Reading Rachel Held Evans

It was sometime in 2013 when my husband recommended a book to me. It was a nonfiction book by a woman whose blog he had come across; he’d read it and thought it might connect with me. I’m a huge reader, and Eric doesn’t have much time for leisure reading, and making recommendations was a rare thing, so I set it on my bedside table with every intention of reading it. However, a problem arose. While I did much of my reading in the evening in the time immediately before bed, much of that reading took place on my Kindle, so I wouldn’t wake up Eric if I was up late or if I woke in the middle of the night. It was unlikely that I would want to start a new paperback book in the time right before bed. So it sat there.

The book was The Year of Biblical Womanhood by Rachel Held Evans. The cover was yellow and had the image of a grinning Rachel with a head covering sitting cross-legged on the roof of a house.

Based on that alone, I imagined it to be a flippant book, with a trite tone. So it continued to sit on my bedside table, waiting for me to be in a lighthearted enough mood.

The summer of 2013 was our first summer in Wisconsin. Eric had been admitted to a program in St. Louis for five weeks. When he initially applied, we imagined that if he got in, all of us would relocate. When it came down to the specifics, though, I began to think that would be hard to pull off. For starters, if he went down their solo, there was housing already lined up for the participants. If we went as a family of three, we’d have to find space off campus, with convenient access to public transit and/or the college, since we’d only have one car. Furthermore, we have two cats, so we’d need to find a place that would also welcome them. Add in the fact we’d be paying rent still on our Wisconsin townhouse, and that I had a sense of Green Bay and had formed relationships already, I began to think it was best if we wished Eric well and sent him on his way solo, instead of creating more of a financial burden to move to an unfamiliar place and try to make the most of our five weeks there. We planned a couple visits to break up the time apart.

There’s more I can say about the summer, how I initially planned on making a plea on Facebook for being included, invited over for meals. But the first week was ideal, with several friends asking if this was during Eric’s time away, inviting us to accompany them to storytime and then cupcakes afterwards, to the farmer’s market and then dinner afterwards, and so on. I felt like we’d be fine, no public reminders needed. But then there were some lonely stretches.

Our tenth anniversary passed with us in separate states. The St. Louis program finished up in mid July, and we were going to celebrate our anniversary belatedly with a trip to New York City.

As I was packing for our trip, I picked up the Rachel Held Evans book; it seemed like a good choice for airplane reading, since electronics were not yet allowed on and in use during takeoff and landing.

Our early flight was supposed to be a direct flight to New York City, getting us there by 11 am. But we woke up to learn our flight had been cancelled. We ended up on a flight to Atlanta, but we spent hours on the ground there, sometimes boarding a plane only to have to disembark again. It took us a full day to get to NYC; we finally were on our way to the hotel at 11 pm at night, twelve hours after our expected arrival, now short a travel day.

During this long travel delay, with all its hiccups, I spent the time knitting and reading, beginning The Year of Biblical Womanhood. I immediately understood why Eric recommended this book to me, why he’d periodically check to see if I’d started it yet.

Rachel Held Evans writes in a way that’s accessible, intelligent, and genuine. She laid out what led her to this project. What I worried would be flippant turned out to be grounded in heartfelt searches.

At one point, we were waiting on the runway in Atlanta, trying yet again to get to New York. Eric and I were separated by a row or two since we were just lucky to get seats at all when our direct flight was cancelled.

I was reading Rachel’s insight into the miracle where Jesus healed the woman with chronic bleeding. This was a familiar story for me: a woman has been bleeding for twelve years, with no relief. She has heard of this Jesus person. In her desperation at her current state, she reaches out to touch his robe. Jesus feels the energy flow from him and wants to learn who touched him. His disciples, seemingly annoyed at this question when they’re in the midst of a bustling crowd, try to dismiss it altogether. He insists he felt the power leave, so the woman comes forward, penitent. She admits what she has done, Jesus says not only is she healed, her sins are forgiven.

In this particular chapter, Rachel’s focus is on the Jewish rules surrounding menstrual bleeding. She communicates how women were considered unclean when they were on their periods. This wasn’t new information to me -- I remember reading all the cleansing rituals in the Bible surrounding this. But Rachel spells out what this means in day-to-day realities. Since women were unclean until their period was over and they properly bathed, they couldn’t have physical contact with anyone. To do so would make others unclean, as well.

Rachel shares about how modern-day Jews behave during their periods and how she practiced the same rules for a month. Rachel, in an effort not to make every place she sat on unclean, carried around a stadium seat. Within that levity, though, she stresses how hard it was to keep her distance from her husband Dan. Until they weren’t supposed to touch, she didn’t realize how much incidental contact they had in a day; a shoulder brush here, a hand on an arm there. A hug, a kiss.

