from JW: Passive Resistance for Gender Equality in the Church

The assumptions about how scripture functions and the ability to “interpret” it within Churches of Christ have produced a number of faulty readings of Scripture. The most obvious example is the staunch stance that (many) Churches of Christ take on not using instrumental music simply because the NT does not discuss the use of instruments in music. However, the NT also does not address the use of technology in worship, but I hear no churches arguing that it is wrong to use microphones. Churches of Christ are inconsistent on the application of such principles as “speak where the Bible speaks, silent where the Bible is silent,” and it results in no small number of problems when describing the idiosyncrasies of our worship.
Some problems, however, do not result from the silence of scripture, but rather from the perceived certainty of what scripture actually does say. For example: the commands for the silence of women in the church (see 1 Corinthians 14:35-36; 1 Timothy 2:11-13). For many churches (not just the Churches of Christ), the interpretation of these passages is clear: women must be silent. However, there are problems with the certainty with which this conclusion is offered.

1. We do not actually require women to be completely silent. When Churches of Christ sing their characteristic a capella songs, there are female voices as well as male. Clearly, even we do not take this command to its fullest extent to require absolute silence.
2. The reasoning that a woman cannot teach/preach because the text says no woman can have authority over a man ignores other scriptural witnesses of the authority of women. I offer as an example Phoebe of Romans 16, who is both a patron and deacon of the church at Cenchraea, not to mention that she is likely the carrier of Paul’s letter and therefore the representative of Paul to Rome. So unless we presume that the churches in Cenchraea and Rome were completely made up of females, it is beyond doubt that Phoebe had authority over men and was appointed to such a position by Paul, the presumed author of the above texts in question.

Given these two points, it seems reasonable to conclude that simply referring to 1 Corinthians 14 and 1 Timothy 2 as “proof-texts” to not include women within the worship service is problematic. And we can come to this conclusion with a “naïve” reading of the text—that is, it does not require any special approach or interpretation to see that the example of Phoebe contradicts the injunctions against women having authority. It just requires good philological and historical tools. But for those who cannot read Greek, it requires honesty by our Bible translation committees—I’m looking at you NIV.
I do not believe it is possible for any person to arrive at the biblical text “objectively”—that is, without being formed by preconceived notions and experiences. However, this concept does not apply only to the readers of scripture, but also to the authors of scripture. In other words, those who wrote the words that we read as scripture could not help but be influenced by the assumptions of their various cultures.
One cultural assumption implicit within the commands for silence is that women were simply not intelligent enough to have authority over men. It was assumed that women were not as capable as men, and as a result of this assumption, women were not educated as men were in the ancient world. The practice of not educating women only perpetuated the assumption that women were not as intelligent. And thus, we have evidence of an oppressive system based on faulty assumptions of gender inequality that provides the (implicit) reasoning for the silence of women. The explicit reasoning of 1 Timothy 2—that man was created first and woman second—only serves as a “theological” justification of the culturally assumed place of women.
I hope that no one today still assumes that women are in any way inferior to men. If that assumption persists, there is nothing that I could say that would deter such willful ignorance. So, assuming that we all agree on the equality of men and women, we must take this into account when we read scripture. The authors assumed women were inferior, but we do not agree with their assumption. So how can we agree with their conclusion?
So now we come to the practical aspect: given the stance of the Churches of Christ on women, what should I do? Should I just leave and join a more egalitarian community? Should I become an activist and demand change immediately and loudly? Should I stay and patiently try to work it out with those who would listen? My lack-of-confrontation-personality wants to take option one and just leave. But my attempt to remain faithful to the community of faith that raised me and taught me the Gospel makes me fight against the gut instinct to leave. As for the second option, I do not have the personality to be an activist. That is not to say that I don’t think it is a viable option, I just don’t think it is for me. As for the third option, let’s just be honest here: I am not patient. I don’t want to spend 10 years trying to convince one congregation that it’s okay for women to read scripture publicly but restrict them from the “more important” jobs like eldership and preaching.
Given the fact that I have problems with each of the three options mentioned above, I have been trying to think of another option. For inspiration, I think of the Civil Rights movement in the U.S. in the 1960s, and specifically I think of the examples of passive resistance (like sit-ins, marches, etc…). However, I do not want to stage sit-ins or march to the church house door. So I am still left searching for an expression of my passive resistance. And the more I have thought about this issue, the clearer my answer has become.
My form of passive resistance for gender equality within the church is: silence.
Clearly I do not mean complete silence because you are reading my blog post, so let me explain what I mean.
I think it is wrong for any institution, including the church, to deny someone the opportunity to do something for which they are capable and trained based on gender. For example: my wife, Naomi, has the same ministerial training that I have: an M.Div. from Abilene Christian University. Actually, she has more: an undergrad Bible degree from Rochester College with a minor in counseling. On paper, her credentials beat my own B.A. in Political Science. Moreover, not only is she better qualified based on training, she is better qualified based on gifting: I can write and deliver a sermon, but she can preach. However, despite the fact that she is better qualified on all counts, virtually no Church of Christ (with few exceptions) would hire her over me. This is not just unfortunate or unfair, it is morally wrong.
So, if our churches refuse to let her use her training and gifts, then I will refuse to use mine. Now, those of you who know me may say, well that’s convenient for you since you have chosen an academic career rather than a ministerial career. And I agree. But that does not mean that any church of which I would be a part would not ask me to do things like preach, lead prayer, lead songs, teach Bible class, etc…
To say it more succinctly: I will not work for or serve any institution that would not allow my wife, being equally trained as I, to perform the same job. Yes, this means that I will not work for any university that would not hire my wife to do the same job, but that is not as likely to cause a problem as the church scenario.
However, in order for this form of protest to mean anything, I must take it one step further. I cannot just refuse the opportunity to preach, lead prayer, teach, etc… without an explanation. I must express the reason for my refusal. Perhaps I will respond to any such invitation with a question: “You know, I’m not very good at preaching, but my wife is. Would you ask her to do it instead?” If the response is “No,” then I will decline and explain my reasoning.
I do not propose this as something that everyone else should do. I would be happy for other (especially my male colleagues) to participate in this form of protest, but only if you choose. This is the form of protest that best fits my personality, so it works for me. I encourage every one who reads this to think of creative ways that you can actively or passively call for change within our churches.
In conclusion: gender equality is not a worship preference issue; it is a justice issue. If you disagree, I hope that you will reconsider. If you agree, I urge you to think about what you can do about it.

originally posted here at Jamey's blog

don't miss this!

