this is why women know better...

...than to "go to the church" for help in abusive situations.

Sheryl WuDunn at GlobalTED 2010: Our century's greatest injustice

by Steve Leveen, for the guys: I'll bet you know women in your world whom you can support

Why men should read this book about women, then help make it the most influential book of the decade

At any given moment it's easy to identify successful books. All you need do is scan the bestseller lists or check out the winners of awards. What's hard to identify are the new books that will have lasting influence as agents of change. Who knew that Silent Spring would be celebrated as a game-changing book so many years after its initial publication?
But what if we could have known in 1962, the year of its publication, that Silent Spring would contain a message of change necessary to save our very world? My guess is that we would have acted faster to head off what we're desperately trying to fix today.
So it's important to try to fathom which books will become the most influential books of our time, in order to add force to their nascent power. In this hazardous task, I hazard a prediction: the most influential book of the decade will be Half the Sky: Turning Oppression into Opportunity for Women Worldwide.
Of course I don't know that Half the Sky will be the most influential book, but I believe it should be. And in my own small way, I'm going to help make it so. More important, I invite you--especially if you're a man--to do the same.
It's not (just) about women
The oppression of women is breathtakingly evil, it's frighteningly pervasive in the developing world, and it is alarmingly consequential in its damage--those messages come across vividly in the able hands of authors Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn. They write from first-hand experience as reporters, and also from a deep understanding of their subject through years of research.
Reading their book is like being taken on a frightening but irresistible ride. You don't want to see what you're seeing, but you can't close your eyes either. When the ride is over, they help you understand what you saw and what you can do to make a tangible difference.
The curious thing is that while the book is about the oppression of women, it's not a book about women's problems to be classified under gender studies. Half the Sky is about human rights. The authors argue (successfully, in my opinion) that women's oppression is the human rights issue of our century -- as totalitarianism was of the twentieth century and conventional slavery was of the nineteenth century.
I say "conventional" slavery since it's likely that today's global sex-slave trade is larger in absolute numbers than the transatlantic African slave trade of the nineteenth century.
What's more, helping women not only helps the most humans--women and men--but it is an almost magical leverage point for tackling the dark domes of suffering afflicting the world today. This is especially true when women are given access to education. Two examples: educated women have children later and fewer of them, and they have more opportunities to earn money. Thus the problems of overpopulation and poverty become a bit more surmountable.
The female half of our human capital is desperately needed to understand and effectively fight obstacles facing developing nations, not only overpopulation and poverty but even disease, terrorism and calamitous climate change. The way to hold up our whole sky is to free women to take part in the lifting.
The education of an average white guy
I wouldn't have thought a book about women's oppression would, or should, be the most influential book of our times. I've lived only in the United States, and at 55, I'm smack in the middle of the boomer generation. I've witnessed first hand the progress women have been making. I'm the son of a well-educated professional woman, the brother of strong sisters, and the husband of a beautifully caring and capable woman who founded Levenger as an equal partner with me some 22 years ago.
I've traveled to a good number of countries, including underdeveloped ones, and met professional women in all of them. From my vantage point, things seemed to be working out pretty well for women.
But in truth, I've lived a sheltered life.
My limited education in the oppression women face began 15 years ago when I saw Bandit Queen, a movie from India based on the life of Phoolan Devi and directed by Shekhar Kapur. In 1995 I introduced Kapur at a conference in what was then Bombay, shortly after the movie came out. (He is a celebrity in India, something akin to Robert Redford in the U.S.)
Kapur's movie rocked India with its depiction of sexual brutality as told through the true story of Phoolan Devi, a girl married off at age 9 who fought back with a brutality of her own. The movie deeply affected me, as it did millions of other viewers in India and elsewhere. (The real Devi was imprisoned for murder, pardoned, became a politician, and was assassinated at age 37.)
But then my education slowed to a stop. I started learning again only in the last couple of years, mainly through books that I read about efforts to build libraries around the world. The first book was Leaving Microsoft to Change the World by John Wood, and then Greg Mortenson's Three Cups of Tea. Both men saw with their own eyes the lack of schools and libraries in remote areas of the world, and learned the powerful leverage to be gained by helping girls. Girls help educate other children at rates far exceeding boys.
Those books led me to Paul Polak's brilliant Out of Poverty, and then Muhammad Yunus's inspiring Creating a World Without Poverty. A common theme in all these books is the leverage to be had by educating girls and financially empowering women, since they pour their knowledge and earnings back into families.
But not until Half the Sky did it come together for me. Kristof's and WuDunn's mix of riveting storytelling and fact-based expository writing, topped off with practical calls to action, is a potent mixture. Their book is engineered to elicit action, and it's working.
Nadereh Chamlou, Senior Advisor for the Middle East and North Africa at the World Bank, praises the book for its call for education and micro-finance, while at the same time cautioning that even more is needed: what she calls

