Confession

I have a confession.   It comes on the heels of #FemFest, a huge link-up of bloggers last week who devoted three days to different topics concerning feminism today.  It was beautiful.  And sad.  I was desperately so because I had too much to get done and I could not participate.  This link-up screamed my name – quite literally in my sleep.  I composed posts in the shower, on my drive, and even, if I am honest, while watching some of my online lectures.  Which, when I realized that I had been writing in my head instead of listening, I had to then rewind to where I’d tuned out and discipline myself to focus; because papers, tests, and graded discussions don’t care about blogger link-ups.  It’s not that the lectures weren’t engaging – they were.  It’s not that the topics covered therein aren’t important – they are.  It’s simply that a discussion on the silencing of women, particularly in the church, is a dialogue I’ve longed for ever since I was shown that this conversation isn’t sinful.  And last week, as this dialogue was actually happening, my circumstances forced me to miss it. 

Yet, as became move apparent through my week, there was another reason for my inability to participate.  I needed bigger eyes on the subject.  And a more humble heart.

You see, I am very attentive to the outward signs of androcentric organization in the American Evangelical movement.  My antennae are hyper-aware as I walk into a church or small group or para-church; I note that only men wear the tags marked, “Lead,” around their necks in the mega-church we have been frequenting of late.  I see that their leadership consists of both sexes, but women don’t teach anyone other than themselves or children; they worship, they administer, they facilitate, they are not visible when Christ is preached.  I hear the “man” read aloud when “humanity” might be equally appropriate.  I shake my head when the women are encouraged to be particularly attentive to stories of women in the bible and to model themselves after the characters of men therein,; but the books of Ruth or Ester or the story of Sarah or a Samarian woman at Jacob’s well are not generalized to the men.  There is no talk about the fact that the privilege of first resurrection annunciation was given to a woman, or that Timothy’s mother and grandmother taught him the faith well enough that he was able to be Paul’s apprentice.   Every place I go, I keep a mental tally sheet of all the ways that it is obvious that the men are in charge, and the women are left out.    

I build walls against this – I tuck into myself, recognizing the hurt that these practices cause,

the segregated, left-out-ness that is so very much

the female experience of church.

And yet, I have to recognize that while my experience cannot invalidate that of a community of fellow bloggers, I cannot allow the community’s experience to shape mine.  I am a female graduate student enrolled in a Masters of Divinity program at a well-respected seminary.  No one there has ever told me I could not do something simply because of my sex.  My husband is very supportive of my career thus, and is the main encourager for my studies; in truth, had he not suggested it, I likely would not have even considered it.  I attend a bible study that is hosted effortlessly by a wife and husband duo who teach, pray, and encourage those under them to do the same, regardless of gender.  Theirs is the picture of equality and mutuality in Christ.

Yes, I have been told that for a woman to call herself a “pastor” or “elder” is a sin.  Yes, I have been told that women have no authority to teach men.  Yes, I have been told that to pursue theological education, as a woman, is an abject abandonment of my role as wife and mother and is thus a direct affront to God’s design.  I have experienced all this and can thus understand and relate to my sisters and brothers who form this community crying aloud for the minimization of women to stop.

{confession}

But I have to be aware.  I sat in theology class last week, pondering the topic of women in the church.  And I noted that of the eleven people seated on the front row, eight were men.  As I compared this ratio to the exact opposite of the second row (eight women, three men), I was literally stopped mid-thought.  For, as I was lamenting the apparent domination of males in this field, I had to be honest with myself:

I sat on the second row.

I, and no one else, chose my seat.  I swallow my questions when gender roles and ontology and discussed.  I stay silent when the same scriptures are used over and again to keep women out of full inclusion in the body of Christ.  And I do so because I am afraid.  Afraid that I won’t communicate my position well; that by my ill-formed or poorly articulated argument, the opposing side will be strengthened.  And I will have set us back instead of helping to press forward. 

So first, I must confess that I harbor a prejudice against my brethren.  I assume that for the most part, they are willful mechanisms in the problem.  I do not allow them a chance to speak for themselves.  I pass judgment, without their input, the plank protruding from my own eye.

Thus, I resolve, with the help of the Holy Spirit, to see my brothers in Christ as benevolent men who desire to build up the entire kingdom of God for His glory.  I will allow the actions and words of each individual believer to speak the truth of his/her heart.