With that lens, she returns to the story of the miracle. For over a decade, this woman has been marked as unclean, as less than, as other. She has not been allowed physical contact, for to do so would cause others to also be unclean.

How long would we last in such a state? This woman, in her desperation, is determined to find healing. She has found no success with doctors, so word of Jesus must have held hope for her, one more possibility. She weaves through the crowd and touches the hem of Jesus’ robe.

When Jesus paused and insisted to know who had touched him, she must have expected censure. All of her life she has known bleeding made one unclean. To willingly touch another, to make another unclean -- and a man, at that -- shows how desperate she was; she couldn’t go on with her status quo, with her outsider status.

Jesus looks on her, knows that he has every right to judge and condemn. Instead, though, he sees her worth. And he heals and blesses her.

Every time I think of that account, I get all weepy. It particularly impacted me that first time, as I was sitting on the plane next to a businessman. I felt like I was barely holding it together; I was subtly trying to take deep breaths so I don’t collapse in sobs at the beauty of it all. At how I am getting this image of how radical Jesus truly was. That kind of a man is worth following. One who has every right to judge given the law, but one who recognizes society has failed this woman. Love, not judgment, was due.

I found myself in the pages time and again. I felt seen. That book gripped me, and I was pushing the title into friends’ hands at every opportunity; I kept finding ways to bring it up in conversation, as so many things could call it to mind.

That summer Eric was in St. Louis was after his reading of the book. When he returned home that summer, we had some wide-ranging conversations and he shared several realizations he’d had.

He thought he had a balanced, modern view of our division of labor, of our equality. But he revealed to me that it was natural, while he was in St. Louis, to take for granted that I’d stay home and care for Brennan. However, had the tables been turned, would he have been as gracious and accommodating and supportive if I had the opportunity to be away from home for five weeks, leaving him with sole parenting responsibilities? He didn’t like that answer, as he acknowledged he likely would have grumbled, would have felt like he was doing me a favor to step up like that.

It marked a concerted effort from Eric of trying to identify my passions and encourage me in them, even more than previously.

Since that pivotal summer, Rachel Held Evans became a voice I respected and followed, someone who was thoughtful and intelligent, someone who had humor and didn't shy away from defending those who were vulnerable and found in the margins.

When I learned of Rachel's hospitalization and coma last year, she was heavy on my heart. Rachel and her family were often on my mind and in my prayers that Lenten season.

One year ago today, our family was in IKEA. I was waiting in line for some Swedish meatballs. The rest of my family had been content with hot dogs and pizza downstairs, so they were at a table nearby as I queued up to order. The line was long and unmoving, so I pulled out my phone to pass the time.

I read the news that Rachel had died, and I lost my breath and my appetite. I put away my empty tray, letting Eric know I was no longer hungry and didn't want lunch after all. He thought it was due to me feeling bad about making them wait when they'd already eaten and was trying to reassure me they were fine. I tried to relay the news stoically, but I could only say the words, "Rachel Held Evans died," before I started crying. My face was scrunched up, my throat ached from trying to shield my emotions from the strangers around me. He held me as I tried to gain a measure of calm.

I'm pretty open with my emotions, but most vulnerable conversations happen in environments where my girls aren't present; they rarely see me cry and both had concerned looks on their faces. I tried to explain that someone had died, not someone I knew in person, but an author that meant a lot to me, and I was sad because of it.

When we think about where we were when pivotal events happened, standing in the IKEA cafeteria when I learned Rachel died comes rushing to mind.

Losing Rachel was hard for me. For us. She was a lodestar. I thought she'd be here for decades yet, teaching us, stretching us, shepherding us. She was a fierce, brave leader with a prophetic voice.

I credit her for speaking words into my doubt, for creating a space for Christians who have left evangelicalism to find a new home, to wrestle with our doubts and become stronger through it all. To acknowledge the role our evangelical roots had in shaping us, even as we now dissociate from features of it. What a messy reality, but what a gift to not be alone.

Rachel's funeral was streamed, and it was meaningful to participate so as to grieve collectively the loss of a dear life. And my kids got to see me again cry for a woman I'd never met but still mourned.

I know what it is to survive, what emerging on that first anniversary of a devastating loss can be like. I can't imagine what it has been like for her husband, for her young children, for her family and friends. I can only share what it has been like for me on the distant periphery.

I grieve the words that died with her, words that could have challenged us, bolstered us. I grieve her absence in the lives of her family and friends.

