Her breasts were quite lovely, actually, the fleshy tops of them overflowing out of her strapless dress like rising dough out of a too-small bowl. She scooched herself sideways, back to the stage, face pointed down at her shuffling feet, past several of her classmates already settled into the theater-like seats of the chapel as she edged into the fifth seat in the row. As a staff person and adjunct professor at an institute of Christian higher education, I know I should have been frowning at this spectacle, thinking how distracting her bronzed summer breasts were to all the college boys in the chapel that day. I know I should have been strategizing a dress code intervention with the appropriate female student life staffer. I know I should have been passing judgment on her lack of maturity and ill-formed Christian character.
But I simply admired her breasts. They were quite lovely, actually. I gave thanks to God for the body she inhabits. After all, she seemed comfortable in her body and her outfit. She was simply sporting a fashionable and reasonable summer dress, perfectly appropriate for an 80-degree early September day. I was relieved that it didn’t occur to her to perceive her body as a threat to the "sacred space of the chapel." This produced an unexpected level of joy and peace within my own soul, and I worshipped all the more because of it. I looked around at the wide variety of people present, dressed in a myriad of ways. We all have bodies with varying levels of similarity and difference. I accept that. I marvel at that. I rejoice in that. And if I see a little bit of that body in chapel, I’m okay with that. And, I suppose, it’s really doesn’t matter whether or not I’m okay with that; they are there, regardless of my opinion. There were many bodies in chapel that day, male and female, with different parts that people could see, some parts covered with clothes, some parts naked, some parts tatted, some parts smooth, some parts lily while, some parts earthy coffee brown. And they were all quite lovely, actually. Some, however, would have us believe that these bodies of ours, especially the female ones, should be carefully covered in chapel because they are fundamentally distracting to others, especially males, who, as everyone knows, are so visual they can’t help but lust after the specks and chunks of lovely female bosoms, bottoms, legs, and lips. (Sigh.) A few months ago I was walking in my neighborhood for exercise. As I came around a curve and looked up, there jogging on the opposite side of the road, coming my direction was a man. Not just any man, an attractive, downright smoking hot, shirtless, mid-to-late twenty-something man with chiseled muscles gleaming with sweat. In the split second that I saw him, I wanted to feast my eyes upon him and mop up his sweaty, muscled chest with my own body. (Apparently, I, a female, am visual, too, and am perfectly capable of, if not prone to, objectification—go figure.) I wanted to call out playfully to him, “Yes, please.” BUT I DID NOT. Because in the split second after I saw him, I made a choice to avert my eyes and change my thinking. I reminded myself that he is a human being, someone’s son, someone’s brother. This decision did not stem from the fact that I am a married woman who is delighted in her own husband and wants to honor her marriage, although those things are true about me. Whether I am married or single is irrelevant to his worth as a human being, as someone who is worthy of me treating him decently. And so I walked on, honoring his personhood with my choice to think of him and treat him as the human being that he is. Just because he is half-naked, beautiful to behold, and jogging out in public does not mean that he has asked for or should expect inhumane treatment. We cannot control what other people look like. We cannot control what they wear. We cannot control how much of their sensual parts they choose to put on display. What we can control is what we think on when we see them, what we say or don’t say to them, and what we believe about them, particularly what we believe they deserve. Humans are human are humans are humans. Let's treat them as such.
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Valerie GeerWriter. Women's activist. Theologian. Providing authentic reflections from a female perspective. Archives
March 2016
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