume drinking in a controlled way are by definition not alcoholic—or they’ve been miraculously healed. I’m told it happens, but I’ve never seen it.

The rest of us have to stay on our guard for that sneaky little voice that tells us, “Oh c’mon! Jeez. Look how you’ve changed! You could handle a drink or two.” This lie has killed untold thousands, if not millions. And the fact is, the longer we’re sober, the more likely we are to forget the truth. Meetings—and hearing the stories of newcomers—help us remember.

2. Meetings are part of our spiritual practice. They also help us stay healthy in our relationships with others and in our thinking. For me, they don’t replace church. But in the same way that I wouldn’t decide to quit church because I’ve been a Christian a long time, I wouldn’t quit my program of recovery, either. Besides, my closest friends are in my recovery community and can’t imagine how empty my life would be without it.

3.  If everyone who got sober quit coming to meetings, there’d be no one there to help the newcomer. Part of how we stay sober and less self-centered is by giving away to others what we’ve so freely received. It’s a joy, not a burden, and most of us get so much more back than we ever give.

From Eric: In terms of helping an alcoholic to recover, how important do you think it is to call alcoholism a disease versus calling it a sin?

I’ve written about this important topic a couple times. I’d say that the number one reason I stayed stuck in my secret alcoholism for twelve nightmarish years is that I was convinced alcoholism indicated moral failure or a lack of will-power. Which didn’t make sense to me, since I was one of the most ambitious, “strong” people I knew.

I’d been taught in church that calling any addiction a disease is just a means to excuse the behavior. But now I think the opposite is more often true. An alcoholic who understands that she has a physiological condition that she can’t fix or control or manage on her own is way more likely to consider recovery.

When I first went to treatment, I too objected to the disease model. I asked a counselor, “How can you call something a disease if it could have been avoided had you not participated in a certain behavior?”

He calmly explained that alcoholism, like lung cancer caused by cigarettes or diabetes brought on by obesity, is a legitimate disease, even if it arises from an avoidable indulgence.

“And like other diseases,” he added, “alcoholism is progressive. It gets worse over time, never better. Left untreated, it often results in death.”

I had to admit his answer made sense. Things clicked into place for me even more when I learned that an alcoholic doesn’t process the enzymes in alcohol the way a normal drinker does. We have an abnormal, allergic-like reaction. A normal person thirsty for alcohol has a drink or two and is satiated. But the alcoholic has a drink or two and is exponentially more thirsty for alcohol than before. It would be like a person who gets hungrier the more he eats. This powerful reaction is commonly referred as “the phenomenon of craving.”

Today, I think alcoholism is not a matter of sin or sickness, but both. Honestly, though, I don’t care what you call it so long as people understand that it is a complex condition that isn’t about will power or being a good person. Arguing over labels may seem pointless, but unfortunately how we label a problem often influences how and when we’ll reach for help—or not.  I wrote more about this here.

From Bethany: What can social drinkers do to help friends who struggle with alcoholism?

So glad you asked that. Someone new to recovery is likely to still feel fragile around alcohol and vulnerable to temptation. At that stage, I did. But they probably also don’t want their recovery to be an elephant in the room. The safest thing to do is ask, “Is it okay with you if I have a glass of wine?”

Contrary to popular belief, most alcoholics don’t stay sober by continually resisting the temptation to drink. Very few of us would make it that way long term. Instead, at some point God relieves us of the obsession to drink. We become “neutral” concerning alcohol. It’s like it no longer exists for us. When Dave and I go to a restaurant, he often has a glass of wine or a martini and I don’t mind at all. I wrote about this issue here.

From Teresa: In the church, there is often so much pressure to appear godly, and hide all our secrets, addictions, and sins because we are ashamed of them. What ways do you think the Christian community can encourage openness and honesty so people feel comfortable sharing these things with each other? And what was the catalyst for you personally that got you to open up and talk about your personal struggles with alcoholism? 

Shame played a huge role in my alcoholism. I bought the lie that told me that if I let my secret be exposed, my pride would be so crushed and the humiliation so great that I’d want to die. Really. But the opposite was true. The relief I felt once I exposed the truth was a stunning and wonderful surprise that I want to tell the world about.

The catalyst for me was a combination of things: I was exhausted from all the work it took to live a lie; I sensed that my ability to stay in control of my secret was lessening and I was getting sloppy; my life had become unmanageable. Thankfully, I had a moment of complete surrender that led to a huge spiritual breakthrough. I didn’t see it coming, but I broke through to a willingness to reach for help, which in turn required me to come clean.

It’s natural to want to hide the parts of ourselves that feel broken or ugly or sinful. We’d all rather show the world our shiny parts—and our egos make sure of this. Which is why one of the most important things we can do to help each other is to be honest ourselves. If I’m vulnerable with you, you sense that I am a safe person to share with in turn.

I honestly never dreamed I’d be so vocal about my recovery. But the longer I was in recovery the more I realized how helpful it was--not just to others, but to me--to be public about it. To the same extent that I found it hellish to live in secrecy and lies during my active addiction, I now find it liberating to live my recovery in plain sight.

Plus, just imagine how hard it would be for me now to try to convince anyone that I’m not really an alcoholic?! That feels like wonderful insurance to me, even as I live out my sobriety openly, one step and one day at a time.

I think one reason we struggle to get honest in church settings is that we all feel like we have to somehow protect God’s reputation. To admit to an addiction can feel like a betrayal of Christ’s work on the cross. (Why don’t I have victory in Jesus?) I wonder if we don’t value being “right” more than being “real.” We choose to bond over shared beliefs rather than over shared brokenness.

I know many small groups in churches work hard to create communities of intimacy, connection, and safety. What a gift that kind of true fellowship can be! My experience with that, though, was that I mostly focused on proving to others that I was a good Christian. I needed to become vulnerable, but unfortunately, I was determined to perform.

In our experience with addiction (not alcohol addiction) we've found a group of people who believe addiction can be overcome completely and victoriously without the need for a lifetime of recovery, and another group who see it is a lifetime process. Is there a way to reconcile those beliefs and live somewhere in the middle--as a person who no longer is enslaved to the addiction but is still a recovering addict?

Fabulous question! As a Christian, I think it’s possible for people to be delivered from an addiction “at the foot of the cross.” But that kind of deliverance doesn’t happen for most of us. Christians commonly believe it’s not healthy to continue to think of yourself as alcoholic or an addict for the rest of your life. To them, it seems like a victim mentality or like you’re not declaring your freedom and owning your healing.

This perception is furthered by confusion around why people in 12 Step groups continue to introduce ourselves as alcoholics in meetings long after we get sober. I so get it. I understand some people aren’t comfortable with such a declaration. But here are a few reasons why I (and many others) do this:

1. For me, saying I’m an alcoholic over and over again has helped remove the stigma attached to my addiction.
2.  Introducing myself as an alcoholic in meetings reminds me that I am still an alcoholic—a truth my inner addict desperately wants to forget.
3. Recovery begins with, and hinges on, our willingness to admit the problem. Imagine how much easier it is for a newbie to finally say those hard words--“I’m Wendy and I’m an alcoholic”--when everyone else in the room is admitting the same thing.
4. Introducing ourselves in meetings this way doesn’t mean that we only see ourselves as addicts or alcoholics, or that it has become our main identity. That’s just silly. To the contrary, this practice is more like a declaration of freedom. We are no longer in denial, no longer ashamed, no longer afraid to say that we are mentally and physically different when it comes to alcohol.