"a paradigm changing shift in society... eliminating any kind of legal and institutional discrimination."

Chamlou says in her region, girls are getting comparable educations to boys, and even more so in college, yet gender roles and laws keep women far from economic and political parity. Here is a link to a video from the World Economic Forum's Gender equality report.

Will Sky's influence grow or die out?
From their pulpit as Pulitzer-winning reporters at The New York Times, Kristof and WuDunn were able to launch their book with force. Oprah has endorsed the authors and their cause, and so has Secretary of State Hillary Clinton. Yet even with these and other media powerhouses behind the cause, it's amazing to me how many of my friends--women and men--have heard of Going Rogue but haven't heard of Half the Sky.

Might this important book be lost in the noise?
Despite every reason why it should influence great action in the years to come, it's quite possible that Half the Sky will not be the agent of change its authors, and so many others, hope. That's why men, in particular, should step up to make sure it does.
Why men?
The men reading this are not the men oppressing women--at least, not in the worst ways. Yet millions of men are. (And so are women, by the way, as so much of the oppression is baked hard into culture.) Consider this from page 61: "Women aged fifteen through forty-four are more likely to be maimed or die from male violence than from cancer, malaria, traffic accidents, and war combined." Isn't that stupefying?
Yet we know men are also capable of heroism, self-sacrifice and even, I hesitate to say, chivalry. If I'm not mistaken, men still control most of the power and money in the world. So let's use what we've got--and show what we've got.
We need to cover their backs while women walk through saloon doors, kick some ass, take names, and then walk out. After the dust settles, it would be nice if we picked up the tab at the bar and set the chairs back down on the floor.
Here's the paradigm shift, guys: Seek out women you can help. Then do.
More than just blue sky
Start at home. As the senior Bill Gates says, "...what I find remarkable is that more men around the globe don't realize how much stronger they would be if partnered with a strong woman." That's just what his son has done with his wife in the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation.
Next, seek out other women whom you see doing great things wherever they might be. Here are some examples I've seen in the course of running a business.
Laura Roberts-Niner is the CEO of a green chemical company in the U.S. that is growing rapidly by showing how sustainable practices can help big companies make better profits. After reading Half the Sky, she refined her focus even further.

"I loved the last part of the book--about what you can do now. It inspired me to change our charities inside the company to focus on feet-on-the-street organizations overseas, and in this country, that are doing miraculous things for children and women. When women get to the table, things improve--including sustainability."

Roberts-Niner is also launching a website featuring women's charities.
Reading, then doing
Sometimes the women to support work at large public companies, such as Ann Marie Bushell, Group Executive Vice President of R.R. Donnelley.
Bushell personally supports Heifer, which promotes buying cows and other animals that keep on giving to those in the developing world, as well as SIFE, which joins students with pros to bring sustainable business practices to developing countries.
"But Half the Sky stopped me in my tracks," says Bushell. "It's just staggering to me that I can spend $25 for gift wrap, or I can use that same $25 and make a tangible difference in some girl's life--and not even as a gift, but a loan." Bushell went to Kiva to make a micro-loan and then personally recommended Half the Sky to 10 people, "friends, co-workers, even a friendly competitor."
Were any of the 10 people men? I asked.
"Actually, no."
After a moment's hesitation, she added: "I wanted people to act on the book, and there's no way a woman can read this book and not act."

