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.