From Adam: As you were (are) getting sober, do you find your addiction moving elsewhere? Is it an addiction to alcohol specifically for you, or is it an addictive personality that now shows up in other ways? 

I think some of us are more prone than others to participate in “numbing behaviors” of some kind. Addiction is the extreme on the spectrum. But I think biology has more to do with serious addiction than personality.

Cross-addictions are common. A lot of alcoholics realize they have secondary love or sex or food addictions that have been hiding. Others develop new compulsions as a way to fill the empty space left behind when they got sober. This is one reason an ongoing recovery program is so helpful—we can continue to grow and change as more is revealed. We learn to embrace our feelings—even emptiness—and allow ourselves to experience them as a capacity for grace and Spirit instead of stuffing them with a substitute. And this is at the heart of what life in recovery is all about.

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Be sure to check out Heather's blog and her amazing book, Sober Mercies. 

You can check out every installment of our interview series—which includes “Ask an atheist,” “Ask a nun,” “Ask a pacifist,” “Ask a Calvinist,” “Ask a Muslim,” “Ask a gay Christian,” “Ask a Pentecostal” “Ask an environmentalist,” “Ask a funeral director,” "Ask a Liberation Theologian,"  "Ask Shane Claiborne," "Ask Jennifer Knapp," and  many mor— here.

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Ask Jennifer Knapp...(Response)

So Jennifer Knapp did an amazing job responding to your questions from last week! I am so excited for you to hear what she has to say.

If you were anything like me, you spent many a weekday morning singing along to Jennifer's “Faithful to Me,”  “Hold Me Now,” and “A Little More” as you got ready for another day of high school. The Grammy-nominated folk rock musician’s earthy, raw music has always given shape to my hopes and frustrations.  Jennifer’s first three albums—Kansas, Lay It Down, and The Way I Am—sold over a million copies. After taking a 7-year hiatus, Knapp announced in September 2009 that she was returning to music. On May 11, 2010 she released her newest album Letting Go with the single "Dive In". 

Jennifer spent her Christian music career challenging religious cultural  stereotypes both on and off stage. Candid and compassionate in heart, rock-n-roll in her confrontational style, Jennifer’s impact on Christian audiences took a new turn in  2010 when she made public her long-standing same-sex partnership. The revelation  sparked much public debate amid cries for immediate rejection from Christian music leaders, retailers and fans alike. Jennifer currently advocates on behalf of LGBT Christians through Inside Out Faith. Having experienced, first hand, the devastating effects of rejection and judgment, Jennifer knows full well the challenges of being “out” in certain faith communities. However, it is in the sharing of her journey through story, music and conversation that she has discovered the healing that comes from breaking the silence.

You asked some fantastic questions, and Jennifer responded with depth, wisdom, and grace. I hope you enjoy the interview as much as I did!

From Ouisi: I picked up your new album a few months ago and love it. You've gone through so much maturation, and the wisdom and pain you sing about sound familiar to me, just like the eager words you sang in the first part of your career sounded when I was in high school. If I understand correctly, your journey took you to a point where you now own the fact that you can't not be gay and you can't not be Christian. For the second part of that - What were some of the moments, the thoughts, the experiences that brought you to the point of claiming your faith as a Christian? 

There are times in our lives where we are witness to certain events and happenings that radically alter how we will move about our world. We have experiences where we are forever changed in how we see the world around us, how we see ourselves and how we will react in navigating our individually unique journeys. I am grateful that the Gospel spoke to me in such a way. I saw, I experienced, I left altered by a grace that I knew I could never merit nor repay. To this day, my life has never been the same.

Try as I might, the message of Christ continues to inspire and move me, even when no one is looking, even when others insist that I am “doing it wrong” or not acting ‘Christian enough’. Being in a church every Sunday isn’t why I identify as Christian. It is by my experience in ‘seeing’ Christ I am compelled to act out the mercies given me. I have been introduced to concepts like grace, redemption and love. I am a living, breathing human being whose life has been profoundly changed having experienced these acts first hand.

Over the years I have continued to question what calling myself a ‘Christian’ implies. There’s a lot to unpack there in terms of religion, tradition, history, theology--but honestly, in the end, it doesn’t matter what anyone calls me. I am and continue to be inspired by my experience with Christ. No one can take that away. The moment that any of us allows another human being to push us off of the meaningful experiences in our lives, we begin to erode in spirit.

From Rachel: Jennifer, thank you so much for your music. It's been a big part of my life, and I am so grateful for you. I'll try not to fan out too much as I ask my question: I'm reading a book by pastor Jonathan Martin in which he discusses the fact that, in our current culture, fame and notoriety are treated as necessities, while obscurity is considered the kiss of death. He writes "Our society tells us that if and when we get "there"--the job or position or degree we've always wanted, the notoriety we've always dreamed of--that's when all the important stuff will start happening. Not so. All the good stuff happens in obscurity." Is this how you feel about your seven-year hiatus from the music industry? What are some important, valuable things you learned during that time away from the spotlight? Thank you!

Retrospectively, one thing I’d say is that while it is possible to learn from the experience of being ‘in the spotlight’; it is not the most fertile soil for significant growth. The spotlight is where we celebrate and commune with what we’ve learned. The growth, the creation, self-exploration and processing, I just can’t see how we can possibly do that effectively with an audience. It’s too exposed. Being observed inherently shapes the outcome. We usually talk differently when we are being observed. We perform. That’s not bad; it’s just not the entire purpose or the end game.

The spotlight is a fickle beast. It’s rewarding to find avenues to express our mastery over what we’ve learned. Reaching for achievement is a great motivator when you’re breaking your back perfecting your trade. To complete, sell, and talk about a book. Or sing, record and perform a record to a cheering crowd. I can’t lie. It’s powerful, fulfilling stuff to be able to be ‘the guy’ responsible for moving the room. But I think there’s a backside if you go into those situations looking to be the object that is celebrated. Being observed is often too great a temptation to imitate the style of characters we want to be rather than investing in the hard work of mindfully becoming our unique selves. Save the spotlight for the celebration, for the moments where connecting MUST occur to move forward.

Maybe it’s the difference between performing as a kid and getting older, but I view ‘the spotlight’ as a far more public property that I ever did earlier in my career. I learned that some things, you just have to learn in private. That what you say in those public spaces becomes a shared portion of our gathering together. It’s a public trust.