Now that there's a new beautiful website for the Women in Ministry Network, if you're one of those readers who tried to click on the gadget in my sidebar to join the yahoo group and found that that didn't work (it doesn't, and I never managed to figure out how to fix it)--no worries, because you can go here and get yourself connected.

Also on that same page is a contact if you have any publications or sermon texts you would like to submit to the site. And I'd like to encourage everyone who has anything like that to do so. If you feel odd about it--as if it were some kind of weird self-promotion--think of it as both a historical archive (because what you have done and said is important!) and a public encouragement for other women to lift up their God-given voices as well. This is why I started my little sermon blog--not that I really thought a sermon blog would get any readership (it doesn't) but because I wanted a public record of these events. They are small and unimportant in themselves (except to me personally, for whom they were momentous) but taken together with all the other small, quiet actions of women in our churches, they help paint a picture of the real situation in our churches regarding gender and vocation and ministry. And by that I mean, the real situation is that women are raising their voices...the "status quo" is not complete silence (and as some have pointed out in discussion recently here, perhaps it never was to begin with). That should be recognized far more than it currently is, and we can all take the simple measure of making the public record complete on this point.

(I'm loving and overusing the parenthetical comment today for some reason...hmph...)

sci4min PS

FYI, there's still time to apply for the first session and catch the core course in November, team taught by Dr. J. Wentzel van Huyssteen and Kenneth Reynhout. Dr. van Huyssteen, of course, is my advisor--'nuff said. Ken is a PTS colleague, co-directing the Institute with Dr. van Huyssteen, and is writing his dissertation on transdisciplinary method. You can read short bios of the instructors here.

In April and August of 2010, I will have the privilege of teaching a 5-day core course, "Questions in Theology and Science," and a 3-day elective course, "The Human Person in a Technological Age," for the Science for Ministry Institute. What is that, you may ask? See below, and check out the website.

This is uber-exciting, and not just because "Human Person in Tech Age" is code for "hey Jen would you like to teach smth on yr dissertation?" (A rhetorical question, right.) The other instructors are majorly impressive, the curriculum topics are comprehensive, guest keynote speakers are world-renowned, and--as the cost is subsidized by a grant from the Templeton Foundation--it's not expensive.

Science for Ministry Institute

 

Examining questions of origins and human nature at the intersection of science, theology, and Christian ministry.

 

Ministry professionals are not always situated to effectively deal with the complex landscape of contemporary science. Likewise, scientists of faith may not have access to the rich resources of the theological tradition. In either case, science often appears to be against Christian belief and practice. Is science against ministry, or is it possible to see science for ministry?

Breaking Down the Barriers to Dialogue

 

The Science for Ministry Institute at Princeton Theological Seminary is a one-of-a-kind education program designed to promote an informed and productive dialogue around issues of theology and science within churches and other Christian ministry contexts. This program's unique approach pairs a scientifically-curious pastor (or other ministry leader) with a theologically-sensitive scientist from the same ministry context. As educational partners, each participant pair will experience a variety of core and elective courses that address important topics in theology and science, focused on key questions surrounding the ideas of origins and human nature.

What is Involved?

 

The Science for Ministry Institute is designed for busy working professionals. The three-year program offers a variety of courses four times each year in one-, three-, and five-day intensive formats. Thanks to the generosity of the John Templeton Foundation, participation is very affordable. Convenient lodging and meals are provided, so participants are only required to provide transportation, course books, and a nominal daily fee. Each admitted ministry partner pair is required to take a core course that overviews the key questions of origins and human nature, after which they may freely select elective courses for the remainder of the Institute's three-year term.

Some of the Topics Covered

• Evolution in Cosmology & Biology
• Creation of the Universe
• Human Evolution
• Neuroscience & Cognitive Science
• Human Morality & Ethics

Getting Started

1. Review the program details, starting with the Program Description.
2. Select a program partner. Read more about that here.
3. Fill out and return two applications (one for yourself and one for your partner).

by Rhesa Higgins: Dance of the Devoted Daughter

Rhesa Higgins has written a beautiful, heartfelt and encouraging piece for New Wineskins. It will do you good to read it.

Dance of the Devoted Daughter, by Rhesa Higgins.

Women in Ministry Network

One resource that's been around for awhile for women in the Churches of Christ who are in professional ministry is the Women in Ministry Network. I'm adding a button to the sidebar that you can click to request to join this group. The Women in Ministry Network also holds an annual conference each year in May.

by Rachel

Hi, my name is Rachel. I'm a 19 year old college student at Oklahoma Christian. My father has been a preacher and teacher in the Churches of Christ since I was born. That event actually occurred in Abilene while my dad was in grad school and my mom was teaching special ed. I grew up in New Orleans and I went to high school in Canada and I have a love-hate relationship with the Churches of Christ.

I can't say there was any one moment when I realized that being a girl in my church was significant. In New Orleans things like that are handled differently. That city just doesn't dance to the drum beat of the rest of the South. Women in my childhood church said what they felt like saying and sometimes it helped and sometimes it didn't. This was an urban church and though I'm mostly white and technically middle-class that's not the culture I identified with. In that culture to be female was to be vocal and opinionated and strong because men were just not around. Besides all that... I knew early that I was very much like my father. I had deep convictions at 10 that I wish I could feel as deeply now, a deep passion for justice and those that are suffering. Then we moved.

I arrived in Canada angry and angsty about moving from everything that I held familiar. It didn't help that I was 13 at the time. Even at this point I don't remember ever feeling disappointed by the church or frustrated. But the Church of Christ in Western Canada struggles with conservative legalism at the expense of the gospel about as much as the churches of the Bible Belt. Needless to say...though I had not felt hurt by the church before that point I certainly do now. The CofC in such a post-Christian country is small and interrelated but even though the church I went to was full of men who were overworked and drained they wouldn't let me serve communion. I was having severe culture shock and they refused to incorporate me. I went from being a strong leader in my old circle of friends to someone everyone acknowledged was intelligent but no one would follow.

