Sharing our whole selves

by Jennifer Hockenbery

by Jennifer Hockenbery

Often when I introduce myself I say that I am a philosopher. This was easier to explain when I was a philosophy professor and my title and pay stub matched with the term.

But I think this is part of who I am when I am not actively teaching philosophy or writing a philosophical book or article. It was part of who I was when I was a dean of humanities, it is a part of who I am when I go to my church Bible Study, and it’s a part of me as I approach my new role with WELCA.

The term philosopher literally means a lover of wisdom. And I have always loved, as in desired and wanted, wisdom. As a little girl, I drove my parents crazy with questions about how long death would last, whether eternal life after death would be boring, and how I could know whether or not I was awake or dreaming. I am pretty sure these are universal questions children have. They have practical applications for children after all, if you thought you were awake when you were dreaming, you might wet your bed! How embarrassing!  And no child, or adult, is immune from the wondering about and fear of death. Martin Luther speaks pastorally and kindly to his best frenemy Erasmus in On Bondage of the Will saying that he knows what it is like to stay awake afraid of dying.

Human beings, homo sapiens, are creatures that desire wisdom. (That is what the sapiens bit means.) And philosophers are just those people who spend a lot of time and money looking for answers in books, in conversations, and with their senses and then sharing what they have learned or what new questions they have with students, readers, and pretty much any poor sap they come in contact with.

There have been times, however, in my life when calling myself a philosopher has been met with raised eye brows. When I was in graduate school, a professor asked me if I was serious enough to be a philosopher or if I was just going to get married and have babies. Later, in my first full time job, when I was pregnant, a colleague asked if I thought I could be a philosopher and a mother. Then there were the moments at conferences when an older man would come over and tell me straight out I was too pretty and feminine to be a philosopher. The twinkle in the eye of the man suggested he thought this was a compliment, but it was an arrow to the heart of my identity.  

Why on earth would being a wife, a mother, a woman be at odds with being someone who wanted to be wise?! 

But probably the most piercing comment came from another woman when I was at a church function. I was still a student and I was talking with her about my studies. She seemed interested, but then looked at me and said, “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this here. Some people might think you know too much. That might make them feel bad about themselves. You want to fit don’t in, don’t you?” It reminded me of a good friend who when her boyfriend broke up with her was told, “You know people would like you more if you did not use such big words.”

As women, we spend a lot of time trying to make people feel good about themselves and trying to fit into their ideas about who we should be. Sometimes this is good; sometimes this is part of radical hospitality. But sometimes it means we hide part of who we are and our gifts and talents [we receive] from God. Sometimes we even encourage others to hide part of themselves. 

Each of us has a unique body, set of lived experiences, passion, and mind. We should seek to embrace and show our whole selves to others and encourage them to do likewise. There are times when, like Esther in the Old Testament, we have to wear a mask to get a job done, I suppose. But with our friends, and in our churches, and with each other let’s be our full and authentic selves. As Paul said to the Corinthians, we all have our part to do and all of us are necessary. 

Dr. Jennifer Hockenbery is interim executive director for Women of the ELCA and editor of the Journal of Lutheran Ethics.

Photo by Kelly Sikkema from Unsplash.com. Used with permission.