So today, I again remember Rachel Held Evans. I don't censure myself for this past year's sadness because others had it worse or had more of a reason to grieve (I could cite Brene Brown here, on how admitting your realities doesn't take away from anyone else's struggles, or even Dan's own words today, as he reflects on the past year without Rachel). I acknowledge the way she shaped me while never knowing me.

I think of the gift her life gave me, and how there will be others who will continue to come across Rachel's words at pivotal points in their own lives, who will find themselves changed because of her faithfulness, her questioning, her writing.

Book Log: April 2018

My youngest sister has been doing an annual post of books completed, and I always enjoy looking through it. I do keep a log of my finished books, so I thought cataloging my completed books at the close of every month would be a good way to dust off this blog and encourage me to jot down a few lines -- or a few paragraphs -- with my impressions (a compiled list will appear at the close of the year). I don't like spoilers, so while I put some initial thoughts after each title, when possible I'm purposely vague regarding plot specifics so as not to dissuade any of you from reading them. This is my third year doing this (here is a list of my 2017 books, and here is the list of my 2016 books; these pages don't have commentary, but if there's a title that interests you, click on the appropriate month to learn more).

The included Amazon links are affiliate links; should you be inclined to purchase one, these links only mean Amazon will give me a small percentage of the cost, at no additional expense to you.

25) 4/1: Inspired: Slaying Giants, Walking on Water, and Loving the Bible Again by Rachel Held Evans

I've shared before how pivotal Rachel Held Evans' book A Year of Biblical Womanhood was for me (I took a tangent when discussing the book The Little Way of Ruthie Leming, seen here). Because I pre-ordered her newest book Inspired, I had the opportunity to also be sent an Advanced Readers Copy of it so I could read it a couple months before it was released. In it, Evans comes back to the Scripture with new eyes, reminding herself why she was drawn to it in the first place, and she falls in love with it again.

In some ways, the format reminds me of How to Read the Bible for All Its Worth; both recognize the Bible is written in various styles, and just as you wouldn't approach a book of poetry the same way you'd approach a history text, so you shouldn't read the Psalms the same you'd read the prophets and so on, but Inspired has a less clinical feel.

Rachel Held Evans has a small vignette before each chapter to bring light to the upcoming section. Perhaps it's a short story, a play, a poem, even a choose-your-own adventure piece.

Some chapters, like her section "Resistance Stories," feel especially relevant and timely. In the "War Stories" chapter, Rachel Held Evans reminds us it is good to wrestle with passages we can't make sense of, like widespread slaughter of people groups in the Old Testament:

"Brene Brown warns us we can't selectively numb our emotions, and no doubt this applies to the emotions we have about our faith. If the slaughter of Canaanite children elicits only a shrug, then why not the slaughter of Pequots? Of Syrians? Of Jews? If we train ourselves not to ask hard questions about the Bible, and to emotionally distance ourselves from any potential conflicts or doubts, then where will we find the courage to challenge interpretations that justify injustice? How will we know when we've got it wrong?" (pages 68-69)

I appreciated this book, following RHE's journey and watching her create and learn, finding herself retreating back into the Bible and being reminded of what she loves about it.

26) 4/2:  Bread and Wine: A Love Letter to Life Around the Table with Recipes by Shauna Niequist

This was my first title that I've read of Niequist, although I have several friends that enjoy her. This book is a testimony of the power of food and of gathering around a table.

Each chapter offers a recipe (I listened to the audiobook, read by Shauna, and in those cases, there is a link to download the recipes instead of having to copy them down). Some recipes are more complex than others, and I enjoyed how she shared the role each of the meals played in her life. Moments of joy and grief are naturally covered. After all, I think of when my brother and first child died, how we were gifted meals upon meals, a welcome relief when we could barely form thoughts together, let alone cook a nourishing meal. And I think of when we welcomed two other daughters home, and in those joyful, sleep-deprived times, we were blessed with meals yet again. Food connects us, and this book discusses how that is a sacred thing.

27) 4/5: The Gulag Archipelago by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

This book was a labor of love. The first time I ever went on a plane was to travel to Russia when I was in high school, and I've been drawn to literature from that country ever since. I first picked this up about a decade ago and read the first 200 pages or so, but it was around the time we moved from Minnesota to Indiana, and sometime during that transition, I set it aside. I've been longing to get back to it, so when someone in my book club asked if there was a subset of people who would read it with her, two of us jumped at the chance. Once a date was set to discuss it, I set up a reading plan to ensure I finished.