So what did I learn? I learned that I must find a way to nurture my spirit in solitude, away from the audience. It’s important for me to spend time in contemplation, discovery, and in practice, learning what I purpose or intend when I am afforded that sacred public space. The celebration, if there is any to be had, is simply being able to come to a point where we are capable of sharing that experience with the outside world without prejudice toward or fear of others. The personal journey evolves into an ability to be hospitable, if not hopefully, loving toward others. I didn’t know that I was learning anything while I wasn’t performing all those years, but learned to describe it later, when I tripped onto Nouwen’s depiction of the differences between loneliness and solitude. (Henri Nouwen, Reaching Out) It is in those (thankfully) obscured places where we have the opportunity to objectively better ourselves, make peace with who we are without the fear of failure or judgment. It seems incredibly self-centered, but surprisingly, it can lead to an amazing reaching out toward connecting with others.

I'm sorry if that all sounds too esoteric. But it underpins so much of where I’m at today. On one hand, if all you want is some kind of recognition for how awesome you are at your particular skill or level of intelligence, then the only option is to be undeniably good at what you do. So yeah, practice happens out of the spotlight. You practice what you do until you are flawless at that one phrase, that one act--perfect in your descriptions of one event or area of expertise. But I think there’s more to life than just the executables.

The spotlight or the communal exhibitions of our human experience are necessary. It allows us to connect with others, build and reaffirm community. It can be a healing process or practical act of human expression in being ‘known.’ It’s a point of celebration of our achievements and passions. But it must be put into perspective. These are but moments-glimpses; a poem, a song, a photographic still frame in what is the long and rich story of our lives. To aspire to only that moment is to miss out on all the extravagance of life. It’s what we do into the lead up and aftermath to those moments that says more about us than fifteen minutes of fame ever will.

From Kristin: Hi, Jennifer! I think you are great. I would like to know: what is the most encouraging (and maybe surprising) thing said to or done for you by fellow Christians since your coming out? 

I don’t know if I could boil it down to one thing said or done, but rather a couple of surprising salient points I didn’t recognize until my sexual orientation became a public conversation.

First, is that there is theological, ritual, community and leadership support inside nearly EVERY denominational tradition of Christianity that actively affirms and upholds LGBT faith inclusion. Before you write off an entire denomination, you have to recognize that even among the leadership of some more conservative traditions (read ‘evangelical’ if you like), there are active support groups and organized churches openly affirming, welcoming and engaging LGBT people and those who would see themselves as allies. It is simply a lie that coming out means the end of finding a spiritual community in which to worship and grow. Yes, it is true, that the support you need may not be inside the present four walls where you live, but there is a great big old world out there of people who love you. Start here.

The second surprise is the obvious need for many inside the Christian community to well and truly get this all out in the open. There is some very serious wounding going on here that is incredibly important not to minimize. It’s not just for LGBT people, but for an entire generation of Christians who believe that the faith we inherited--the Gospel we have experienced-- may still be relevant. I did not expect that I would be a witness to the severity of need for the ‘church’ to find some kind of peaceful resolution to this horrible religious cultural war. I can’t help but think that many Christians recognize how often we abuse perfectly innocent, seeking individuals and ostracize them for failure to live out the prescriptions of orthodoxy. To me it’s a generational questioning of religious relevancy. When we acknowledge there are experiences in our lives, in our nature, that we cannot change, do not wish to change, may never fully grasp or comprehend its need for change? How then will my faith be relevant if God cannot love me just as I am, when all I have left to cry is ‘have mercy on me?’

From Eric: Jennifer, thanks for doing this! One thing that bugs me on a regular basis about Christian music is that so much of it seems incredibly derivative with regards to secular music trends. In other words, we see a secular band with a distinctive sound (Mumford and Sons is a good example) and perhaps six months to a year later, there's a band that sounds an awful lot like Mumford and Sons singing generic praise and worship lyrics instead of whatever the secular artist was singing about. As an artist, what pressure was put on you to conform to popular music trends versus spending time cultivating your personal sound? Do you know of any other artists who struggled with the kind of "six months behind the times" issues that seem to prevalent in Christian music? Are there other ways being a Christian music artist feels like it pigeonholes you as an artist?

It seems simple enough to say, but I think it’s often overlooked, is that CCM’s genre is not a style of music, but rather it is a very specific message. With that perspective in mind, I think it becomes easier to see why CCM often defaults to reflecting the musical trends of the time rather than encouraging artistic growth. When I’m confronted with people who don’t know what CCM is, I describe it like this: Music made for Christians (cultural expression), by Christians (quality control/consumer confidence) with an added purpose of making more/stronger Christians (evangelism/discipleship). That’s not to say that there are not incredibly talented individual artists, writers and producers contributing to the genre; there are. It’s just that the ultimate obligation is to the mission of message and not culturally significant art.

Every artist working in that vein has a certain obligation to fulfill the contract of message first and at whatever means necessary when it comes to style delivery, and frankly, shouldn’t be surprised if it ever comes up. I still don’t know if it was unusual or that I was fortunate, but I worked with a label that protected my space to explore, create and convey my Christian experience with little interference. Honestly, I never expected to have a career in CCM. I just couldn’t bring myself to abbreviate my faith experience into a resolved representation of what Christianity was supposed to look like. Ironically, much of my writing was an expression of how I just couldn’t find peace in using the same language as everyone else. And when I did overtly talk about the Jesus I saw and experienced, it seemed ‘unmarketable’ that I started to feel like both a spiritual and artistic failure.

It’s ridiculous for me to simply blame the CCM industry for this. I hate always feeling like CCM is a genre to criticize. What other genre on the planet affords such a space to freely and unabashedly celebrate God with such enthusiasm? It has no choice but to be classed apart from other kinds of music. But there in lies the rub:

If CCM is nothing more than a marketing tool for Christianity, then it will never allow for the full cultural expressions of human failure that true artistry demands. This is why, time after time, those artists who actually write about the experience of being human in the sight of Christianity reside near the fringes, dancing with the secular world that is fluent in the art of self-expression. It is why we recoil when asked to conform. It is a suspicion that those who express the truth of our darkness are on some mission to distract from the victory of the Cross rather than liberate it.

In this sense CCM reflects our Christian culture very well. It is our Christian culture to invite those to tell only the story of victory and spare the gruesome details of the scarring war. We can reside if we are made clean and presentable, those who are still writing their story must wait for absolute victory before they can share it with others.

From Matt: Jennifer, I have had the pleasure of interacting with a few Christian musicians through the years that have gone public with their same sex partnerships - like Sean Doty and Ric Alba - as well a few insiders in the CCM business. It seems like these public revelations are not really that surprising to most people paying attention. In your opinion, are most Christians truly ignorant of the LGBT Christians in their midst, or are they trying to ignore them hoping they will just go away? Also, I get the impression from Doty, Alba, and others that there are many more LGBT Christian musicians than we know about - as long as they just don't go public, they will be accepted. But if they go public, the reaction becomes pretty harsh. Thoughts on this, and maybe could you share your experience?

Listen, the fact is there have been, are and will continue to be gay people who contribute to CCM both on and off the stage. ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell’ can be an acceptable working environment for some, but has also been used as legitimate financial weapon at times to enforce individual silence in exchange for job security. The reality is that any artist, clergy, youth pastor, Christian radio station DJ or worship band drummer who dares comes out in our current Christian climate will suffer some kind of loss. The extent to how devastating those losses can be range from catastrophic to survivable. What’s most frightening about it is that you can never fully predict just how bad it could get. Does one tell the true story of where their faith sustains hope? Do we manufacture a deflection, or worse--lie?