I graduated from a Church of Christ affiliated high school as the salutatorian. I took a year of bible college at the same institution where my dad was the Academic Dean. He got to teach me my first year of Greek; it made him very proud. I think if I had never taken those classes that first year I would have no idea what God is about. Intro to the OT and Theology refreshed all those things I intrinsically knew as a child; all those things that ostracism and self-doubt had melted away. I haven't gotten everything back yet. I've since transferred to OC as a History/Bible double-major and I'm going into ministry... I'm just not comfortable saying that when I meet new people.

OC doesn't enjoy the scholastic freedom that ACU does. Earlier this summer I sat in awe at the Graduate school of Bible's worship service before my father graduated with his DMin. There were women in this graduating class! They led singing and read scripture. I can honestly say that was the first time I'd heard a woman lead singing from a pulpit (we all know women usually lead singing from the pews!) I felt inspired but somehow small. Somewhere along my journey I've been told that I'm not quite good enough, that I would have something to say if I just worked a little harder. It didn't come in the form of blatant comments or rebukes... just from my own head and the fact that no one in church ever asks for my opinion anymore.

One Sunday a few months ago my father was invited to preach at a tiny congregation of the United Church of Canada and I decided to go along to experience their worship. During the potluck following the service I had three older members ask me point blank if I was going to become a minister. No baggage. No whispering. Just "So are you going to be a minister?" I knew from the beginning that ministry was a way of life and there are moments when I'm so excited to go to grad school and learn and debate but there are some moments, like right now where it seems I'll be forever stuck. To be at a university where people are unwilling to talk about women's roles in public, where bible professors only encourage behind closed doors, at a church (out of lack of transportation) that would never dare to point out that maybe they might be doing something wrong... I'm the only female Bible major that I know of at OC, though they tried to encourage me to take a Vocational Ministry major instead. I'm so discouraged and plagued with doubt. I wonder why God didn't send me to ACU, why he would make me sit through sunday night services that always leave me flustered and teary eyed. I know there are moments to speak and moments to keep silent but for some reason all mine are for silence. I thought coming back to America would be like homecoming but its more like a second exile.

by dallasjoyce: My Voice is Missing

MY VOICE IS MISSING

I am a 65 year old woman, and I was “raised in the church.” I graduated from Lipscomb. We took our children to church three times a week. I belong to a conservative congregation of about 1000. When we placed membership there I promised God that I would not leave unless they kicked me out.

I must say that I am disappointed in the way my daughters were taught as they grew up, but anti-feminism was just part of it. When my daughter was struggling with questions involving drugs, alcoholism, sexual identity, and abortion, she was being taught at church that it was immodest for a boy to take off his shirt in public, and that “no instrumental music” was the most important belief in Christianity. It was an almost complete disconnect with the real world.

I don’t think that anti-feminism will keep anybody out of heaven, though. If I leave my congregation, I’m removing the help that I’ve been to them and depriving myself of the help they’ve given me. There is no lack of work for me, and I feel my gifts are adequately recognized. I do constantly harass the “establishment” every time I get a chance. If they’re complaining about not having enough people to serve communion, I remind them that they’ve disqualified half the congregation.

I used to care more about the gender inequalities, but as I’ve gotten older I find that they matter less to me. My congregation has given me encouragement, prayer, casseroles, and honey-baked hams to help me weather personal storms which are still raging. They can help me because they’ve known me for 37 years. I can help them for the same reason. Somebody once told me that a congregation should be like a huge family reunion where everybody knows that Uncle Phil will get drunk, but he’s still got a place at the table. Joe and Ed will bore everyone to death discussing politics, and Bill and Lois haven’t spoken to Marion and Ruth for years, but everybody’s still part of the family, and they all have a place set for them at the table.

I do recognize that the conservative church is driving away many Christians. The Church of Christ is losing women who would otherwise be preachers, counselors, leaders, and workers because they are repulsed by the discrimination. It’s a loss, but not one I feel personally called to correct. I think God will keep His church intact, and His Christians are going to be found in many denominations. Christians only, not the only Christians.

Somebody once said that it is easy to confuse theological insight with spiritual growth. In the past I have delighted in theological insight, but I now find myself forced to deal with spiritual growth. The theology was more fun.

a couple worth a thousand

by Sue

I was 62 years old when I left the Church of Christ. It was the most painful decision of my life, and the best thing I ever did. I was 50 years old when I began to question the traditional teaching about woman's role. My father had been an elder. My husband was an elder. My son was a deacon in the church. My roots were long and deep. We studied. We prayed. Many others shared our understanding, but were unwilling to change a tradition for fear of upsetting someone. Never mind that many were already upset and the tradition was not true to scripture. We were called all manner of names for questioning and challenging. The atmosphere in our congregation felt like a war zone. We had been actively involved in our congregation for 40 years. It was home. Leaving was like a painful divorce. We floated through many different churches after leaving. We now worship with a Presbyterian church were we can worship and once again feel part of a church family. We have found a new home. There is life outside of the C of C. There is a better way. My sons and daughters are welcome to use all of their talents here. One daughter is an elder. The other has preached on several occasions. I still teach Sunday School and teach the children that Jesus loves them. I am a woman recovering from the Church of Christ and finding joy in church again.
Sue Evans
Bowie, MD

She-Rev

The Reverend Janetta Cravens Boyd hosts a podcast of "real stories of real women doing real ministry." Both Katie Hays and Irie Sessions have shared their stories here, as well as others. Check out She-Rev at the link below:

http://jcbministries.podbean.com/she-rev-podcast/

by Susan Campbell

excerpted from Dating Jesus: A Story of Fundamentalism, Feminism and the American Girl, Boston: Beacon Press, 2009.

Still, after all these years, it takes one phone call from a Congregational minister--a man who seems nice enough on the phone--to unhinge me over the prospect of stepping into a pulpit. Certainly, I tell him, a religion as large and diverse as Congregationalism can do better for a Sunday-morning speaker. Surely there is someone better qualified to address the topic of the day, whatever that is. But the minister is gently insistent. He has been reading my stuff for years, he says. He thinks I have something to say from the pulpit. I hang up after telling him I will think about it, although I have no intention of doing any such thing.

I go home to talk to my husband about it, but he's no help...A pulpit is just like a lectern, only bigger. What's the big deal?

And I find I can't explain it to him. There is a vast divide between a lectern and a pulpit. The symbolism of one--authority based on one's own autonomy--in no way compares to the symbolism of the other--authority as granted to the speaker by God.

