The Power of Woman in Caribbean Life : Implications for Ecclesiology by Sr. Diane Jagdeo O.P.[Tenth Annual Conference] January 6-10, 2003

THE POWER OF WOMAN IN CARIBBEAN LIFE:

IMPLICATIONS FOR ECCLESIOLOGY

(Catholic Theology in the Caribbean Today)

10TH Annual Conference)

By

Sr. Diane Jagdeo O.P.

Introduction

Each time I take a look at this topic, I find myself not being sure of what I am expected to talk about.  It sounds as though what is expected would best have been treated by a sociologist, but then, the word woman not women says to me perhaps something else is intended.  So I have found myself wavering as to what I ought to write about.  Then the words from Thomas Moore’s Care of the Soul rang in my ears: “write what you know about.”

This paper then is an exploration. Who is this Caribbean woman? What power does she have?  Where do I find her? What does she look like?  Because the topic concerns this woman and not simply women I have to search through the faces and spaces and stories of many women in order to find her.  She is not a statistic, yet from statistics you may capture some dimension of her.  You encounter her in the streets, and yards, in the market and sometimes she pops up on our television screens. She lives in my neighbourhood. But more, she appears at your side when your flesh is broken and your bones fall apart empty of sinew and your wounds are sore and your soul is languishing in darkness and desolation.  You meet her in the eyes of women weeping for their children and looking for shelter and food for their families and then you meet her again laughing and dancing as she points your spirit to a new time, and a new space.  To a space through the fence that holds you bound and gagged.

Certainly the Caribbean woman emerges as a wisdom figure, luring you to follow your deeper instincts, to find your true self. Thus in an attempt to speak of her power it may be best to walk the path of wisdom and “let wisdom be our guide” to her.

As a method of doing theology, wisdom requires (i) attentive listening, (ii) asking the right questions, (iii) creative use of the imagination, and (iv) truthful action.

Firstly, let us consider attentive listening.  This requires us to be attentive to the words not only the texts of scripture and those who write.  But to the spoken words from those who encourage us and those whose aim is to destroy us.  Most of all one must be attentive to the voices of those who have met her – in particular the lives of the poor, the battered, those without hope and those who mourn.  We need to be attentive to the voice of ‘no-voice’. Listen also to the cries of the earth, the scared trees and those destroyed because someone wants the parrot that lived for generations in that tree.  Also, you must listen not only to what your head, your Westernized head tells you but listen to the other side of the brain, the right side, to your body, to your soul. For attentive listening it is necessary to trust the knowledge that comes from our bodies for it holds the conflicts, joys, pains, hopes and sufferings that wisdom is sensitive to, and through which we find a passage to new life.

Secondly, in our search for the Caribbean woman through wisdom it is necessary to ask the right questions. Here lies the difference between wisdom of the learned and clever and the wisdom of the “little ones.”  An interesting scene is recorded in Matthew’s Gospel that puts these two forms of wisdom in stark contrast:

He had gone into the Temple and was teaching, when the chief priests and the elders of the people came to him and said, ‘what authority have you for acting like this?  And who gave you this authority?  In reply Jesus said to them, ‘and I will ask you a question, just one; if you tell me the answer to it, then I will tell you my authority for acting like this.  John’s baptism, what was its origin, heavenly or human?  And they argued this way among themselves, ‘if we say heavenly, he will retort to us, “Then why did you refuse to believe him?” but if we say human, we have the people to fear, for they all hold that John was a prophet.’  So their reply to Jesus was, ‘we do not know.’  And he retorted to them, ‘nor will I tell you my authority for acting like this. (Mat. 21:23-27)

The chief priests and elders, the ones who had all the authority and power come all puffed up, ready to embarrass Jesus and disqualify every word that he uttered.  Alas, they asked the wrong question with the wrong attitude.  Jesus, with measured grace and wisdom asked them the perceptive question.  Their response? ‘I do not know.’  They are left deflated, powerless, stunned by that brutally direct question that got to the heart of their apparent power and authority uncovering their own weakness and arrogance, uncovering the lie.

Asking the right questions leads to a deeper understanding of wisdom and draws us nearer to truth.  Asking the right questions means looking at the issues not from a self-centered, narrow point of view but from the point of view that benefits others.  Eknath Easwaran, in his book, The Compassionate Universe, explained the manner in which decisions were made in his village in India:

Whenever an important decision had to be made in my village, each family was expected to send a representative to take part in the decision-making process.  When they had all gathered, the head of the panchyat – that was the name of the institution – would stand and give the instructions.  His remarks were brief, and whether the decision was about politics or village economics or education or religion, he always said the same thing: “There is only one consideration to take into account.  Don’t look at this matter from you own point of view.  And don’t look at it from the way those living in the village now will be affected.  Look at it from the point of view of our grandchildren.”