For what it’s worth, I think the marketplace is only an economic reflection of what has been playing out in our faith community for decades. It’s unfair to only blame the retailers, program managers and clergy for executing a troubled theology of qualified Christian membership. At some point, even I have been guilty of following along, thinking I was doing my Christian duty. We’ve been encouraged to distance ourselves from ‘backsliding’ Christians. We’ve been encouraged to abandon churches that are 'too liberal'. We've been taught it is an evidence of our Christian faith to boycott businesses who profit from artistic contributions of these same kinds of characters. The problem is that the result of wholesale rejection and silence seems to delay the inevitable need to deal with the real issues.

Being gay in this climate is almost guaranteed to bring about this socio-religious phenomenon, but we’ve been perfecting it for years through much less obvious differences of opinion. We all have some character trait, physical attribute, or even theological heresy we don’t fully express in our faith communities for fear of being treated this same way. It’s not until the cost of that silence overwhelms us that we take the risk to find communion with others and hope to survive it. To the outside world and those who fall victim to this behavior it seems that Christians have no love for those who don’t ‘measure up’. The struggles, differences, joys and sorrows of our genuinely lived lives cannot hope sustain the accomplishment of utterly flawless holiness. To me, the saddest exhibitions of these kinds of acts are when they are perpetrated against those who cannot change who they were born to be.

The good news is that this mode of operation is clearly unsustainable. As more and more people ‘come out’, the more and more allies we find. I truly believe that one day a Christian artist will find national success having started their career as openly gay. And it will be so because that artist had the undeniable support of their local church from day one.

From Iris: How has being gay helped you serve Christ better? Can you tell us of one experience where your coming out has served as an encouragement or life-changer for someone else?

I don’t know that I’d use the language ’to serve Christ better’. If anything, my reticence in using a phrase like that today is probably evidence of the fact that I’ve had a lot to process about what it means to be ‘Christian.’ I don’t think I’m by any means unique, when I say that as a gay person taught from an evangelical tradition, you have little choice but to seriously evaluate your position as ‘Christian’. My sexual orientation just isn’t up for debate, but my faith was definitely a choice that I could make. If homosexuality is in any way an evidence of spiritual failure, then the conscientious Christian must examine the possibility. I did, sincerely. And while I’m keenly aware that there are those who theologically oppose my person being fully celebrated in the narrative of the Gospel, the undeniable fact remains: I am still here. I don’t know if this makes me ‘better’ in any sense, but it makes me aware that divinely prescribed grace cannot be earned. In that case, I’m back where I started, when I first got on my knees. The best that I can do is start by recognizing that what measure of grace I have received is only repaid by passing that grace onto others. I don’t think being gay has taught me this, but rather, I’ve always wanted to be willing to accept the parts of me that I cannot change and still have the courage to accept grace.

It’s a strange circle indeed. Because I’ve had to run the gauntlet where many Christians would proclaim there is no fruit that could come from such a rotten tree, but I’m convinced otherwise. I used to spend hours after a show signing autographs on t-shirts and CDs. I felt like I was a pin-up girl for Jesus, supposedly a model of what a Christian woman was to look and act like. No wonder why people were disappointed, I was destined to fail, as I am hopelessly human. But now, after a concert, or a meeting in a church where I talk about what I’ve been through...I don’t sign autographs that much any more. Instead, I find that I’m listening for hours to so many other people whose stories are similar to my own. We are drawn together because each of us is reaching out for evidence that our faith might still be relevant to our daily lives. Some are gay or have stories of someone gay they know who have been deeply wounded by the church, but mostly, we’re just folks who know that our faith is significant. We have been altered, hopefully for the better, by our experience with the Gospel. And now that we see just how human we really are, we’re grateful. I’m grateful. I honestly don’t know how much more life-changing an experience you hope to discover than love.

Thanks to Jennifer for these thoughtful responses! Check out her latest album, Letting Go, and consider visiting Inside Out Faith. You can read the rest of our "Ask..." series here. 

Ask a Liberation Theologian… (Response)

As expected, scholar and activist Monica Coleman responded to your questions for “Ask a Liberation Theologian” with insight and grace.

An ordained elder in the African Methodist Episcopal Church, Coleman has earned degrees at Harvard University, Vanderbilt University and Claremont Graduate University. Coleman is currently Associate Professor of Constructive Theology and African American Religions and Co-Director of the Center for Process Studies at Claremont School of Theology in southern California. She is also Associate Professor of Religion at Claremont Graduate University.

As a survivor of rape, Coleman became committed to speaking out against sexual violence in 1996. She founded and coordinated “The Dinah Project,” an organized church response to sexual violence, at Metropolitan Interdenominational Church in Nashville, TN. Her most recent book is Not Alone: Reflections on Faith and Depression-a 40-Day Devotional.  She is the author of Making a Way Out of No Way: a Womanist Theology, co-editor of Creating Women’s Theologies: A Movement Engaging Process Thought, and editor of the forthcoming Ain’t I a Womanist Too?: Third Wave Womanist Religious Thought. Monica blogs on the intersection of faith and depression at Beautiful Mind Blog and writes a biweekly column, “Women, In Flesh and Spirit” at Patheos.  

I wanted to feature liberation theology because I hear people reference it now and then, but I really don’t know much about it, and I suspect I’m not alone. I also suspect it’s one of those fields of theology that is often misunderstood, particularly at the popular level.  Many thanks to Monica for helping us understand it better.

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From Benjamin: I grew up in pretty conservative evangelical circles, where liberation theology was generally ignored (or, if mentioned, might have been described as just another version of the "social gospel"). How would you summarize the message of liberation theology to someone from an evangelical background? Is there common ground evangelicals might share with liberation theology?

 Liberation theology focuses on the ministry of Jesus as recorded in the Bible – the gospels in particular.  Liberation theology looks to the words of Jesus in Luke 4 where he describes his call to ministry (echoing the words of the ancient prophet Isaiah) and at the ways that he included many of the outcast (women, Samaritans, tax collectors, etc.) in his ministry and parable.  From that, liberation theology concludes that God cares about the oppressed.  From what I understand, evangelicals also value the biblical witness to the ministry of Jesus and bringing people closer to relationship with God.

From Brian: Liberation Theology is often criticized as reframing the gospel as a social/political agenda at the expense of the message of forgiveness of sins through Jesus. I suppose the same thing could be said about the religious right. How do you feel Liberation Theology competes with or compliments different understandings of the gospel?

There are some liberation theologians who consider reconciliation between oppressed and oppressor (“forgiveness of sins”) to be part of a vision of liberation.  Two examples off the top of my head are J. Doetis Roberts and Johnny B. Hill. 