OK. I know I sound like a nut, trying to explain that because the way was barred for me so long ago, I told myself I didn't want to be in a pulpit anyway. And now an opportunity presents itself for me to climb into the pulpit, and I didn't even work for it, and certainly I didn't ask for it. Like with my earlier vow of virginity, I have, on some level, promised myself I will never want this (preaching or sex)...

I am thinking about this far too much, and what if it turns out that I do want to be in a pulpit? The upheaval in my life will be immeasurable. I will have to quit my job, go back to the seminary--only this time with a real and defined purpose. I will have to become holy. I will have to give up cursing and talking bad about people.

Over the next few days, I find myself picking at a scab I didn't even know I had.

But you've never expressed any interest in being a minister before, my husband reminds me. You went through six years of part-time studies at the seminary and never once heard that still, small voice.

I have a dream that night that lightning splits the roof of that old Congregational church and strikes the good people as I talk. I am hardwired to understand that I don't belong in the pulpit. As big a feminist as I am, I have on some level embraced the limitations set before me. And I fear bucking them. And that makes me both sad and angry.

...As far as I'm concerned, I resolve nothing, but the next time the minister e-mails me, I say yes. I don't know why. The answer falls out, unbidden. I think I am tired of being a chicken. I think it is best that I just go ahead and do this and get it out of my system, whatever the outcome, however big the lightning strike and great the number of casualties.

...I can hear my heart pounding in my head and I honestly think I might faint. I don't have this reaction, as a rule, to public speaking. In general, give me a microphone and I am very happy, but here I am, standing before God and all the members of the Congregational church, preparing to fall face-forward onto the nice carpet.

And then I am sitting at the front in one of those chairs that looks like a throne facing the congregation, waiting for my turn to start. By now I've sweated through my pants as well as my jacket. I have written a speech, I remind myself. Or, at least, I have a lot of good leads on one. I sit berating myself that I didn't type out precisely every word I wanted to say, that I honestly thought the Holy Spirit would be interested in the likes of me. Why after all these years would the Holy Spirit make an appearance? I no longer trust myself to wing it but I have left myself no other option. Ha, ha. Silly me. If I had a script--and I desperately want one right about now--I wouldn't trust myself to stay on it. This is going to end badly, I think, and then I run through the scenarios that would be most displeasing, starting with me running off, unable to go on, and progressing to my being overcome with some kind of syndrome that makes me say curse words in public--Tourette's, is it? I wonder what I'll do if someone heckles me. I do not worry about having a comeback. I worry about having a comeback that is clean enough for church people...

This is church, I remind myself. Hecklers rarely visit church.

...The service is going on around me and I need to pay attention--I am trying, I promise--but the voices in my head are getting increasingly loud. This is going to end badly. This is going to end badly--

...And then a quartet quietly stands--all men--and the kind-faced bass singer smiles at me and they sing, for my benefit, "I'll Fly Away." The ministers had asked me earlier if I had a favorite song, and I believe I thought of that one because I like the theme of escape--which I very much want now to do.

The others in the church don't know the words and they're scrambling to find it in their songbooks, but it isn't in there, I bet, because their songbooks look pretty new...A few of the older people are singing along as best as they can on the chorus, but I know every verse, and I am adding my faulty alto to the mix. I am calling up the words of a song I literally have not sung in two decades, and I am remembering every word.

And suddenly, right there in front of the whole church, my heart opens up and I am crying. I am flat-dab crying and I realize with horror that this is something I didn't think to include in my ending-badly list, sobbing in front of the whole congregation before I even get started...

It wasn't an act of God--at least, not like one I'd have expected after all my cogitating. It was just a phone call. So the journey wasn't that difficult, anyway. And what, I think, nearly hiccupping, if this is my still, small voice? I'd been like Elijah, up on the mountaintop looking for God in the wind, the earthquake, the fire. And God just picked up the phone? I fashion a quick prayer: Oh God, let me stop crying and let it be soon...Just let me get a grip here...

...the quartet ends, the man singing bass looks at me with another smile, and I take a deep breath and stand up. This is my cue. This is my chance to say all those things that have weighed on me since that long-ago Sunday school class when I asked, in the vernacular,

"Why cain't a woman be a preacher?"

by KSS, part 2

7. Last question: What would you like to say? What do we need to hear?

JTB wrote recently that she went to China and became a feminist. I feel like I went to ACU and became a bitch. I don’t say that out loud (okay, maybe twice), but it’s what I think. I hope you’ll stay with me to see what I mean. Everyone who knew me as a kid and as a teenager will tell you that I am a sweet, quiet girl. People who know me now will tell you that I’m opinionated and some will even say I have a “strong personality.”

Have you heard of the six word memoirs? I wrote one. Here it is:

Didn’t know I had a voice.

The very first turning point for me didn’t happen in church. I was driving (so I was about 17) down 34th listening to FM90 and “Silent All These Years” by Tori Amos came on. I was overcome, it was an epiphany for me.

I’m a word girl. I’ve always loved stories. I love listening to them, I love reading them, I love telling them. If you look at my flair board on my facebook page, you’ll see things like, “Because pointless stories are my thing” and “People who don’t know me think I’m quiet, people who do wish I was.” You’ll also see comments from my friends laughing about how true those statements are.

I had always been full of words, but they were getting blocked up in my throat. I didn’t have a voice to speak my words.

It would be almost 10 years between “Silent All These Years” and my last pissed Sunday, with ACU being pretty much right in the middle. It was a LONG road.

Two things happened while I was at ACU, and these two stories are the part where I’m not reluctant. These are the stories that I love and that have carried me through from a time of questions to a time of answers.

I was taking an outrageous load to finish up my requirements since I couldn’t afford to stay in school any longer. Because it was the end of the degree, the classes were upper-level, small and intense.

I had to do a guided study for one class, because that was the only way I could fit everything in. I would meet one-on-one with the professor and discuss the reading material. One book was about learning styles. He asked me what I thought, and I said, “I think the author is this type, and I think her husband is this other type, and I don’t think she values his type very much.” It seemed like an obvious observation to me. The professor’s jaw dropped. He said, “I can’t believe you picked up on that. I know this couple personally, and they’ve had conflict in their marriage over that.” I didn’t think it was a big deal at the time. I felt a sort of pleased satisfaction about it, like guessing the outcome of a movie before the end. I didn’t think too much about it then, but I’ve thought a lot about it since. It has turned out to be a major turning point for me. I see young people who don’t know what they’re good at. They take “spiritual gifts quizzes” to find out. This experience was one thing that helped me see what I’m good at. Once I had this experience, I wasn’t able to be still and quiet, hiding behind the “not knowing.” Still and quiet seems humble, and confident seems bitchy.