One of the ‘touchstones’ for ethical living proposed by Carol Christ is “think about the consequences of your actions for seven generations.”

Asking the right questions establishes dialogue not only with those who think alike but with those whose thinking differs radically from ours.  Because it is inclusive of view points it respects plurality of cultures, races, religions.  It crosses the boundaries of sex, status in society and ages.

The locus of wisdom is not only to be found in the books and libraries.  Wisdom walks the streets, sits in the market place and ‘limes on the block.’  She dances in the dance hall and jumps to the sound of ‘sweet pan.’ Calypsonians sing their ballads inspired by her and she drives musicians and band designers to ever greater creations.  Wisdom spontaneously leads us to the creative use of the imagination.  This is the third moment in the method of wisdom.  She sits at the frontiers of life’s experiences calling us, luring us to reinvent new ways so as to forge a better future.  Wisdom smiles at us from the boundaries of our imagination indicating that there is more to life than suffocating in a ‘forced’ context.  Yet wisdom writhes in pain and weeps for the loss of her children like a mother who feels her womb in pain when she senses that something has gone wrong with one of her children.

Finally, having drunk from the streams of wisdom, it leads us to commitment to truthful action. Because wisdom does not seek to establish life in self-centered, egotistical pursuits, it frees us to “set up spaces in daily life in which well-being, true joy, humanizing emotions, liberating understanding and celebration can be experienced by all.” Wisdom establishes justice as the foundation to a peaceful society.  Wisdom desires to foster a humanity that is compassionate and merciful, loving and hopeful.

 

Our “Forced” Context(s)

In his presentation, “Church in the Caribbean Today,” Dr. Boodoo suggests that we live in a “forced” context.  In many ways the world economy definitely forces us into certain patterns of socio-economic arrangements that create a kind of domino effect leading to more forced contexts at the local level.  Dr, Peggy Antrobus, in her paper on “Women’s Role in Transforming the Caribbean Society: the Socio-Cultural Reality: The Economics of Globalization and Women’s Resistance” has succinctly analyzed this scenario and the impact it has on women of the Caribbean.

At the local level where such economic, political and globalized cultural entrapments ‘force’ themselves upon persons and communities, we see the escalation of suffering. More and more we are caught in the stultifying trap of violence, abuse, wife battering, and poverty etc.  In many ways, women and children often suffer from a double dose of ‘forced’ contexts.  For not only do they suffer alongside others from the market economy, but they also suffer from the hands of their own co-sufferers.

Many women today do not simply suffer from infidelity of their partners and left to care for their children single-handedly.  They are left traumatized, sometimes scared for life by the beatings, abuse and violence from their partners.  Not all abuse is physical.  Women also know the emotional, psychological beatings of tongue-lashing, lies and deceit that wound the psyche and leave your spirit ‘half-dead.’

Perhaps it is truer to say that our context, from the point of view of many Caribbean women, has shifted from “forced” to “trapped.”  Yet freedom curtailed, no matter how badly curtailed, is not freedom annihilated. I believe that women have an instinctual way of slipping into the underworld silently where no perpetrator dares to follow her. It’s a well-guarded space where her great spirit lives, where the Caribbean Woman lives.  Clarissa Pinkola Estes, speaks of her as the “Wild Woman.” Her features are the same as my understanding of the Caribbean woman:

She canalizes through women. If they are suppressed, she struggles upward.  If women are free, she is free.  Fortunately, no matter how many times she is pushed down, she bounds up again.  No matter how many times she is forbidden, quelled, cut back, diluted, tortured, touted as unsafe, dangerous, mad and other derogations, she emanates upward in women, so that even the most quiet, even the most restrained woman keeps a secret place for her.  Even the most repressed woman has a secret life, with secret thoughts and secret feelings which are lush and wild, that is, natural.  Even the most captured woman guards the place of the wildish self, for she knows intuitively that someday there will be a loophole, an aperture, a chance, and she will hightail it to escape.

While it may be true that both women and men have this gift, I believe that because of women’s experience of dishonour and exploitation, they have continually nurtured and developed this instinctively natural gift.  Thus, I wish to suggest that there is no context that is so ‘forced’ from which we cannot find a break through, which we cannot transgress.  Thus will and freedom are not negated by any ‘forced’ context, or for that matter any ‘entrapped’ context.