These 600-plus pages make up only the first of three volumes. This copy is found just often enough at used book sales, but I've never come across the other books in the wild, new or used. My husband was kind enough to locate them online and gifted them to me, so I'm hoping to work through those volumes in the next year or so. A word of warning: one member of the book club switched to an abridged edition when it became clear she couldn't finish in time. However, as the discussion went on, she realized she got the overall picture but missed the specific stories that brought life to it and helped the other two of us appreciate it. So if you're intrigued, pick up the unabridged book(s), not the abridged copy.

Solzhenitsyn has compiled comprehensive information to inform us about how Russians were arrested and imprisoned with no cause in the years 1918-1956. The torture they endured, the interrogations, the monotony of daily life once they arrived in a cell -- much is covered in this volume. Solzhenitsyn wrote this in secret, and I'm in awe of his capacity to remember details, names, circumstances.

His insights are powerful; one section compares and contrasts Germany and Russia after World War II. Germany publicly prosecuted 86,000 war criminals, whereas Russia only put 10 on trial (given their populations, that number should have been closer to 250,000). Solzhenitsyn suggests that, when Russians hesitated to draw all of that evil into the light, wanting to ignore it and let sleeping dogs lie, they were teaching their youth that evil is not punished and, instead, is financially lucrative. Whereas Germany publicly condemned their sins, vowing to learn from them ("Not to put them on trial so much as their crimes", page 177). I mentioned this on a couple different occasions with a friend who grew up in Berlin, and she confirms that, when they discuss history, there is absolutely no sugarcoating Hitler's actions.

"We have to condemn publicly the very idea that some people have the right to repress others. In keeping silent about evil, in burying it so deep within us that no sign of it appears on the surface, we are implanting it, and it will rise up a thousandfold in the future. When we neighter punish nor reproach evildoers, we are not simply protecting their trivial old age, we are thereby ripping the foundations of justice from beneath new generations. It is for this reason, and not because of the "weakness of indoctrinational work," that they are growing up "indifferent." Young people are acquiring the conviction that foul deeds are never punished on earth, that they always bring prosperity.

 It is going to be uncomfortable, horrible, to live in such a country!" pages (177-178)

His book is heavy and hard to read at times because of the subject matter, but he does have a sarcastic style that comes through that could bring a smile to my face in the darkest passages. And I found myself drawn to such beautiful, poignant insights:

"The sixteen-hour days in our cell were short on outward events, but they were so interesting that I, for example, now find a mere sixteen minutes' wait for a trolley bus much more boring. There were no events worthy of attention, and yet by evening I would sigh because once more there had not been enough time, once more the day had flown. The events were trivial, but for the first time in my life I learned to look at them through a magnifying glass." (202)

This is an important read and I'm hoping to start the second volume in the coming weeks. It feels so relevant to read and process and discuss.

28) 4/7: How the Light Gets In (Chief Inspector Gamache series, #9) by Louise Penny

The previous Louise Penny book ends on a heartbreaking note; we saw the inevitable path being laid, but that didn't make it any easier to stomach. In this volume, Gamache wrestles with the new normal of his altered (in)significance at the Surete as he also works on a case for Myrna: the death of her friend. As he delves into her past, he learns she also wrestled with her place in the world and how people viewed her, as she had tried to hide from her childhood of notoriety. Meanwhile, he has several moles in his department and all but one of his previously loyal core team have abandoned him for other departments.

I enjoy all of Louise Penny's novels, but this is tied as a favorite; I've learned I have a special place for the volumes where she has intricately woven several storylines. This one plays out spectacularly. We know Gamache's actions are being analyzed and as several cases converge, the tension heightens as we see what's at stake in the bigger picture.

29) 4/9: In This House of Brede by Rumer Godden

This was a lovely read. The prologue introduces us to Philippa, a powerful, efficient woman in authority. However, she resigns from her post to take orders, and the rest of the novel plays out in the Brede monastery.

I appreciate the portraits we get of the various members -- they are well-rounded instead of being visions of holy, unattainable, perfect nuns. Each is shown with foibles and weaknesses, but we witness them working to love each other through their failings as they struggle to live faithfully in their cloistered home.

There's humor and vulnerability throughout. I loved the truth inherent in the following exchange:

‘Weren’t you surprised that God should have chosen you?’ a young woman reporter, writing a piece on vocations, had asked her. ‘Yes,’ Dame Perpetua had answered, ‘but not nearly as surprised as that He should have chosen some of the others – but then God’s not as fastidious as we are,’ said Dame Perpetua.

I'm still processing the ending, trying to decide how I feel about the events, but overall it was a pleasant, thoughtful read and a loving tribute to a monastery the author had occasion to get to know.