I had the same professor for another small, upper-level ministry majors class, about 10-12 students. I was the only girl. We were talking about a hypothetical case-study. It was some situation about a congregation having a church-splitting conflict over something to do with building a kitchen and a fellowship room and something about a parking lot. There was one woman in the example who was especially problematic. I wish I could remember the whole thing better, but anyway. Everyone in the class discussed possibilities for why the people in the story felt the way they did and what might be done to resolve the conflict. I sat there and listened to what all was being said and racked my brain for what might be this woman’s problem. I thought, “What have we learned from all these classes we’ve been taking? They keep talking to us in counseling classes and family systems classes about how the presenting issue usually isn’t the true underlying issue. After awhile, I spoke up and said, “I don’t think the parking lot is really this woman’s problem, I think what she’s really having a problem with is…” I don’t remember now what I said, but I just threw my ideas out there. The professor spoke after me. He said, “Guys, I just want to stop here for a minute and tell you that this is what you’re missing when you exclude women from your elders’ meetings and your staff meetings. Women offer insights that you won’t get without them.” They kind of nodded, and we continued. But for me, in that moment between the professor’s words and the class continuing, I felt like the sky opened up and a light flooded over me that allowed me to see my value for the first time. The hand that had been covering my mouth my whole life let go at ACU. Ever since that moment, I’ve always had the feeling that once I experienced that kind of validation, I cannot go back to trying to tell myself that for some, unknown reason I am supposed to not speak.

How does one revisit ACU, knowing that women aren’t allowed to speak publically during chapel unless a statement is made, prior to her speaking, that chapel is technically over? How does one revisit ACU knowing they’re sending ministry majors to churches where they know women aren’t allowed to teach boys who’ve been baptized? This place where the goal is to train students for Christian leadership throughout the world (except for women in ministry). This place where women are expected to become corporate CEOs but not church leaders. I’ll tell you. One revisits it feeling like a bitch. Like an ungrateful, traitor who received a world-class education only to turn around and leave it. One does it with fear and grief. Fear of being rebuked, fear of being found out. With grief that this place, these people, these halls and rooms, helped give me something valuable that I’m doing nothing to reciprocate.

If you’ve stayed with me this far, then you know from my response to questions 3 & 4, that I have found a home with peace and relief. It is a house of inclusion. If I’m going to say anything, I want it to be that. But this is a conversation about where we’ve come from. And in that conversation I have to tell a story about living in a house of silence.

by KSS, part 1

I have so much to say. It’s so hard to know where to start much less where to go. So I’ll follow the questions posed. But first I have to deal with a word issue. I have such a hard time even typing things like “CoC” or “church of Christ” or “Church of Christ.” Have you ever had to lean over to your friend next to you in the pew, during a talk about “Big C and little c” and whisper, “Have you ever even heard of the church of Christ?” I have had to do that. His answer was, “No.” Afterwards, he asked me, “What was the deal about the big c and little c?” I said, “I don’t even want to explain it because I don’t want to even sound like I’m defending it.” Then he asked me a lot more questions like, “And what was the deal with instrumental music? And what was the deal with women?” I know the answers to all those questions, but I don’t even want to answer them. I might have some baggage. I feel like I lost my baggage at the airport a long time ago, and I’ve bought new clothes and toiletries since then. Now someone is showing up at my door saying my luggage has been found, but it’s mixed up with other passengers’ baggage, so would I please unpack it and sort it out. Good grief.

This is going to be offensive, please excuse me or stop reading this or whatever you need to do. I’m not apologetic anymore.

So I use “Church of Christ” because the way I see it, “church of Christ” is used as a way of insisting that it is not a denomination, and I cannot participate in that thinking. I do believe that the Church of Christ is a denomination. I have to say all of this, because I can’t begin a written conversation about the church where I come from without defending why I punctuate the way I do. I know I’m being unfair, because after having said all that, I’m not willing to talk about it any further.

1. What’s your first memory of realizing that being female meant something different in terms of opportunities or expectations?

If you’re a fish, when do you discover water? I grew up in the CoC. I knew the answers before I knew the questions. I don’t remember exactly when I began asking, but by the time I was in high school I had been asking a lot of questions for a long time and getting very polite, unsatisfying answers. All of my questions seemed to me to be best represented by this one question: “How come if I wrote a book everyone would read it and love it and say, ‘Wow! This stuff is great!’ but if I spoke those exact same words, the same people would say, ‘This is wrong.’?”

I started asking everyone everywhere this question. Mostly the answer I got was,
“That’s a good question.”

I wanted to say, “Are you kidding me?! That’s your answer?!”

Sometimes people said, “Well, probably a lot of people wouldn’t read your book.”

I knew that was true, too.

2. How did being female in CoC affect you as a teenager, in college, in your dating relationships?

I never really dated as a teenager. I think being female in CoC as a teenager was only one of many ways that I was “out of sorts” or “out of my element” or “not at home in my own life.” Probably typical for most teenagers. However in college, I think it did directly factor into my not dating. I was a Youth & Family Ministry major at ACU. In my class, there were only two or three female Y&FM majors. Every year while I was there, there were more and more new incoming female Y&FM majors, but I was rare during my time. One day, I was walking through the campus center with a close friend. He was like a brother to me. He was a psychology major. We were having a conversation about dating, and he casually said, “I don’t think I’d date a female Bible major. I think I’d be intimidated.” He said it so matter-of-fact-ly. I felt like there was no reason to be upset about it. I realized that my major was probably going to be a hindrance to dating, to say nothing of the chances of getting married. Another time I was walking with a male Y&FM major, and we were talking about how I felt discriminated against as a female. He said, “I never really thought about it before.” I said, “You wouldn’t—it doesn’t affect you.” Then he said, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