In every forced context, the human spirit finds a loophole.  Every context has boundaries.  No context is absolute.  The margins, the frontiers have always been the terrain for moving human history forward. To live on the edge, while dangerous is at the same time a space of creative innovations.  Remember the birth of the steel pan!  Transgressing the boundaries is a real characteristic of being human.  Never to transgress is never to transcend and enter into new worlds of possibilities.  I guess this is what Eve taught Adam and the whole of humankind in that precious moment in the garden.  Thus, limits have always enticed the human spirit to discover new realms of freedom.  This also means that I am never a prisoner of the space I occupy.  Yves Cattin explains:

The limit is what determines the space required for a being to be able to exist as a being in the world, as this being is in itself, determined and limited.  But the limit is also what prevents this being from going beyond what it is, what makes it only what it is. . .  But this limit and this frontier are also what has to be crossed in order to come to the world, for a human being to set out to exist in the face of the world.

Slavery fell, the Berlin Wall fell, Colonialism fell, and apartheid fell.  And the human spirit, I believe, will continue its adventurous spirit breaking through every forced context and that is what salvation involves in the here and now – the unshackling of every knot and twists we or others make.

One of the most urgent and real issues faced by women today in the Caribbean is the context of suffering and the radical trauma experienced through violence, abuse, and rape.  From this context, women encounter the most radical fortress and frontier between being and non-being.  This introduces us to the question of power.

 

Power: a Multifaceted Phenomenon.

I am grateful for Boodoo’s analysis on power, identifying three key concepts that are significant for our theologizing on the Caribbean Woman as well as on the Church.  The three key concepts being: “dynamis,” “exousia” and “kenosis.”  I wish to explore these further.  Power may well be a polycentric phenomenon.  All three aspects must be seen together, interconnected.  By simply downplaying or ignoring “dynamis” however, we may well rob power of its drive, its essential force.  Dynamis should not be too readily identified with its misuse and abuse.

What then is power?  According to Thomas Moore, power is “more like a great reservoir or, in traditional imagery, like the force of water in a fast-rushing river.  It is natural, not manipulated, and stems from an unknown source.”  A significant dimension of dynamis is that force, that energy, strength for being, a power within us that does not simply seek, but finds ways like a “fast-rushing river” for positing well-being, and fullness of life. It also has connotations of the miraculous.

Exousia, is another face of power with characteristics of freedom to choose, authority to decide.  When Jesus describes the kind of power (exousia), he warns his disciples about the way it is to be used by them. This kind of power strangely enough carries two strongly contrasted images – that of the servant and the child (Lk. 9:46-48), over against the kind of power that the “kings and rulers of the earth” practice.  Jesus warns his disciples to avoid the kind of power (exousia) that “lords it” over others. (Lk.22:24-27).  Feminist theologians refer to this use of power as “kyriarchal.”  One has to exercise power with a great deal of care. It is a loving, caring, sensitive service of the other (image of the servant and child). The disciples are warned to be always vigilant about how they exercise power. It is very easy to “lord it” over others when in authority.  When Jesus describes power he uses more imagery than analysis to indicate that it is important to situate power more in the heart than in the brain. Thus the powerful image of the child and the servant must be always at the centre of a leadership that comes from the heart, and is to be at the core of Christian leadership.

The concept of kenosis or self-emptying is an important dimension of power which is significant to our understanding of the way in which power is use by women.  Kenosis is associated with being empty, without power.  It is associated with crossing over, thus of the boundaries.  St. Paul’s letter to the Philippians speaks of the self-emptying of Jesus “whose state was divine but who did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped at but emptied himself taking the form of a slave…”  But this is one aspect of kenosis: i.e. seen from the perspective of fullness that empties itself.  This is a dominant understanding of kenosis in our Western tradition. There is a second perspective, seen from the pole of non-being or emptiness (sunyata). This dimension is more at home in Indic civilization. This sense is also present in the Philippian text: “And being found in human form he humbled himself and became obedient unto death, death on a cross.”  The wisdom of the cross is grasped not from the logic of the philosophers but through the contemplative gazing into the depths of the Suffering Servant.

Power is thus a “polycentric field” for the human which we must learn how to cultivate. If not well cultivated, power can become a force of destruction.  It is also important to note that even the word ‘violence’ has deep connotations of power.  The word violence seems to be associated with “life force” which is dynamis.  According to Moore, violence is the distortion of dynamis brought about “by our repressions and compromises, our fears and our narcissistic manipulations.”  “The repressed,” he goes on to say, “always returns in monstrous form.”  Thus power can become a fetish. Power, therefore, needs to be accompanied by love and nurtured by love.