Secondly, I confess my fear of failure.  And that this fear is indicative of a lack of trust in God.  My fear has its root in my performance or articulation and not in the work of the Spirit in the hearts of my fellow believers.

Therefore I will push outside of my safety bubble – I will speak up when I disagree with what is being taught.  Not out of obstinate hardheartedness, but mindful of the unity that is to mark the body of Christ-followers; seeking to understand the scriptures more fully, and to honor Christ first and foremost in my interactions with my fellow children of God.  And I will trust that the Spirit of God is responsible for changing the heart of any believer should he/she be so willing.

 

For the glory of God the Father, His Son, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit. 

Amen. 

     

Failing Lent

The sink is full of dishes.  Again.  And overflowing onto the counters, and stove, and all the way ‘round the kitchen until they butt up against the impressive tower of papers, books, notes, and all variety of odds and ends that collect there.  To think, just two weeks ago, a sweet friend constructed and gifted me with an organization system to tame that part of my chaos.  Her gift, sadly, is sitting in a pile in the study nook/living room, surrounded by tottering piles of textbooks, more papers, and testamental dictionaires.  There are piles everywhere.  The rec room is buried under clean clothes waiting to be folded; the laundry room is swallowed by dirty ones waiting to be washed.  The bathrooms have piles of get-ready-so-we-can-get-out-the-door messes, and splotches of un-wiped toothpaste; the kids’ rooms are interwoven tapestries of toys and clothes.  Boots, hats, coats, and bags clutter up the stairs; more toys laundry and luggage are beginning to devour my room. 

And that’s only the state of the house.  One can’t escape the endless reading lists for class, the papers and responses, the I-should-be-at-least-start-on-my-big-papers-so-I’m-not-freaking-out-later that claws at the throat in the quietest moments.  Kids’ activities to be managed, scheduled, shuffled, and remembered.  I can’t forget that I’m also a wife, which requires more than a flying out the door peck on the check, because I’m too late to aim for your lips; and a friend – even if all I ever seem to do is say that I’m praying over you; and a daughter and sister and niece and grand-daughter – yep, praying for y’all, too!  And what about that bible study we told everyone we would host this semester?  We had it all planned out; well mostly.  And yes, Lord, I hear you tugging at my heart about joining – actively participating in, giving parts of myself to – a community of your followers; but can You find one that meets when I can?  And instead of adding to my reading, can’t I just go and listen?  Oh, yeah, Lord, about that promise to work-out every day…does sleep count? 

It’s not even two weeks into Lent and the oppressive I’m-failing-at-everything has curled up on the sofa and refuses to budge; more grafted-in family member than uninvited guest anymore.  And who wants to fail God?  It’s not so much that I think I’ll lose His love in my broken promises or undone chores or missed opportunities; but I do think that in these, I fail to make Him proud.  Like I’m not earning my keep, or taking advantage of all the gifts He’s so lavishly laid before me; that I’m squandering my time and treasures, or that I’m hoarding these things and somehow disappointing Him. 

But I hear the Father’s voice, repeating Himself across my kitchen table and in the texts for class, because sometimes I have to hear things more than once before I really listen. 

God can’t love you any less than He does right now;

He can’t love you any more, either.

The Father loves you no matter what you do or don’t.

The student in me pauses, rolls the theory over and over in my head – it’s awfully small a thing to be such a big truth.  I hold it up against the scriptures, just to be sure – does the whole counsel of God agree to this, or is it a pithy thing that placates followers like me who can’t get it together? 

{Matthew 3:13-17}

But there it is, at the very beginning of Jesus’ ministry – before the resurrection, before the cross, before the miracles, before He even read from the scroll of Isaiah or said “ego emi.”  Before any of it, the “Father declare[d] that he [was] already ‘well pleased’ with His ‘beloved Son’ without reference to his works.”*  The Father loved the Son unconditionally; not for being incarnate; not for enduring the cross; not because Jesus followed God’s will without fail; not for Christ’s work with the poor and oppressed and forgotten.  The Father loved the Son.  That’s it.

And so it is with me.  And you.  There is nothing I, or you, could ever do to earn this love.  There is nothing I, or you, could do to maintain this love.  This is a love that is completely outside of you and me.  We have no power over it.  It is there on the days we fail; it is there on the days we nail it.  It was there before we knew it; it’s there when we can’t feel it.  It is a love that, before we even knew we needed it, goes to the cross on our behalf.  And bleeds for us, dies for us. 