Other women lead nonprofits, such as Darlene Kostrub, CEO of the Literacy Coalition of Palm Beach County, for which I volunteer.
Gwenny So owns a leather-goods business in China that makes some of the best-constructed leathers I've ever seen, including for Levenger. Most of her executives are women and, like our other Chinese manufacturers, she employs more female workers than males. As Half the Sky points out, with all the very bad parts of communist Chinese history also came very good parts. The freeing of girls to go to school and to participate in the labor force on an equal standing with boys has been a critical component of China's economic miracle.
I'll bet you know women in your world whom you can support so that their influence becomes magnified.
Looking backwards in 2059
Fifty years from now I hope college professors assign an anniversary edition of Half the Sky to their students so that they can see the amazing progress that's been made. I would like to believe that those students will shake their heads and say, "Can you imagine when the world was actually like this?"
But that won't happen by wishing it. It's time for men to open the doors for girls and women, and help make sure it does happen.
Watch this 2:23 minute video called The Girl Effect.
Visit the Half the Sky website.
But most important, read Half the Sky, and see if it doesn't galvanize you. See if it doesn't become one of the books you buy lots of to give away. See if you don't want to discuss it with your buddies. (My all-guys book group is doing that.) See if it doesn't get you to take action.
There are a whole lot of women who could use our help.

by Steve Leveen @HuffPo

by J. Brent Bates: Bathsheba's Voice

The story of David and Bathsheba is another episode in the soap opera that is the Old Testament with its drama, deception, passion, and plotting. This is one of those stories where David does just plain wrong and nothing goes right. He abuses his power, sleeps with another man’s wife, lies, and worse, conspires to murder, and then acts like nothing happened, that is until he’s caught. Sounds like the perfect plot for a soap opera to me. Of course, it’s easy to condemn the shenanigans of the actors in the Old Testament soap opera. But it’s always a good idea to try to read sympathetically—after all, these are people’s lives we’re reading about, and not just a script for a television show. So let’s consider David’s perspective, how it might have felt to be David in this story, minding our own business on the rooftop, and then finding ourselves so overwhelmed by emotion that we do something wrong and foolish, and then panic, lie, and get caught in the snowballing consequences of our mistake. I think if we’re honest with ourselves, we can relate to David and understand what it’s like to get trapped in something where every move we make only makes things worse.

But wait; I think an even more important consideration is how the oppressed victim of the story must have felt. How does this story look from, say, Uriah’s perspective? God condemns David specifically for abusing his power to oppress the poor and powerless Uriah, by taking his wife and then killing him (2 Sam. 12:9). Can you imagine how Uriah must have felt? In actuality, one of the great tragedies of this story is that Uriah is completely clueless. Here he is a loyal soldier off doing his duty for his nation and for his king, and the king himself is betraying him. Unbeknownst to him, while he is off fighting David’s battles, his own wife is sleeping with the king. And Uriah isn’t even allowed the dignity to find out this is happening before David sends him off to the front lines to be killed by the Ammonites. Tragedy and disgrace.

But not so fast. In this story, the oppressed is not so much Uriah as it is Bathsheba, this woman who is often not even called by her own name, but merely “the wife of Uriah.” She is defined by who she is married to; her worth is derivative. Bathsheba is rarely given a voice to speak, but listen we must. Bathsheba has often been vilified as if it were somehow her fault for tempting David. In fact, it is not David who was minding his own business on the roof top, but Bathsheba! And the text does not indicate that she went willingly, because it says “David sent messengers to get her.” Besides, who can say “no” to the king? On top of all this that she suffers, the consequence of David’s sin, we learn later, is that her child dies. Now, how is that fair?

