A Theology of Making Tea
Growing up, I thought that I had never seen a woman do theology. I would get frustrated that the only task I saw women doing in the church was preparing the morning tea. In some senses, this was true. The church contexts I was in did not have women teaching, and the sermon was the only time when I saw thoughtful, theological reflection being done. As a young person, I made the decision to challenge this narrative and to show that women can think deeply about faith just like men can.
However, what if the problem was deeper than not seeing women teaching? What if, in fact, the definition of theology that I was told meant that women who were doing theology were being hidden because I did not recognise their work as theology? The more time I spend studying, the more convinced I am that theology is something that we all do, in our daily lives. If this is true then we need to consider a new way of valuing this everyday knowledge, this lived experience, in the intellectual and “theological” parts of the church.
Last month, theologian Kat Armas published Abuelita Faith, a book which argues through the stories of her antepasadas (ancestors), alongside overlooked biblical women and Christian figures, that perhaps “the greatest theologians the world has ever know are those whom the world wouldn’t consider theologians at all.” At the heart of Armas’s argument is the belief that theology is not only the overly-heady discussions of God’s nature, but it is also the things that we believe and assert about God as we go about our daily lives. Doing theology includes conversations with friends as they navigate life’s challenges, as much as it includes poring over complex texts in theological libraries. While it is often overlooked by the wider theological system, the embodied knowledge that is found within these sorts of daily theological conversations is significant and holds incredible value for the ongoing understanding of God and our relation to God that the theological field pursues.
“What if the greatest theologians the world has ever known are those whom the world wouldn’t consider theologians at all?”
Christa McKirland and I are currently working on a project to consider the ways that these forms of embodied knowledge can be drawn on in order to help inform academic theological work. While this type of knowledge, drawn from lived experience, is not exclusive to or inherent in women, the historical exclusion of women from theological and academic fields has led to women being socialised to seek and know God in the context of our daily lives, rather than through intense intellectual reflection. This is certainly shifting with the, mostly, widespread acceptance of women in theology and in leadership roles within the church. However, to lose the embodied, daily life knowledge of everyday women theologians would be a detriment to the church and to the world of theology. What are ways to value this everyday theological knowledge and to use it to strengthen and deepen the particularity and embodied-ness of theological reflection?
For many churches, whether implicitly or explicitly, the Sunday service tends to revolve around the sermon. It generally occupies the largest time slot, and, unlike other elements, is a non-negotiable. Historically this has not been how churches have run, and the change has had a significant impact on the assumption that the main space for theological reflection is in the sermon or teaching component of a service. The flow on effect of this perception is that areas of embodied theology are devalued. There are two simple ways that churches can challenge this narrative.
The first is through a recognition of how God interacts with us in our particularity and embodied-ness. Sermons are often written and presented by one person, an example of a self-sufficient model of approaching theology. However, collective approaches to theological knowledge are a counter to this self-sufficiency and allow for a challenge to the overly cerebral and disembodied intellectual approaches that sermons can prioritise. In a church context, this could mean a range of things such as having a group that researches and gives input on the sermon or teaching content, or offering space for discussion or feedback during the service. Ultimately, it is about valuing the embodied and particular knowledges of the community, and recognising the contributions that these often overlooked theologians can make.
Secondly, changing the way that we define our worship will help to shift the priorities of our community to recognise the practice of theology that is present in all our time together. At my church, the sermon is brief and it is accompanied by intercessory prayer, reflective practices, time in community, and thoughtful sharing. This is very Baptist-ly polyphonic with many different voices heard each Sunday, however it is also reflective of traditional liturgical practices in which the homily occupied part of the whole of gathered worship, instead of being a focal point. In this way, hospitality, small group sharing, intercessory prayer, and the eucharist, become key parts of the collective, embodied practice of theology.
Looking back, I remember the women that I criticised for not having a voice and just making tea after the service. While I am certainly glad for women’s voices being heard in churches more and more, I also want to acknowledge those who still make morning tea. These theologians are foundational to our churches and should be honoured as cornerstones of faith and community formation. What can your churches do to ensure that all theologians and forms of theological knowledge are valued equally? Are there some small practices you could add or change in order to show the range of ways that theology is done?
Jaimee van Gemerden is currently editor at Metanoia.