And lives for us.      

There is nothing for us to do, but accept it.  To wrap it around our lives.  To live in it and out of it. 

So it is with Lent.  There is nothing for us to do, but live in wonder and awe at a love so big that it covers us, every day – good and bad, failing or nailing it.  Every single day we are loved with a vast and unwavering love that is not conditional upon us; but is a love that is a who-God-is love.  And that love is the reason for Lent.       

 

*Sanders, The Deep Things of God

Grace-full

Declaration 10: The new creation that I am is Grace-full, extending this beauty to those around me, both dear and unknown; and also to myself.  For Grace is the tangible realization of Love, the highest calling of the soul, the deepest yearning of creation.  It holds the entirety of the gospel, the glory of the history of the universe, the overwhelming power of God, and the depth of His Love; all caged in five little letters: ca.ris

Read: Ephesians 2:6-10

          It is by Grace…

Four words that give the sum of this mortal coil: it is by Grace.  What exists or occurs, what good, what beauty, what joy, what love happens apart from grace?  A mere cluster of words that encompass the entire gospel, the purpose of the passion, the victory of the resurrection, the parent-heart of God.  Grace.

 But grace didn’t come into existence on the cross, for Christ breathed grace into a world crazy-desperate for it.  Neither was its inception at the incarnation, the humble and eternity-altering entrance of Immanuel into willful humanity.  No, Grace pre-existed those for whom it was intended.  For if God is omniscient then He had to know that creating beings with an individual will meant that they could intentionally choose wrong.  What then, when these beings have turned their backs on the Creator that designed them?  The answer: Love, housed in Grace, as Divinity was housed in flesh.  Grace is the palpable expression of this Love; something to which I, and you, beloved, can point as my experience of God’s unfathomable, incomprehensible, unchangeable Love.     

Thus, if I am changed by this Grace [and how could I not be if I have actually experienced it, this trading of my wrongs for the innocence of God’s only Son?] I will exude it.  It will literally ooze out of my pores, embody my breath.  For if Heaven can’t contain it, how can I?  Yet this can only happen if I am daily found at the fount of Grace, that it might pour, like a rushing river, over my rough edges into a world of people just like me---who are in desperate need of it. 

First, I must know my place: I am a redeemed daughter of the King of Kings, adopted into His family, rejoiced over, delighted in, and loved beyond all understanding.  Regardless of how I am performing or behaving  at the time.  Also, I must know who I am: a sinner, a fallen and defeated warrior who has a bent toward darkness, selfishness, and pride; but for Christ.  Therefore, I can empathized with other lost and wandering sinners: those who have never found the light; and those like me, who have been found and should consequently know better, but who like Paul, can’t seem to help themselves.  And at the same time, the exact same time, I am the woman whom God took great joy in creating, for this time and this place and this life.  A woman who is called by His purposed to be whom He created her to; a woman who, through the sacrifice of Jesus and the power of the Holy Spirit, can be.

Second, I must feast on God’s Love that I might be full of His Grace.  For me, this looks like spending time in His Word, every day.  And talking with Him all the time.  And asking the Holy Spirit to pinch me when I’m stepping out of line, and poke me when I should be offering what I’ve been freely given.  I even have to ask for help obeying.  And I must bend my will to His, turn my life over to this molten love that it will melt away what is undesirable and purify what is good.  Even this will not happen absent of the Spirit’s work in me, for I am too prone to return to debauchery and rebellion and the altar of me.       

Finally, I must see all these weary souls around me as God does: precious, beloved, lost vagrants scraping out a hollow life in a destitute land.  This includes my children, who, as their mother does, willfully flout parental laws.  This includes the Officer, who, as his wife does, fails to live up to the perfection of Love.  This includes my friends and family, who like their sister/daughter/niece/comrade, disappoint in flawless relationships.  And it includes people who are vapors in my life, the ones I see and don’t because my flurried and selfish eyes don’t have time to register them. 

Grace requires the knowledge that I am flawed and broken, and so is everyone else.  It demands that I live out of this truth with every person with whom I interact.  That this way of loving others become the rhythm of my days.  And in my daily stumbling I should be able recall the need to be Grace-full to each person, even myself.  For if God can love them and me when we are weak and full of failures, how can I not do the same?