One of the things that this story does is highlight the reality of the oppression of women throughout human history, especially with the complicity of religion and power. Sacred texts have often been used to uphold inequalities, oppression, and even abuse. I was interested to read this week of former president Jimmy Carter who explained that he had officially disaffiliated from the Southern Baptist Convention because of its treatment of women, especially because this was one of the several reasons I left my former tradition. And perhaps we have made many strides forward in our society; we had our first female candidate for president. And much progress has been made in the Episcopal Church, as women are at every level of ministry of our church, including the office of Presiding Bishop. And yet there are still many inequalities. I know this primarily because I have been listening to the stories of women, from friends and family, from you, from the news. I know this, because taking into account as strongly as I feel about the issue and as much as I try to uphold equality, when I take the time to reflect on my own life, I can still see traces of inequality. Consider the inequality of household labor. Very often within two-income households, a woman is the one who by default does the majority of laundry, cooking, cleaning, and childcare. Consider the persistent disregard for the specific needs of women in the workforce. While much progress has been made over the past few decades, and while there are certainly exceptions, there are still overall inequalities in pay and a glass ceiling in corporate America. Even more seriously, as pointed to in our text this morning, there is the reality of domestic abuse, both physical and emotional. This doesn’t just happen in small towns and far away countries; it happens across every socio-economic group. Our General Convention passed this year a resolution to raise awareness and speak out against the widespread practice of domestic violence. They say: “According to Department of Justice statistics, in the last five years, more women in the US have been killed by the men they live with, or used to live with, than American soldiers have been killed by war. The loss of these precious lives, and the grief suffered by their families, is a national tragedy. Thousands more women are battered, abused, and humiliated…. Yet, where is the outrage against the cycle of violence? Who will speak for these victims?”

The final perspective on this story of David and Bathsheba is God’s perspective. It may be tempting to locate God’s perspective as a 3rd-person-omniscient, condemning narrator—judging David, perhaps judging Bathsheba. There is, after all, so much to judge. But our God is a God of compassion, not detached judgment; God does not remain distant but enters our life stories, no matter how messy and unappealing and sinful. So where is God’s perspective in this story? Where does God enter this narrative? Where is God’s compassionate presence? God’s voice is in the missing voice of this story … and that’s not just Uriah’s missing voice. God’s voice in this story is Bathsheba’s missing voice, the voice that would protest the abuse of power, the disregard of other persons, the victimization of the vulnerable. The voice that would say these things, if it were given a place in the text, but which is displaced, only to show up later and secondarily in the male voice of Nathan the prophet, calling David to account.

While scripture undoubtedly has layers of patriarchy in its pages, its true message, the true voice of God is one of justice and equality. The scriptures include women of great ability, from Deborah the mighty Judge of Israel to Dorcas the disciple of Jesus known for her aid to the poor. Women were among Jesus’ closest followers, who buried Jesus while the men fled for their lives, and first to proclaim the resurrection of the gospel after his rising. St. Paul, who is rightly criticized for upholding first-century norms of gender inequality, nonetheless, clearly preaches an ideal of equality. Paul says: “There is no longer male and female; for all … are one in Christ Jesus” (Gal. 3:28). At its heart, the gospel of Christ is a message of equality, respect, and love for every human being. Our God is a God who constantly seeks to breathe life into our broken experiences. Our God is a God who affirms us as we are, old and young, black and white, rich and poor, disabled and able, gay and straight, female and male. Our God is a God who has special concern for the underprivileged, who feeds a mass of 5,000 people who have nothing to eat. Our God is a God who moves us beyond the debilitating cycles of oppression and victimization, overcoming evil with good and empowering people by the Holy Spirit. May we seek to overcome the inequalities in our lives and within the structures of our society. May we see our lives from the perspective of God. Amen.