But to answer your larger question, I would say that all theology is political.  In part because Christianity did not begin in a political vacuum and we don’t live in a political vacuum even now.  Some understandings of the gospel focus on the work of God through Jesus for individuals.  They may also focus on the life that Jesus promises in another life; i.e. heaven.  Liberation theology, on the other hand, cares about the work of God through Jesus for communities and focuses on how Jesus describes a transformation of the world in which we live.  These are two very different theologies based on the same books in the Bible. 

From Rachel: When you google "Liberation Theology," the second article to come up after Wikipedia is an article about liberation theology by TV personality Glenn Beck, who describes liberation theology as a "perversion of God." We heard a lot of this type of language in the wake of the Jeremiah Wright video that surfaced just before the 2008 presidential election. I'm wondering how theologians like you felt about that sudden exposure and the way liberation theology has been discussed in the media. Do you feel like liberation theology has a PR problem, or has it always been misunderstood, especially by the privileged? Why do you think that video struck such a nerve, and what might the reaction to it reveal about common misconceptions about liberation theology among the American public?

I think that all theology outside of the religious right has a PR problem in the U.S.  Glenn Beck’s comments about liberation theology – in conjunction with the clips from Jeremiah Wright’s sermons – brought liberation theology to the attention of mainstream media.  I’m actually glad about it because it gave liberation theologians an opportunity to share about liberation theology in a more public way.  I spoke about it on Air Talk on NPR at the time.  You can listen to it here. 

I think the video struck a nerve because more recently patriotism has been identified as having an unquestioning loyalty to the government.  This is especially true since we have been involved in wars.  Thus many people felt that a critique of the government was unpatriotic and problematic.  I also think that a majority culture can easily ignore the sentiments and circumstances of those in a minority position; whereas those in a minority position are well-versed in the dominant culture.  Thus the majority culture (“the privileged”) felt surprised that people in a minority position (in this case, some African Americans) had a different perspective on life, country and religion.  Jesus critiqued the government of his time – the Roman occupation of lands that were holy and sacred to his Jewish community.  For liberation theologians, speaking out on behalf of the disempowered is Christ-like.

From Josh: I've always heard of Liberation Theology in the context of its strong affiliation with the various Socialist movements in Latin America in the 1900s. Almost a reverse-prosperity-Gospel that emphasizes the goodness of the poor over against the wealthy, which sounds to my capitalist sensibilities like class warfare rather than the Gospel. Because of this, I've always associated the theology with the political ideology. Can you differentiate or help explain what Liberation Theology might look like in the context of our society in America? How does Liberation Theology extend beyond the capitalist/socialist struggle that was occurring in Latin America in a specific era?

Liberation theology in Latin America and black theology in the United States were being born at around the same time somewhat independently.  Other liberation theologies include feminist theology, disability theology, womanist theology, ecological theology, gay and lesbian theology (to name a few). Most of these are not associated with a critique of capitalism.  Theologies that look at the experiences of those who are oppressed or silenced are often liberation theologies.  They all critique systems of domination.  Liberation theology is always contextual though – it will speak to a certain time and place and circumstance.  You might enjoy Sallie McFague’s book Life Abundant where she describes what she calls “a liberation theology for white North American Christians.”  She addresses how our theologies may respond to issues of global climate change.

From Suzannah: Would you explain the differences between womanist and feminist liberation theology? How have white feminists excluded black women and what can we do to be more inclusive/intersectional?

Historically womanist theology is distinguished from feminist theology for speaking to the experiences of black women and their experiences at the intersection of race, class and gender.  Since its origins, many white feminists have taken seriously the critiques of race and class initially raised by womanist theologians.  There are also some non-black women who associate with womanist theology – such as Lee Skye, an aboriginal Australian woman – and many women of color who identify with feminist theology – sometimes while also identifying as womanist, mujerista (Latina), Asian American, etc. I think many white feminists do theology that is sensitive to and inclusive of race, class, orientation, ability, etc. in addition to gender.  I think that white feminist theology that seeks to examine class and race privilege well addresses critiques of womanists and other women-of-color feminists.

From Travis: Monica, you've appeared several times on the Homebrewed Christianity podcast to talk about process theology (and I've enjoyed hearing you speak every time). How does process theology relate to liberation theology?

I am a process theologian and a liberation theologian. For me, I believe that God is calling us towards a vision that includes beauty, truth, adventure, art and justice.  Thus, God interact with the world, changing the world and being changed by the world, but calling us to work to create a world that is ever more liberative.  I don’t describe God has being on the side of the oppressed, but rather on the side against oppression – wherever it is found – and advocating justice – wherever it can be found.  But the timing of this question is ironic because process theologian John Cobb just wrote about how process and liberation theology intersect here.

From Saskia: My question has to do with your work on sexual violence and the church. A survivor myself, I am acutely aware of this issue in a way my non-survivor friends aren't. How do I start the conversation on this in a church environment that doesn't seem very receptive to it?

I think that there are many ways to introduce the issue of sexual violence in a church environment that is not very receptive to it.  Here are a couple: attend a “Take Back the Night” event with a teen group or women’s group.  Talk about “dating violence” with a teen, college or young adult group.  Or bring in someone who can talk about this.  See if there are any social workers or therapists in your church – perhaps they have ideas or expertise with other local environments.  There are also small ways like posting information on a bulletin board or inside the women’s bathroom during April – Sexual Assault Awareness Month.  I mention others in my book, The Dinah Project. 

Several readers expressed interest in entry-level book recommendations on liberation theology for newcomers to the topic. Suggestions?

I recommend Liberation Theologies in the United States: an Introduction edited by Stacey M. Floyd-Thomas and Anthony B. Pinn (New York: NYU Press, 2010).

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(You can check out every installment of our interview series—which includes “Ask an atheist,” “Ask a nun,” “Ask a pacifist,” “Ask a Calvinist,” “Ask a Muslim,” “Ask a gay Christian,” “Ask a Pentecostal” “Ask an environmentalist,” “Ask a funeral director,” and  many more—here.)

Ask a stay-at-home dad… (response)

Today we continue our popular "Ask a…" series with Sonny Lemmons and his responses to your questions for "Ask a stay-at-home dad." 

In July of 2009, Sonny Lemmons chose to put his 13-year career in Higher Education Administration on hold to become a full-time stay-at-home dad - despite the fact that he had never changed a diaper before his son was born. Originally from Mississippi, Sonny has worked at both public and private universities in the areas of Leadership Development and Academic Advising. He has also volunteered and served vocationally in ministry positions at churches, ranging from youth and college groups to team teaching and creative teams. His wife Ashley currently serves as the Assistant Director of Residence Life at the University of South Carolina. Sonny has spent most of his free time in the last three years (aka "Malakai's nap time") documenting life as a stay-at-home dad from a faith-based perspective. His essay "Committing Professional Suicide" was selected as the lead article in the anthology series The Myth of Mr. Mom, which peaked as the #1 eBook on Fatherhood at Amazon.com. He blogs at Looking Through the Windshield, and he routinely posts the cutest photos of his kid or commentaries on coffee and craft beer on Twitter, so be sure to check him out there. 

You asked some great questions, and Sonny definitely rose to the occasion. Hope you enjoy his responses as much as I did. 

