"Silence Holds the Ache" by Mary Sue Barnett ARCWP

"Feminists, collectively and internationally, must take on the urgent task of formulating strategies of resistance to femicide. . . A femicidal culture is one in which the male is worshipped. This worship is obtained through tyranny, subtle and overt, over our bruised minds, our battered and dead bodies, and our co-optation into supporting even batterers, rapists, and killers . . . In myriad ways, let us refuse nurture, solace, support, and approval. Let us withdraw our worship.”

Jane Caputi and Diana E. H. Russell

Femicide: The Politics of Woman Killing

Silence Holds the Ache

Silence holds it. Solitude respects it. Stillness listens to it. The ache. I am speaking of a deep, unending ache. There is no cure for it. It only grows more profound. Light is its friend and seeing in the dark is its power. Silence and solitude, each day, hallow out space for Divine light to uphold, bless, and transform this persistent, inescapable ache.

In stillness where nothing sounds, where no pain cries out, in my ache that seems to leap toward the sun, this is where I feel Her voice. The ache, which at once rises from the ravaged women, yet transcends all suffering, is an echo chamber of Her command for healing and justice.

It was when we walked the rural gravel paths at night and woke to summer sunshine, friendship, and quiet morning coffee. It was when we lit candles, poured anointing oil, ate bread and honey, and sang and danced. It was when we opened ourselves to ancient Hebrew texts, experiencing El Shaddai (God of breasts), Ruah (feminine breath, wind, spirit), and Shekinah (God as Divine Feminine dwelling within). It was when we were awash body, mind, soul with the Divine Feminine that we received the news of a friend, a woman, who had been murdered at a highway rest stop—mutilated. It was in the midst of a wholistic, holy gathering of women, that another woman is violently desecrated and ripped from this world. The horror of Femicide (the misogynous killing of women by men) breached the doors of the Ferdinand retreat center, pressed upon our sacred space, and pierced my being. That was June 1992. Her name was Vicki Sue Metzger.

It was Advent 1993, over a year later, and dark as pitch when I looked for the chapel at the St. Catharine Motherhouse in rural Kentucky. Tucked securely in a folder under my arm was my homily as I found my way to the sanctuary where I had been invited to preach for vespers. A community of women invited me to preach about women’s issues. In the cold of December, I stood in the pulpit and preached about the young woman who had just been murdered by an ex boyfriend in a Louisville shopping mall parking lot. Her name was Mary Byron. Though standing in a single pulpit within a warm, intimate sanctuary, it felt as though my soul poured out a desperate call into the expansive, winter night for all to awaken because another young woman had been murdered.

It was when I heard the rage-filled voice of a man that I was jolted from a deep sleep in my home. It was the middle of the night and the woman next door was being brutally beaten by her boyfriend. She had tried to escape from her own house but he chased her down outside, pinned her against the car, and threw violent punches repeatedly into her abdomen. The force, the fury, was evil. Immediately I knew her life was in danger as the words poured out of me, “Oh my God, he’s going to kill her!” Police arrived quickly to intervene as multiple neighbors called for help. Though on this night she found relief, she had not yet found safety.

The ache, which at once rises from the ravaged women,

yet transcends all suffering,

is an echo chamber of Her command for healing and justice.

Ruah!

In stillness where nothing sounds, where no pain cries out,

in my ache that seems to leap toward the sun,

this is where I feel Her voice.

El Shaddai!

Silence and solitude, each day,

hallow out space for Divine light to uphold, bless,

and transform this persistent, inescapable ache.

Shekinah!

There is no cure for it.

It only grows more profound.

Light is its friend and seeing in the dark is its power.

Silence holds it.

Solitude respects it.

Stillness listens to it.

The ache.

I am speaking of a deep,

unending ache.

Ruah! El Shaddai! Shekinah!

In resistance to the evil of Femicide

Let us be awash in Her

Light the candles

Pour the anointing oil

Serve the bread and honey

Sing the song

Dance the dance

In our fight for the day

When women and girls

Will awaken

To a morning of safety!