 

The Caribbean Woman’s Maneuvering of Power

Whenever people experience their situation as forced or their space diminished, threatened or challenged, the other is not automatically a friend or loving neighbour.  The other is readily perceived as a threat, a potential enemy, a usurper of space and authority. In the face of a potential power that the other seemingly has, one does not easily and readily empty one’s self so that the common good may be established. It is truer to say that the power that “lords it over” others is more likely to be evoked.  In any forced context in which some person or group feels that the other may have the upper hand all thoughts of goodly “kenosis” runs foul and “dynamis” or “exousia” quickly turns into rage and domination – kyriarchal.  The attacker uses brute strength that is dominated by a narrow egotistical vision of the other.  The other is the enemy, (in reality this person may be your wife or a loved one or one whom you deeply admire).   The end result is violence, abuse, and when that rage is vented upon a woman, she may be also raped and killed.

In many instances throughout the Caribbean today, we are witnessing this kind of context and thus the sufferings and victimization of women have becoming more radical, traumatic and life-debilitating. I would like to examine women’s power from the point of view of our history of suffering, since it is a history that constantly blurs hope, impedes the dreams of a better world and snuffs out personhood for women of the Caribbean.

Johann Vento, in her analysis of the suffering of women in “Violence, Trauma, and Resistance: A Feminist Appraisal of Metz’s Mysticism of Suffering unto God,” warns, as does Metz himself, against trivializing, spiritualizing and glorifying suffering.  She calls the suffering that destroys personhood, radical suffering which “has no salutary benefit, but rather functions to destroy the very possibility of human subjectivity” According to Metz, this kind of suffering

leads to a rejection and even hatred of oneself and that forces entire peoples to lead lives lacking any form of self-assertion apart from a search for a simulated identity and expressions of frenzy”

There is a suffering under which women are yoked that challenges our very understanding of the self, God, prayer and the Church.  At the same time, many women today stubbornly refuse to accept the guilt trips of ‘old time religion.’ Theirs is a defiant, persistent cry to God for justice: “I want justice from you against my enemy!” (Lk. 18:3)

In the face of this kind of disastrous suffering, a woman wagers: her powerlessness against the power of her enemy over against the Divine power who is more powerful than the power of the enemy. Caribbean women are deeply religious.  The Caribbean woman believes that God’s power could make her oppressors fall to their knees (Story of Israel under the oppression of the Pharaohs of Egypt).  Thus, she endures pain, rage sometimes to the point of madness – she bets on God whose power is “dynamis” rippled with “doxa”(glory, splendour).  Hardly do you hear of Caribbean women going on a shooting rampage.  She bawls. And her crying tears open heaven, the throne of God insisting that God comes down and take a stand.  When you see a Caribbean woman in this state, don’t you dare pacify her with sweet-talk and pious platitudes. You must stand silent and give her, her space.  Her weeping (power) pushes the walls and bulwarks of every forced context demanding a space to mourn and wail and wait.

In the face of suffering in which a woman feels her humanity has been stripped of its dignity and her cherished inner space invaded, one cannot readily speak of power as exousia.  But neither is it possible to too readily describe it as a kenotic power, neither from the pole of fullness nor from the pole of emptiness or nothingness.  Faced with such violation which has forced her into a space of non-being, she endures a period of deep powerlessness.  For all that is left is an empty shell of her humanity, dried up bones and a soul languishing, yet waiting for the omnipotent God to act:  ‘Didn’t my Lord deliver Daniel from the lion’s den?’ ‘Didn’t my God flush out the armies and chariots of Pharaoh when he pursued our ancestors through the Red Sea?’  Caribbean women are deeply religious and lines from songs and psalms become a mantra-like balm for their souls.