3. How has being female in CoC affected you as an adult? 4. How has being female affected your church life?

To me, being female and the issue of women’s role is part of a bigger conflict I have with the Church of Christ (which I’ll write about later if JTB wants it). At the last Church of Christ I went to regularly, I constantly found myself thinking, “I’m so glad I didn’t invite anyone to come with me today!” Then I would think, “Something is very wrong if I don’t want to invite people to come to church with me.” The sermons made me angry, and I constantly wanted to stand up and walk out. At the time, I had a demanding social work job, and I was constantly getting paged and having to leave church to talk to clients on the phone. Between the job and the church, I found myself on Sunday mornings thinking to myself, “Maybe I’ll just stay home today. I’ll go next week.” My job was with a CoC agency, and it required that I be CoC, so I didn’t feel free to visit other denominations. I was already at the most liberal, progressive CoC in town, so I knew it was pointless to visit other CoC congregations. Before I knew it, I hadn’t been to church in about a year. Then the friend from the “Big C little c” conversation invited me to visit his Methodist church. I decided that as long as I was forsaking the requirements of my job, I might as well do whatever I wanted. I wanted to go to church, I just didn’t want to be pissed the whole time I was there. It has been such a relief to find a home where things that are non-issues to me are non-issues in the church. I feel like now I can focus on the issues that are important to me. I’ve been on social justice and environmental task forces in my Methodist congregations. I’ve gotten to do what I’m good at, and no one thinks twice about it, except to tell me thanks. I’ve moved a couple of times since I started going to a Methodist church, and I’ve always found the same, serving, welcoming types of churches. I understand why people stay who feel like it is their calling in life to help change things, but for me, I feel like I had a different calling and it wasn’t possible to follow my calling in the CoC.

6. How has being female in CoC affected your interaction with children (yours and others’ children)?

When I moved from Texas to DC, I moved in with some friends who grew up CoC but who have been going to an Episcopal church after going to a Disciples of Christ church. They have the same views about women as I do. Now they’re getting ready to move out of state and thinking about where they will go to church. They expect to go to a Disciples of Christ or Episcopal church again, but there’s a local CoC church in their soon-to-be town, that they’ve heard great things about. They also now have a daughter. They asked me what I think about it. They’ve said that they don’t want to raise their daughter in the environment of the CoC because they don’t want her to be influenced by the ideas about women, so I felt comfortable answering their question honestly. I told them that I can only speak for myself and I don’t want to tell them what’s right for them, but I said that I wouldn’t go to a CoC regularly under any circumstances. I don’t have children of my own, but where I do have influence on the experience of children, I won’t promote the CoC. I say these things reluctantly. I am so grateful for so much, but it isn’t enough.

by JRB

The question is, “What's your first memory of realizing that being female meant something different in terms of opportunities or expectations?” I am male, so I can speak to this question but not as well to the others. I am a “Hebrew among Hebrews” with good COC lineage and degrees, and I was always a very good church kid and still am. I rocked Bible Bowl, was baptized at 11, led singing at 12, preached by 13 at the latest, helped lead the youth group, was a youth ministry intern and a ministry major in college at a “brotherhood school.” My grandparents are missionaries, and I have been speaking in church for a long, long time. I have always been a member of a Church of Christ, or rather, the Church of Christ.

I love the Church of Christ. It is my people, my family, my tribe, my best friends, and now in many ways, my employer and calling.

As for this question of “women’s roles,” I have been aware of the question for all my life, being the son and grandson of women who had much, much to offer, service to render and wisdom to share but who bumped up against Women’s Roles in the Church all their lives. In my youth, given to accept what I was taught as all youths are, I questioned how this inequity could be. Pointed to I Cor. 14, of course, I saw the example and necessary inference, but I either cobbled together or heard someone give an apology that, although there are not “male and female in Christ,” this does not mean that they are the same or have the same roles. In other words, this is not a question of power or subjugation, of course, but just different roles. Separate but equal roles. I bought it and sold it, too.

At my beloved alma mater, I began to learn otherwise from wise people and to suspect that we had gotten this wrong. My thinking continued to evolve in law school where I served alongside very talented, articulate, visionary, faithful women in our fruitful campus ministry. This was the first time for me to be in an ecumenical Christian ministry, outside the Brotherhood, and gender inequity at our national law school would have been fatal to our ministry, not to mention foolish for the squander of talent and contrary to the gospel we proclaimed.

The gospel truth of gender justice came home to me when I married my partner, best friend and love. She was not from my tribe, a Christian but not a Member of The Church, although she would become one and become bewildered and wounded, stronger and wiser as a result. The most desperate moment came in our first year of marriage when she and I were the de facto youth ministers in a small congregation in the throes of an identity crisis. In a youth group of about 20, only 2 or 3 boys would ever lead prayer, but a few of the girls were more than willing. As the girls castigated the boys for not appreciating their privilege, we told them that we did not have a problem with girls leading prayers for the youth group but that we would wait a week for any of them to ask questions, lodge objections, talk to their parents, etc. When the day arrived without comment, we asked a sure girl to pray, but she demurred. My wife took up the ministry of prayer and led us to the Lord, and then it all hit the fan. Soon enough, I was sitting in the middle of a semi-circle of brethren in a Men’s Business Meeting, with my back against an actual wall. We did not have Elders, but Men’s Business Meetings apparently were some sort of exigency derived from necessary inference. There we parsed I Corinthians and other passages, while I answered an inquisition into my wife’s prayer, in her imposed absence. Theirs was not an angry reaction but the tired answers of stumbling blocks, patience and the need for more study, especially about women praying and prophesying with their heads covered and Gal. 3:28, which none of them had before considered in this context. She cried out to seek a new congregation, and as we visited a local Denominational Service, where she wept during communion, I told her that I wasn’t sure I could leave because I wasn’t sure the Denomination would let me teach, and I needed to teach for my spiritual well-being, apparently without any self-awareness of my hypocrisy. We were in a moment of crisis but were delivered by escape. Blessedly, we dodged the bullet of disaffiliation when we moved to a town with better prospects.

We found a much more confident congregation at our next home, and we love them still. Even so, our beloved preacher once told a story, with boys and girls on the stage beside him, of being discouraged as a boy in church. He had been leading singing in his small church as a lad of 8 or 9 and loved it, although he had not yet reached the age of accountability and had not been baptized. A new preacher came and told him to cut it out until he “became a Christian,” and this crushed and alienated the young boy’s spirit for years to come. Our preacher then exhorted us to empower and encourage our kids because of our profound responsibility to lift them up and strengthen their faith. He then handed the microphone to a girl, a yet-unbaptized girl on stage with other yet-unbaptized kids, who led them all in song. It was beautiful, but I was struck by the dissonance, because even in our congregation, once that very girl was baptized, there would be no more song leading for her. When she “became a Christian,” we would silence the voice we were then celebrating and empowering.