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Note from Sonny: I don’t presume to speak for all stay at home parents, regardless of gender. Nor do I advocate that there HAS to be one parent to stay home with their kid or kids full or part time. Not every dad is cut out to be a SAHD. Not every mom is cut out to be a SAHM. Ashley and I simply made the best decision for us based on our lives. Your mileage may vary.

From Rachel: Tell us a little about Malakai. How old is he? What is he into right now? What's his personality like?

You just asked a dad to talk about his kid. Get comfortable. This might take a while.

Malakai (which is actually phonetically closer to the original spelling of the name) is three and half. Ashley and I finalized our choice for his name about three days before he was born. We knew we wanted his middle name to be Joseph (it was my dad's middle name, and it's mine as well), but we wanted his name to be his own, something that was his and his alone instead of burdening him with the name "Sonny, Jr." We tend to call him "Kai" as a nickname, but "Malakai Joseph" has a great ring to it when you say it in "angry parent" voice.

His personality is off the charts. It's hysterical to watch him in public, because he will just bounce from person to person and talk to them before randomly breaking out in a song he's made up, or he'll just pretend he's Spider-Man or the Hulk if he doesn't want to talk to them. He likes a lot of the stuff I like, so he's probably one of the few toddlers with their own "sonic screwdriver" and TARDIS, who knows the visual differences between many of the spices in the pantry, and is familiar with more songs by U2 and Over the Rhine than Veggie Tales or songs from Sunday school.

What just kills me is he has a love of reading—a true, deep love of it. He'll occasionally ask to play alone, at which point he will go to his room, arrange his stuffed animals, and pull out one of his books from Dr. Seuss, Beatrix Potter, or Mo Willems and "read" to them a story he has memorized. He and I have read The Hobbit in its (edited by me) entirety, and we're working through The Chronicles of Narnia, and yes, he can articulate differences in all the characters in the books up to "Prince Caspian." When I came back from Chicago recently, he wanted to share with me all the stories he had written down about what he did while I was gone.

He loves to play soccer, watch (and yell at) televised college football, and every day when we go on a walk, he has to pick up "the coolest rock" to bring home to his collection. Yet he also has a fascination with Walt Disney's “Tangled” movie (at one point, he wanted to be Rapunzel for Halloween), loves to watch and talk to babies, and he cradles the doll Ashley had when she was his age with such tenderness and gentleness that I can hardly believe he's not even four. And we love, support, and encourage each and every fact of his personality. The main reason he won't be Rapunzel for Halloween is he's now trying to decide between Wolverine and a Power Ranger.

Except for the times when he wakes up before sunrise, or he gets frustrated that I won't honor his requests for Krispy Kreme and chocolate milk for dinner, he's spectacular to be around. But even in his fussiest of moments, I can't think of anything else I'd rather be doing than watching him simply become the person he's going to be.

From Alise: What have been some of the biggest challenges to your faith as a result of this decision? With Mark Driscoll talking about how this is something requiring "church discipline," (and Owen Strachan calling stay-at-home fatherhood a "man fail") how do you fight those voices?

Of course Alise would ask me such a simple and easy question. The sad reality is that although I and other SAHDs try and drown out the naysayers who judge how we have chosen to serve our families, the constant barrage does chip away at your sense of worth. For example, when someone I went to high school with and had not spoken to in 20 years found out I was a SAHD, he took it upon himself to send me email after email about how I was acting outside of God's will. No matter how secure I was and still am in my decision to stay home, being told I am wrong on a regular basis does tend to wear you down.

After Ashley and I moved to South Carolina, we did what all good Christian couples do: we slept in the first few Sundays, and then started the quest to find a church we could call home. We could not have picked a “better” church to visit on our first Sunday, as the pastor was speaking that week – scratch that; he was shouting – about “biblical” gender roles, referencing stay-at-home dads as “abnormal” and it being against God’s will for a wife to have a larger income than her husband.

Needless to say, we failed to fill out a visitor’s card. Nor did we at the next church, which although they stayed silent on the subject from the pulpit, when asked in a one-on-one environment, the leadership said they could not publicly or even privately support our arrangement of me staying home. I found out later that the leadership of both of these churches look to Driscoll and his contemporaries as espousing "the" manly man way in which church, home, and life should be led.

In many ways, American culture, particularly that found within the evangelical church, is rooted in a 1950s mentality that demands “traditional” roles for women and men, all the while failing to realize our Western “norm” is barely over half a century old. Looking back to when our country was founded, most men worked from home. They stayed home all day with their kids. They may have worked out in the fields for hours on end, but they were at home. We were a primarily agrarian society, but even early general stores were run by families. It wasn’t until the Industrial Revolution that we experienced a cultural shift where fathers left home in large quantities to go to work. It wasn’t the feminist movement or the rise of advocating equality for same-sex couples that changed "traditional American family values." Blame Eli Whitney. The history of our country is made up of men who "failed," and apparently they should have all been disciplined by and kicked out of church. That is, if we use the “norm” of today to judge them by. 

I Timothy 5:8 is a favorite of anti-SAHD pastors to toss out and use as biblical justification for why men MUST be the breadwinner and leave the responsibilities of full time child-rearing and running a household to their wives. The problem is, in Greek, the phrase “does not provide for” refers to proneno, meaning “to care for,” “to think of beforehand” and “to take thought for.” We have mistakenly taken this to specifically and exclusively mean “to provide for financially,” when that’s not what the intent was at all; we are to first and foremost place the emotional and physical well being of those in our families before our own wants. Add in fact the verse starts off with the phrase “If ANYONE does not…” (emphasis mine), which is a gender-neutral term only given the masculine inference in later translations of the Bible. So this theological caveman-like argument of "man provide money, woman take baby" begins to erode away. 

When Malakai turned one, he was diagnosed with chronic benign neutropenia, a blood condition which - despite the "benign" name in its label - leaves him with a weakened immune system, lowered white blood cell count, and as a byproduct, requires him to have daily breathing treatments. Had I followed "God's plan" for being a man and kept my job, daycare would have gotten him so sick time and again that either my wife or I would have missed a huge chunk of work anyway due to staying home with him to nurse him back to health. As it is, I provide comfort to Ashley's mind and soul because she knows he is with someone who can monitor his health (which, as of his last visit to the oncologist, is finally getting up to the white blood cell count it needs to have). I provide her with peace because she doesn't have to worry about him just being one kid in a crowd of kids, cared for only if/when he cries the loudest.

And yet, people I know who are aware of his health issues still tell me I am in the wrong by me staying home with him and not Ashley.

I am providing. My bank is First Love, and it accepts the currency of smiles, hugs, PlayDoh, puppet shows, and thankfulness. If as a husband I am called to love my wife like Christ loved the church, to the point of giving up His life for it, then me giving up a job to live out my responsibility as a father and a husband should not be not condemned. 

Fail that.