What happens next is shrouded in darkness, in a ‘cloud of unknowing.’  All we know is what the cross communicates in the abject silence and stillness of waiting. The moment between dying and rising, a double ‘kenotic’ encounter between the divine and the human takes place.  Somewhere, from the experience of non-being the woman yields – “into your hands.” The transcendent God in whom she puts her trust, the One who ‘hears the cry of the poor,’ ‘comes down’ emptying God’s self of all transcendence – emptying Himself of all doxa and dynamis to come along side the victim ‘as a worm and no man’ – in solidarity and perhaps disfigurement, the self-emptied God whom we do not recognize comes. This may very well be the anguish of abandonment, since one’s expectation is for a power more powerful than the enemy to come down and show real strength. What in fact happens is an encounter with a shape and a form you do not know, and cannot understand.  This is what is spoken about in the “Suffering Servant” of Isaiah (52:13-54:12). God comes taking a form that we do not recognize.  It may be the great spirit of the “Caribbean woman” who meets you in your pain and who breathes new life into your sinews and dried-up bones.  At this point Augustine’s insight may be the only theological statement that may be adequate:  “Noverim me, noverim te” – “Knowing myself, I know you.”

The power of new being slowly floods the soul and it awakens to the dawning of a new day. This is a slow, often painful journey to come to a sense of new being, stronger, compassionate yet conscious of a deep vulnerability. The resurrection is not about a dead man/woman come back to life in the same old way, but a power at work that we cannot control, a power that makes human life surge with possibility in the very space where it has experienced failure and death.

The strength of one who has suffered becomes a source of hope for others and commitment to loving, caring service of others (exousia). The Caribbean woman chooses this path for she has before her eyes her children, (others) their future, and their happiness.  I am sure that many of us here know of women who have been through “great persecution” and who are able to turn around and care not only for others but for their attackers, especially if they are/were their husbands.  You marvel at their capacity to care and not to hurt, not to be vindictive.  This does not mean, however, that those who suffer, including women, do not become vindictive.

To use power as exousia is no cheap grace.  Since exousia always has the possibility to be used in a domineering, controlling way, it is important to keep before our eyes the images of “the kings and rulers” as opposed to the “child and servant.”  A woman always has before her eyes her children and by extension all those who suffer. The compassionate power of service is not the act of a weakling.  Neither is it possible if those who have known suffering do not allow themselves to be healed, or do not find the space for healing. Healing includes healing from the overriding need to be vindictive.  Compassionate service becomes a commitment to finding a new way for oneself, for one’s children, and for others.

Compassionate action seeks to establish justice that is founded on truth and mercy.  Not a justice that seeks revenge – “an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.”

Compassionate action is forgiving.  Estes identifies four stages in the art of forgiveness: to forego – leave it alone for a while; to forebear – abstain from punishing; to forget – refuse to dwell on it; to forgive – give up one’s resolve to retaliate.  She further notes, “One of the most profound forms of forgiveness is to give compassionate aid to the offending person in one form or another.”

Compassionate action is inclusive.   It reaches to the heavens and encompasses the whole of creation.  From this broader perspective one sees how one’s actions include and affect not only your children to the seventh generation but how it fosters earth care, and in our context, how it builds up the people of the Caribbean.  Thus, compassionate action is transformative of human relationships not only with one another but also at the social, economic and political systems.  Obviously, this does not happen over night.  It is a commitment to building new relationships and it does not cease.

The Caribbean woman knows that the path ahead is not a highway; it is more like a labyrinth, a polytropic path that leads through struggle, doubt, fear and ambiguity to a more authentic life for all. Struggle is not a survivalist word.  Those who settle for survival have already given up the struggle.  Struggle has its eyes set on transformation. But it knows that such transformation is not going to be easy.  At every turn one has to overcome ever new and ever old obstacles.  Salvation in the here and now is a journey into the light and back through the darkness. To some, it may appear a vicious circle, but to those who have learnt through suffering how to hope in the face of all the odds, also learn that you have to take one step at a time. Every step is a new beginning, a moment of great celebration.

No matter how faltering her steps the Caribbean woman comes through more confident in God, for she believes that only God has been able to bring her through her endless ordeals.

As we look back at the Caribbean woman’s use of power we know that through her indomitable spirit she has led us to believe in the unquenchable power of new life that resides in our souls.  Through the ways in which she educated her children whilst forgoing her own education she has taught us what true education is, not book knowledge but the wisdom of life.  The story told by Eknath Easwaran reminds us of the power of wisdom of our own mothers and grandmothers:

My uncle, who taught English at our village school … wrote on the blackboard “John owns a Ford car,” then asked us to write the same sentence in the passive voice.  We all wrote “A Ford car is owned by John.”  All, that is, except one fellow in the back, who had written “A Ford car owns John.”  We started to laugh, but my uncle held up his hand.  “The rest of you may know grammar,” he said, “but this young man knows life.”

This is the kind of wisdom that mothers and grandmothers of the Caribbean are noted for.