30) 4/10: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by JK Rowling

I continue to make my way through the series on audiobook, enjoying Jim Dale's masterful readings. This is the volume with the Tri-wizard Tournament.

I was still a little behind my daughter's progress, but wait until next month when I jump ahead!







31) 4/14: The Long Way Home (Chief Inspector Gamache series, #10) by Louise Penny

Gamache is taking in a long-needed rest, spending long stretches at home with his wife for the first time in many years after having retired from his post. His friend Clara is worried about her husband's absence and finds the courage to open up to Gamache.

This ended on what felt like a necessary conclusion, even if it's disappointing and devastating in a way.






32) 4/18: The Nature of the Beast (Chief Inspector Gamache series, #11) by Louise Penny

A boy disappears and in investigating his absence, events from the past are dredged up. Long-time residents of Three Pines must wrestle with their inaction and silence as truth comes to light.

One note: I adored Ralph Cosham as a narrator, but he passed away between books ten and eleven. I was a little jolted when I began listening to the gentleman chosen as a replacement, but by the end of the book, while he's different, I could appreciate him as a skilled narrator. It took some adjustment, but in this and later titles, I can admire his skill while also mourning the loss of the artistry that Ralph Cosham brought to the text.


33) 4/20: 84, Charing Cross Road by Helene Hanff

This was a reread for me; I first read the book last summer, courtesy of my sister's copy. This winter I got a hold of the movie, which filled a lovely evening, as much of the dialogue is word for word from the letters. Then I checked out the audiobook when I saw it was available. It's still fresh in my mind (the paperback, movie, and audiobook all happened in about six months), but the audiobook is well done and is performed with multiple readers to cover the various letter writers.

I enjoy epistolary books, but this one is extra delightful given that these are actual letters exchanged. It's a beautiful picture of friendships forming from an initial love of literature. As time goes on, Helene gets involved in their difficulties by sending food parcels to them, and it blossoms from there. It's a short read/listen, well worth encountering.

34) 4/23: A Great Reckoning (Chief Inspector Gamache series, #12) by Louise Penny

Gamache had retired from the Surete, but after some time off, accepted a position at the Surete Academy, training new cadets. There was rot in the Surete, which led to the events of Gamache's departure, and he suspects the academy had individuals that had an agenda to create loyalists instead of cadets who will become officers that seek the greater good.

Gamache fires some faculty and hires others, one of which is a gamble, given his history. Gamache even selects the incoming cadet class, and one particular student he takes under his wing. Amelia Choquet doesn't seem as if she will finish and she's rough around the edges, but Gamache knows her back story and chose her in an attempt to stop the cycle of hopelessness and grief.

When a professor is killed, Gamache finds himself investigating again, and a copy of a map leads him and some students back to Three Pines to investigate.

35) 4/26: A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving

When friends share their top reads of all time, this book comes up just often enough as a favorite book. I bought a Kindle copy on sale several months ago, but as my reading time fluctuates, I also ended up buying it on Audible when it was discounted. I steadily listened to it, and for much of the book, I was entertained but was waiting for the moment I'd understand why people loved it so.

It's not a short read/listen; the audiobook clicks in at nearly 27 hours (although about 30 minutes of that is a conversation with the author). There's a lot of buildup, but the final hour or two are riveting. Irving admitted in the concluding interview that he started with a premise of what would it take for an atheist to believe in a higher power, and he wrote that story. The Vietnam War feels like a character, although we are hearing about it years in the future. It's a tribute to friendship and to family.

Small sidenote: when I was younger, I saw the movie Simon Birch, which is loosely based on this book (I can recall the circumstances of watching it -- at the annual cabin campout through our 4H club -- but the movie was forgettable). I decided to watch it again after concluding the book, but I was highly disappointed in the alterations they made, even as I understood why. The book's closing is so powerful that it's hard to settle for the diluted retelling.

36) 4/30: Glass Houses (Chief Inspector Gamache series, #13) by Louise Penny

This title, although the 13th in the series, still manages to engage readers by new methods. The structure of this one begins with a trial, where Gamache is testifying. We try to piece together details, and some chapters go back in time so we can live out the events Gamache is referring to.

A mysterious masked and hooded figure appears in Three Pines, standing ominously in the square, refusing to speak or leave. When the figure is later found murdered, the investigation is muddled and we switch between the trial and the events leading up to the discovery of the body and the time afterwards to see what could have been changed.

Louise Penny is not afraid to try new formats for her Gamache books, which is one reason I keep coming back. I heard an interview with her where she admitted that she doesn't want to get bored writing formulaic mysteries, so she keeps playing around until she finds something that captures her interest. This isn't a favorite of mine, but it was still an enjoyable listen