From Chris: Even within churches that "accept" (or simply do not outwardly judge) at-home dads, ministry to men and fathers is still often formed based around the role of dad as the hardworking provider, defined in mostly monetary ways. Fatherhood is explained through sports metaphors, or by comparing it to being the CEO of a company, etc. Weekday church programs to support at-home parents are often still MOPS (Moms of Preschoolers) or "Mom's Group" or something similar, and there is little thought to making such programs openly and obviously welcoming to dads too. Some churches even have specific rules that limit or forbid men from involvement in childcare programs, on the basis that it's too risky that a man may be a predator. How do you go about encouraging your local church to better support and empower really involved fatherhood, and better serve at-home dads like yourself?

You know, Chris, now that I think about it, all the community support I have received as a SAHD has come from outside of the church. The first thing that churches need to do is have their leadership educate themselves on the growing number of SAHDs and realize that we are probably already attending their churches. The latest US Census Data showed that approximately 176,000 men report themselves as stay-at-home dads. Nearly 17% of children who are of preschool age or younger are reported as being cared for by their father during normal business hours. As is evidenced just by the responses from individuals on this thread alone, we are far from being as rare a creature as some might believe.

We live in a culture that chastises and vilifies absentee fathers, yet does little to celebrate the ones who stay, who simply do what they are supposed to do. And when Christian culture does pipe up, we talk about and extol the "Godly ways to raise a child." Yet a quick glance at the parenting section in any Christian bookstore shows we apparently only do so from ages 5 and up, leaving out the critical first years of learning and education. The biggest problem is that there is no voice for the men who stay home with infants, toddlers, or preschool children - especially from the church.

One of the easiest ways in which churches or faith-based organizations can support and empower truly engaged fatherhood is by giving us a voice and a platform. I'm not saying we should rush the stage and grab the pulpit, but at the very least we should be invited to Moms Groups. We should be asked to speak up and give examples in parenting series. Granted, most men might grasp a sports or business metaphor before anything else, but we're also capable of greater emotional understanding than many pastors give us credit for.

I've been called on more than a few times to explain or talk to the husband of a SAHM about issues or struggles she may be going through because, sadly, guys tend to listen to what men say to each other more than we hear the voices of our spouses or partners. Part of my "street cred" comes that as a stay at home parent, I can empathize with some of the struggles she may be going through, and frame them in a way that her husband could understand. The fact that I can address issues through the lens of faith and talk about my own experiences as a parent in way that another man can "get" would seemingly be invaluable. But because SAHDs are often seen as rare at a church, our voices and insights are rendered mute.

We, the SAHDs, rallied together and got Huggies to change an ad campaign. But we can't get included in "Mothers Day Out" programs in churches.

From Ed: For dads considering staying at home, what are two of the toughest questions they can expect people to ask them and how would you answer them?

Ed, the biggest struggle that dads can expect doesn't really come from without. I've dealt with comments from total strangers to looks of shock on our pediatrician's face when they find out I'm a stay-at-home dad. The issue comes when these questions that are asked cause struggles that end up being internal instead of external:

(1) Any and all variations of the "Why?" question. First and foremost. That's the question I was hit with repeatedly during my first year. And my answer now is the same as it was then: it made sense and still makes sense for us. When we found out we were pregnant, we at first thought about putting Malakai in daycare after he was born. It seemed to be the normal, natural thing to do. All the cool kids were doing it. We knew that we could financially afford it, although it meant that almost the entirety of my monthly salary would go to paying someone to take care of him. It wasn't until we sat down and did a time analysis that we realized between the irregular hours we both worked, the extra hours at night for student meetings, the weekend duties we had to do, and the things that always seemed to pop up at the last minute that we we would essentially be paying someone else to raise him.  We'd see him at breakfast, dinner, and bath time, and that was going to be about it. Since part of Ashley's compensation package for her position provided us with a place to live, it made sense for me to quit to stay home with him. It's not like we were going to miss my income, since we were going to have to budget for it to be gone anyway. Although, funny enough, I did have one person tell me that I should have fulfilled my Godly obligation and kept my job, while Ashley quit hers, then we could have moved out either before or after she gave birth so as to stay in God's will with me as provider. (Because that scenario sounds like so much fun.) What wears you down is that after the 457th time you answer the "why" questions, you begin to feel like you're continually having to defend your life and your family. 

(2) The other question is the question I began to hate to answer when I met someone: "What do you do?” It cuts to the core of your identity in many ways. Not so much as in "what do you do all day?" but "what do you do for a living?" When you initially meet someone in a social setting, one of the easiest ice-breaking questions is to ask "What do you do?” because we try to find common vocational ground in conversations, or else we just use that as a way to keep our discussions surface level. No joke: I was at a dinner party one night with Ashley when a visiting professor in Religion and Theology from Princeton introduced herself to me. After she asked what it was that I did, my response caused her to literally freeze, stare at me, and then she turned and struck up a conversation with the person standing next to me, not even acknowledging my presence. We're conditioned to function in a rewards-based work structure (make this sale, get this bonus), and any vocational answer given that flies counter to that is seen as weird, odd, and incongruous with the way things should be. The idea that a man could find fulfillment in taking care of an infant, and now continue to take care of a toddler, was something that I needed to express my pride in and not be ashamed of. Even simply saying "I work from home" felt like it was a "better" or more acceptable reply to some people, since it showed I was "contributing" to my family. Granted, my financial contributions roughly cover the monthly cost of coffee, construction paper and the occasional trip to a fancy restaurant like IHOP, but it was still something people felt more comfortable with me saying. "What I do" is I am a stay at home dad. What I get paid to do doesn't matter. 

From Dianna: Hi Sonny! As a woman who doesn't want kids and would never stay home if I did have kids, I'm curious as to what backlash your wife has received as a result of this family decision? In the 80s, when my parents decided to work, my mom got all sorts of comments about how she was abandoning her duties as a mother. Has this been hard on your wife, too?

Hey, Dianna. I asked Ashley about this, and her (paraphrased) answer was a little surprising to me. She said that there was never any implicit or implied negativity towards her from our friends, since the majority of them knew her well enough and never would have expected her to stay home anyway. I think I knew it subconsciously as well. It's not as if we dated, got engaged, got married, got pregnant, and then I suddenly realized that she was not a gentile Southern lady, content on getting an "Mrs." degree from college and that being the end of her goals. 

What they - and our families - did find more surprising was that I chose to stay home, as it was somewhat against my typically vocationally-driven nature. I find it amusing to think that it wasn't a question of my ability to take care of an infant that gave them pause to wonder if I could do this; instead, it was the fact I wasn't working in an office setting that gave them concern. 

Both of our moms were SAHMs to us, albeit for varying years. So there's not a true opposition from our families to one of us staying home; there was just a bit of amazement and wonder that it was me who was staying home. I do feel the need to point out that if our roles had been reversed and Ashley been given the chance to stay home, she probably would have. We were just in a position where I was the one who got to and still gets to stay home. The difference in what society expects and what she would have done is that her staying home would have been a conscious decision on what she would have wanted to do, not what was expected of her. 

From Julie: How do you respond when people call you Mr. Mom or otherwise categorize you in a "female" role? How do you demonstrate that you and your partner are both equally suited as parents and this is the childcare arrangement that works best for your family?