The Caribbean woman taught us how to tell stories that would straighten out the most wayward heart.  The Caribbean woman has taught us the joy of celebrating life even in the face of all odds.  She taught us how to make a little go a long way; she passed on a wisdom that stays deep inside of us and keeps us strong and steady. The mere fact that she has been able to bring up her children single-handedly and provide for them from meager economic resources, putting them through school and university says something of her incredible power.  Through the maneuvering of power the Caribbean woman has become a fountain of life for all of us, a source of wisdom and a bulwark of steadfastness.

Implications for Caribbean Ecclesiology

One of the most remarkable features of Caribbean women’s relationship with the Church is their ability to distinguish between the institutional Church and their spirituality. Many Roman Catholic women in the Caribbean have experienced marginalization from the official Church.  Not only have they been left out of the decision-making process for a long time, but many mothers have brought up staunch “Catholic” children while they themselves were debarred from receiving the Eucharist. Yet it is this same Church that has fed their spirituality although for some, this was further supported by other spiritual practices of other ecclesial traditions.

If the Church is to be more attentive to the nurturing of women’s spirituality she will have to develop a more liberating theology of the Body. Ever since Augustine, the word “pleasure” has been associated with sin and woman, and lewdness.  But the word pleasure, says Moore, “does not necessarily refer to the gratification of the senses or the frenzied pursuit of new experiences, possessions, or entertainments.”  The Church would need to take a more active and creative part in total health care as an intrinsic aspect of spirituality and especially the spirituality of women.

If the Church took women seriously, it would also take very seriously the issues of violence, abuse and suffering that is so evident in the lives of our people in the Caribbean.  The Church must be aware that it has to play a decisive role of reconciliation in Caribbean societies. Yet when you examine the liturgies of reconciliation they seem so one-sided.  They concentrate almost entirely on the offenders to be reconciled but do very little for the wounded, the victim.  So often victims were made to feel guilty!  There is no space in our liturgies for mourning, grieving. Surely, we say “Blessed are those who mourn for they shall be comforted” yet mourning has been the most uncomfortable experience for many of us Church people. We would like this period to be over with quickly.  Our pastoral practice has been to send ‘those people’ for psychological help.  While that may be good is there no spiritual space for healing through mourning and grieving that the Church can and must offer?  In our present liturgical celebrations of the Triduum, we move from Good Friday to Easter Vigil.  Holy Saturday is slipping into oblivion.  The Liturgy of the Hours (Morning Prayer) of Holy Saturday could offer a powerful space for communal celebration of mourning with and for victims.  Perhaps, victims who become perpetrators may well have never experienced the ecclesial bonds of healing that comes from communal mourning!

Finally, on the issue of power and governance in the Church, while it is true that women are beginning to take up positions of authority it does not necessarily indicate that the Church’s structure is less male.  We need to be very careful that we are not simply accommodating women within a strong, unchanging perceptual framework of male clericalism.  It is to be hoped that their presence in the power and governance of the Church would invite this strong institution to claim its own feminine side and thus offer our people a model of true partnership and inclusive personhood.

In many ways women have been at the forefront of renewal in the Church.  An example of this is the Charismatic Renewal Movement. It would be interesting to see if inclusion of their power frees the Church from its rigid form of institutionalism or if it would perpetuate it in ways that we would rather not go and that may even undo the work that this kind of conference wishes to advocate in the local Church.

E. Easwaran, The Compassionate Universe, p. 88.

C. Christ, “ ‘If we Do not Love Life’: Spirituality and Ethics in the New Millennium,” Concilium, 2000/5, p.95.

Maria Pilar Aquino, “Conclusion: Towards a New World in the Power of Wisdom.” Concilium, 2000/5, p.132.

A paper presented at a conference on “Caribbean Spirituality: Towards a Transforming Vision,” St. Michael’s Theological Centre, Mona, Jamaica, 2002.

Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Women who Run With the Wolves, p.9.

Y. Cattin, “Human Beings Cross Frontiers,” Concilium, 1999/2,  p. 4-5

T. Moore, Care of the Soul, p. 119.

A term used in several works by Elisabeth Schussler Fiorenza and others.

F. Wilfred, “Introduction: The Art of Negotiating the Frontiers,” Concilium, 1999/2,  p.xiii.

T. Moore, p. 126.

J. Vento, “Violence, Trauma, and Resistance:” Horizonzs, 29/1 (2002): p.9.

J. Metz, Faith in History and Society, p.143.

Estes, op. cit. p. 403.

E. Easwaran, op. cit. pp. 28-29.

Moore, op. cit. p. 164.


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