Now we are at a church where women read scripture in service, give their own announcements facing the church, from the pulpit, with a microphone, sing solos, testify, work as ministry leaders and are overcoming generations of discrimination. I even got to crash the Ladies Class, and they prayed in my presence. My wife and I were ordained together to lead a ministry, and in that capacity, she led classes with men and women and even led our elders in prayer as we considered our work together. Our elders encouraged her and blessed her voice. Strangely enough, however, she still cannot pass communion trays vertically because she is a woman, which, in light of all the women reading, praying, singing, leading and serving during our services, is incoherent and tough to explain to eager daughters who want to “throw the plates.”

All in all, our congregation is making sure headway toward manifesting the gospel truth that, in Christ, there are not male and female, making deliberate speed as we learn that there is no such thing as separate but equal, and that separate almost always is about power and subjugation, while equal is almost always about submission. Our pastor has guided us to let our daughters help me pass the collection plate (but not communion, yet), in their desire to help, and we pray that this holds the promise that when they reach their own age of accountability, that they will be welcomed as full citizens into the kingdom of God, equipped and encouraged to seek out the calling the Lord gives to them.

This is important, because we have two daughters who dream. They pretend to be astronauts and ballerinas. They love to play dinosaurs and princesses. They play with legos and babydolls. They play soccer, climb trees and change clothes, all the time. They play hard in the mud, love the zoo, cherish books, run like mad, twirl and leap, color and write, want to be pretty, sing all the time, tell stories and give to their friends.

When our older daughter was two-and a half, she was playing with her little sister in their bedroom. They were laughing, dancing and running around. Then, the little one started complaining and protesting while her big sister pulled and prodded on her.

Momma responded to their cries and insistence, to find big sister with her arms around little sister’s shoulders, pulling and tugging, trying to get her up on the toddler bed, under protest.

Momma said, “What are you doing? Don’t pull on K like that!.”
B replied, “I’m John the Baptist!”
“What?”
“I’m pretend John the Baptist, and K is Jesus, and we’re going to the water!”

Amen, little girl. Prophesy.

links

Before rudetruth hosted these narratives of the experience of gender in our churches, gal328. org did. Don't miss these voices of experience.

Ann Evankovich
Katie Hays
Mary Lou Hutson
D'Esta Love
Lance Pape
Floyd E. Rose

by Casey

Though it was never really an option for me growing up in a conservative church of Christ in Texas, I always knew I was not cut out for the ministry. I am too introverted to be expected to speak every week, far too fond of controversy, and I have to hire people to be my internal censor, as I really have none. So this was nothing I ever wanted to do. I never remember any of the girls in my youth group feeling anything but pity for the boys when they had to participate in services. There was just a slight pang of jealousy when they got to sing together, but then we just mocked them and changed the name of their singing group to ‘All the Kings Dorks.’ And when I went away to college, going to a public university rather than to ACU where many of my friends were, I felt that I was free to do whatever I wanted. I continued going to the church of Christ because that’s what you do, and there was one within 5 minutes of my dorm, and the friends I made at church are for the most part the people from college who I remain friends with today. But as I have gotten older (and gone to therapy), I have begun to realize what it is the church does to us by making it known that our sole purpose is to sit quietly.

When I left for school, even though I chose a non-religious college, I still pictured myself in the life I had been told was for me. I would go to school, and be successful because I’m smart, but I would also meet someone and marry right after graduation (or maybe even before). I would teach high school English, and sing as part of the makeshift chorus at weddings and funerals. I would run VBS, and maybe some sort of ministry for the homeless, if I had time, what with my kids and husband and job. I say all of this in sort of a mocking tone, not to mock people who live this life happily, but in mockery of myself, because this was never me. I swear like a trucker, cry without exception at all weddings and funerals, I am not good with any more than one child at a time (and then only for about an hour), and I am possibly the most undomestic person you have ever met, my only talent really being arts & crafts. But it has taken me many years to discover this. Up until this point, I have felt at many moments like a failure for not having achieved this ideal. And I know I am not alone here.

I see this in women I know who remain single into their 30s, despite their best efforts to find and keep a nice Christian man. I see this in my friends who married early and then discovered that this is not what they wanted out of life at all, but having made the commitment and stoically staying put, hoping to make it work or that the next 60 years will go by quickly. In my friends who decided not to stick it out, and who are demonized by the church for their decision to end an unhappy, at times abusive, marriage. In my friends who are blamed by the church for their husbands’ acts of infidelity, and are told that it is their wifely duty to make him want to stay. Or in people like myself, who struggle for so long to be the ideal, hoping that someone will come along who is okay with the fact that we are not. Someone who can forgive us for having slipped up, or being too quick to speak, or to act, or too selfish to see that our careers are not more important than the potential of a family that we do not really want to have.

The greatest blessing of my life was the day I set foot on the campus of the University of Texas. It was for me the opportunity to be seen for who I am, and to be appreciated for my voice. To meet people who would teach me so much and change me in profound ways, leading me to do more than I ever thought possible. Instead of meeting a husband there, I met a best friend with whom I have walked through the last decade or so. He had a journey very similar to mine up to that point, and has had his own journey since. Like all of us, having to learn that God does not make imperfect things and loves us wholly for who we wholly are.

by JW

I think I may be one of the blessed ones. It wasn’t until I was a young adult that I really began to understand that my gender made a difference in my ability to share in the ministry of the church. I was fortunate to be raised by parents that worked to intentionally nurture my ministry skills and to model a life of service and leadership—both by my mother and my father. Even when I was a young child, my mother was writing articles for Christian magazines and going out of town to speak at churches and retreats. I didn’t know at the time that she was blazing a trail for women in Churches of Christ. Nor did I realize that her primary audiences were women—her gender prevented her from speaking to mixed audiences most of the time. All I knew is that my mother was using her God-given gifts in ministry in various ways. And it didn’t seem strange to me at all.

When I was a teenager, my mother began working on her master’s degree and, eventually, her doctorate in ministry. She did this on top of her full-time job, balancing these responsibilities with her marriage, children, and ministry at home. Again, I didn’t find this particularly remarkable at the time—it was just our life. But I do remember beginning to understand that my mother was unique. There were not many other women in her classes and sometimes the men didn’t know how to respond to her. I won’t try to tell any of these stories here because they are hers to tell, not mine. Plus, I don’t know if I really know any of them. I just remember beginning to develop a sense of otherness around this time. I knew that the way I understood myself as a female was not maybe how other people understood me.