And (we combined these two questions since they are related) from Red: Wow....God is really answering my prayers this week. I don't have kids yet, but my husband and I are approaching that stage, and already struggling with these questions. My question is something that truly haunts me, so I hope it gets picked....There seems to be an unspoken belief that women are better suited to fulfill an infant's emotional needs during the first year of life. I know many people who believe that the best way for a kid to be emotionally healthy is to have lots and lots and lots of Mommy Time when they're little, and transition into more Daddy Time as they get older (like toddler/school years). Certainly, the idea of mom being gone 8 hours a day (no matter how involved Dad is) would lead these people to believe that the infant is probably missing out on something for optimum emotional health down the road. Have you ever run into this attitude? Does it worry you? How do you combat those fears in your own mind? This is very important to my family, because my husband wants to be a SAHD and I want to keep working....but sometimes the worry over whether we will "mess up" our kids practically strangles all my optimism. 

Julie and Red: For starters, I'm fairly certain that many of the home videos, photos, and stories I've written down about Malakai's first few years are going to be fodder for a therapy session… or seventy… one day. The poor kid is already genetically predisposed to being a bit of a nerd. However, children are way more psychologically resilient than we give them credit for, even if we do, for example, spend part of one afternoon marching on the front porch, playing instruments, and hosting a parade for all the passing cars. (I have "a friend" who told me he did that with his son one day. )

Also, my reaction to people calling me "Mr. Mom" has mellowed a bit. I used to want to point out that Ashley isn't "Mrs. Dad" any more than I am "Mr. Mom." The term, while cute, is a little degrading as it automatically compares anything I do as a parent to my wife. It robs me of empowering me as a dad and Ashley as a mom. And I look nothing like Michael Keaton. 

Ultimately, nurturing is the key to dealing with parenting and care roles and responsibilities. We tend to think of men as less nurturing than women, thanks in no small part to images in pop culture and the media as portraying men as lovable buffoons who mean well and try to do well but ultimately don't have the common sense to find their own behinds with both hands and a compass…unless, of course, we have an understanding and vastly more mature wife to help us along. The day I announced to my office mates that I was quitting to stay home with Malakai, the silence in the room was unsettling. One of my coworkers said something that was just so utterly insane that it blew me away: "I can understand why your wife might want to stay home, since she's his mother, and as women we're made to want to stay home and take care of our kids. But men aren't nurturing. How are you going to know what to do with him?"

To presume that a man is incapable of nurturing in some ways relegates him to the single responsible role of "sower of seeds " which some men - sadly - would accept gleefully.  If a man has a nurturing spirit, what’s the big deal? We stereotype men into being emotionally aloof, having a stern voice or hand when it comes to discipline, and being more hands-off in regards to raising an infant. If a man has been confined into believing he must adhere to traditional gender roles all his life, he may not be a fit for being a stay at home parent. 

Study after study has been conducted to document what it does to a kid to grow up in a house without a father, be it a physically absent or emotionally absent father. So as men, we're told to "be a man" and step up to our responsibilities. The mixed message we get from churches and faith-based organizations often is to be involved, but not too involved. Teach your child, especially your son, manly things in manly ways, as God intended. I have a three-and-half year old son whom I am providing with a male role model - something sorely lacking in this country - and he gets to see me cooking, cleaning, and taking care of other roles traditionally relegated to women. If he grows up with a natural sense of gender equity, I will have fulfilled one  of my duties as a parent.

From Casey: As a newish stay-at-home-mom at 40 (after a career in higher education administration), what I notice is a certain stay-at-home-mom culture, with all sorts of unspoken rules, at places like the park down the street from my house. I don't relate well to lots of those moms...so I guess my front-loaded question really is, how do you integrate into or even participate in the community of stay-at-home parents? How do SAHMs treat you on the playground?

Casey, your story hits a little close to home. We should get coffee. Honestly, I'm ignored for the most part. I can go to the movies, the park, the library, the bowling alley, the zoo, or the children's museum and see droves of moms with their kids. Malakai gets along great with other children, but when I try to strike up a conversation with the corresponding mom, it's like I'm looked at like some kind of oddity. Like, why is this strange man talking to me? Did anyone see him drive up? Was he in an unmarked van with no windows? 

This doesn't happen all the time, but it is the norm rather than the exception. Part of that comes from where I live: I've only met 2-3 other stay at home dads here in South Carolina, so we are few and far between - in public - which means the majority of the parents I interact with are women. And I understand the hesitation that some of these moms may have in holding a conversation with me. Most of the moms that I see travel in groups because they already know one another. I don't have a close-knit group of stay at home parents I "hang out" with. Nor do I have perfectly manicured hair, immaculate makeup, designer clothes, and other than the fact we're parents and our kids are playing together, we may not have a lot in common. The stay at home culture seems to want to foster community provided that it is like-minded and looks the same while isolating and marginalizing those who don't fit the norm.

So, nothing at all like church. Nope. Nothing at all. 

We fortunately live in a moderately diverse location, so Malakai gets to often play with kids who are from a different ethnic and racial background than his, and I love it. There's one park nearby which is kind of the "hippie" park, and that's where I find the moms who are more prone to talk to me and not just ask how old he is, what potty training issues we've had, or other "parent shield" questions that allow us to chat without ever actually talking. 

I tried for about a year to get into some of the parenting groups in the area, but the reality is that because I'm a guy, I was told either to not come or that maybe I shouldn't come, as it might make the other moms uncomfortable. The vast majority of my support has come from the online community. I am close friends with a stay at home mom in TN, and we text each other with comments and anecdotes about us and not just our kids. There are a lot of SAHDs who utilize Twitter, partially as a connection to other men who are at home. 

From KC: Have you found any new passions or hobbies staying at home that you wouldn't have picked up if you had continued to work? (For example, when my dad started to stay at home, he found out he really enjoys cooking, which he'd never done much of while he was working a normal day job.)

KC, Ashley's immediate response to this question was, "Your cooking has gotten a lot better." I always have loved to cook, but now I'm the weird guy who watches a cooking show on Food Network and thinks "I can do that." She always rolls her eyes when she comes home from work and finds a full meal already prepared and ready on the table for her. And Kai enjoys cooking with me. How many other three-and-a-half year olds know to refer to themselves as a "sous chef" or know how to use a mortar and pestle? 

And then there's the writing. Granted, 99% of my writing takes place during Kai's naps,  sitting next to him while he eats a snack in the afternoon, or on Saturdays (when Ashley lovingly gives me most of the day to indulge and decompress), but I never knew how much enjoyment I could get out of writing. Back in my former life, my writing consisted of research and assessment based reviews, articles, presentations or seminars. This, writing about faith or parenting, is something of which I am far more passionate about in tone and subject matter. 

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Thanks Sonny!  You can check out every installment of our interview series—which includes “Ask an atheist,” “Ask a nun,” “Ask a pacifist,” “Ask a Calvinist,” “Ask a Muslim,” “Ask a gay Christian,” “Ask a Pentecostal” “Ask an environmentalist,” “Ask a funeral director,” and  many more--here.