My feelings of frustration about my gender didn’t begin until I was in late-high school. In those days, the youth group kids would sit near the back of the auditorium on the far lefthand side. Many Sunday mornings, a slightly frantic, sweaty deacon would come rushing over and would ask one or two of the guys to help serve communion. At first, it didn’t really bother me that I was never asked, nor were other great girls from the youth group. But one Sunday I looked up and saw that I was being served on each side by two guys who had JUST been talking about the party they had attended over the weekend. While they had both baptized in the previous months, neither one was resisting the temptation to party with their friends. Not that I was sinless or expected that the people serving communion would be any more righteous than any of the rest of us. But I felt the first painful pangs of frustration that my ability to serve at church was not evaluated based on spiritual maturity, desire, or willingness. Even though I had been a baptized Christian for seven years, I was not considered able to walk down the aisles with a tray because I lacked the important “spiritual gift” of the phallus.

Despite that frustration, I continued to serve in leadership roles in my youth group and was asked to deliver a public response to the church on Senior Sunday—one of two times I have ever spoken publicly during worship.

When I entered my freshman year of college, I still didn’t have much of an idea about the restrictions women faced in Churches of Christ. I had been sheltered and empowered by my family and, in many ways, by my home congregation. I quickly became involved with like-minded friends and we organized a devotional for freshmen—attended by probably 50 students. During one of the first devotionals, I volunteered to “give the talk.” You know, to use Scripture and my personal experience to edify and challenge the assembled group. After we sang a few songs, my (male) friend who was leading worship introduced me. And he said that I would be “giving my testimony.” Which was true, in a way. But what I was doing was no different than what my male cohorts had done in previous devotionals, only their talks weren’t specified as “testimonies.” He had chosen that word to describe my talk so as not to offend anyone. I remember feeling conflicted and a little hurt by that distinction, though I wasn’t wholly surprised by it. I didn’t want my gender to be the focus of my talk, I wanted the Lord to be the focus.

At the end of my talk that evening, I prayed for all of us. I don’t remember anything specific or remarkable about the prayer at all. And I didn’t think twice about doing it—after all, I had been able to pray, read scripture, and lead discussions in my youth group just months before. But after the devotional, a male friend of mine came up to me and told me that he had covered his ears while I had prayed because he didn’t want to participate in a sin: being led in prayer by a woman. I was absolutely floored. And hurt. And angered. This was the first time (and, thank the Lord, I think the only time) I have ever been so directly attacked for my spiritual leadership.

I attended college in my hometown, and my home congregation was undergoing an extensive study of women’s roles in public leadership. I was invited to be part of a discussion group one afternoon, to share my views with other members of the church as well as the elders. I shared my previous experience about feeling frustration when the boys in the youth group were invited to serve communion and the girls were excluded…and a man in the discussion group responded with the following sentiment: “It’s probably a good thing that young women don’t serve communion. What if a woman wore something sexy that made the men in the congregation lust after her. That would be detrimental to the spiritual state of the men during communion. Therefore, women shouldn’t serve communion.” Again, I was floored. I couldn’t believe his willingness to disenfranchise women based on some men’s inability to control their sexual desires (not to mention the total lack of trust that women are able to dress modestly and appropriately!).

When my husband and I started dating, he was working on his Master’s of Divinity and was ministering at a tiny rural church outside of town. I joined him in that work, and, though the church was conservative, I witnessed beautiful female servant leadership by Audrey and Mildred, the octogenarian matriarchs of the church. Each week, they would arrive at the building early to prepare for worship. One had a good right arm, the other had a good left arm. So they would stand, bad shoulder to bad shoulder each week, preparing the communion trays—Audrey on the right, using her good right hand, Mildred on the left, using her good left hand. And even then, in my early twenties, I didn’t miss the significance of this image: two women devoted to the service of the church working side by side, taking up the other one’s slack to the glory of the Lord. My husband and I learned a lot at this tiny church—our first ministry together. But the witness of Audrey and Mildred is the primary image that remains for us.

And I think of so many other women, both in progressive and conservative churches, who have blazed trails or have quietly made strides in their service of the Lord—their curious exploration of the Word. And I am grateful. Because I know that my way, though frustrating, is easier because of their work, their pain, their humiliation.

I am blessed to have a husband with whom I have an equal partnership in our marriage and in our ministry. He actively supports all of my gifts—both spiritual and otherwise. I think this may be the heart of the blessing I feel from the Lord when it relates to women in public leadership: I do not feel the desire to have full-time or public ministry in the church. At least not right now. I am a theater artist and I feel fully empowered to explore and utilize those gifts in my career. Most of the frustrations I have felt with my congregation in the last three years have had nothing to do with my gender. I have been blessed to be part of a young professionals group that has accepted me (and other women) as full teachers and leaders. I am still baffled by the silly little semantic acrobatics we go through to be sure not to offend more conservative members (women in my church are allowed to read scripture during the worship service, but they do it from a seated position; to “justify” this, men who read scripture also do it from their seat). But the last three years have been encouraging to me because, in that time, I haven’t really had any arguments about whether or not women are able or gifted to lead in the church—the conversations have been focused on how quickly the church can adapt to female leadership and what the appropriate next steps are…

And this is where I find hope, as a strong, gifted woman in Churches of Christ. I think churches will either change their views on this central issue, or they’ll further isolate themselves from the rest of the world, will lose their young, dynamic members, and will eventually either shrivel up and die or implode on themselves. I feel churches of all stripes reorienting their focus to be more concerned with justice and peace. A few Churches of Christ are joining this movement. And this gives me hope and excitement. I can see that the road will be long as women have to continue to fight for a voice and an equal share in the gospel mission. But I am encouraged that there is hope within Churches of Christ. I am committed to sticking around and doing what I can to help in the journey, knowing that if—after years of struggle and attempts at reconciliation within the C of C—my husband and I can’t make it work, we will move on to another group that recognizes my voice as equally as important as his.

Until then, I join with so many other witnesses—male and female, silent and outspoken—in testifying to the goodness of our God, even (or perhaps especially) in the face of frustration, suffering, and doubt. To Him be the glory forever and ever.