by Brittyne: Wiki Gets it Right

I will never let any of my students read this post. Their eyes are banned as it is a common frustration among them that I refuse to allow wikipedia as a source for any of their work. Thankfully, I am supported fully by my English department on said issue. However, I recently found that wiki sometimes gets it right. I am wrestling with an issue of faith and went last night to do some research. I googled the “role of women in the church of christ”. The first hit I got made me feel ill. I was linked to a church I won’t name that clearly stated that women were created subservient to men and that in the church they would not be allowed to participate publicly. They concluded their thoughts with this sentence. “Let’s follow what the Bible says. Going to heaven must be our number one priority in life.” Wow! What if I was searching for a church and this is what I came across? I can guarantee that not one woman I know would consider visiting this house of worship, including myself. Sadly, this is the theology of my religious heritage. I grew up in a church where women’s voices were painfully absent. I grew up understanding “my place” in the faith. It hasn’t set well with me for years as I have grown in my understanding of God and his work in our world. For one, scripture doesn’t teach about the second class status of women. Secondly, even those who support a literal interpretation of the scripture don’t actually follow it literally as I haven’t recently sat in church with my head covered. Either you believe in a literal translation or you don’t. You can’t pick and choose. Either you believe women are equal participants in the faith or you don’t.

The second hit I got was for a wiki site on the gender justice movement. I will quote briefly.

“The Great Commission, Mark 16:15, "Preach the Gospel," is to all believers, and to all the church of Jesus Christ. The command to "preach the Gospel" is to both male and female.The prescription that women are to be silent in 1 Corinthians 14:34-35 is not to be taken as a prohibition against women preaching the Gospel: if Paul intended this verse as a general rule to bar all women from speaking in church, then they cannot teach Sunday School, testify, pray, prophesy, sing, or even reach the state of salvation (since the confession of faith of necessity involves speech). This strict interpretation, to which many congregations admittedly do not adhere, is seen by the gender justice congregations to contradict the rest of the Bible (Acts 2:4; Acts 16-18).Further, Gen 1:27 states "So God created man in His own image, in the image of God created He him; male and female created He them.". It is illogical to postulate that male and female can both be created by God and "in the image of God" yet one is less equal than the other. Since both are created in God's image, this faulty logic would imply that part of God is less equal than another part.”

How does Wiki get it right and the church get it wrong?

The knot in my stomach comes from this dilemma. Do I choose theology or community? I have grown up in the church of Christ. I have dear friends there. Our parents attend and elder there. My girls have friends there. The church of Christ brought me into faith. However, the fundamental teaching here denies equality in the eyes of God. It embodies a skewed interpretation of Scripture and puts a stumbling block in the road of faith for many. I have been most convicted by Romans 1:32 “but they also approve of those who practice them”. Discrimination against human beings who have been created in the image of God and endowed with spiritual gifts is sin. Refusing to allow a segment of a congregation to extend their gifts for the good of the body and for the bringing of the new heavens to earth is a sin. Does my continued participation in this body suggest my approval? I would not associate myself in the secular world with groups that were openly discriminatory so why would I in my religious world?

I think about my girls. I think about the faith I want them to have, to witness and to practice. I realize where this path is leading me and it is scary as change always is but the call for justice is too strong. If the denial of equality permeates our churches, it will continue to be the rule of our societal experience as well. If I can’t find justice here, in my home, in the heritage of my faith, I will have to begin the search for the place that will accept all as created in the image of God. The place that will allow for all voices to be heard and welcomed. The place that will appreciate and expect that all experiences of faith help us to encounter God more authentically.

I am not the only member of the church of Christ issuing this call. It is not grumbling. It is not about women nagging for the right to speak. It is about a fundamental shift in how we view the scripture and its revelation of our Lord. My prayer is that our churches will listen.

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/

from Mercy Street: Seeking Women Preachers!

Seeking Women Preachers! We at Mercy Street Church of Christ are scheduling guest preachers for our worship services for the next few months. If you feel called by God to preach contact Stan at the following email address. Or maybe you don't have that mysterious prompting people refer to as a "calling." Perhaps you just have a good word to proclaim to the church. Women from the Church of Christ heritage from the Abilene, Texas area or those who might be traveling to our fair city and would be willing to guest preach are encouraged to participate. I know we will be blessed.

Our email address is: mercystreetchurch@gmail.com Let us know if you’d like to participate.

by Lara: Confessions of a Gender Justice Freak

Finally, a man I respect, Jimmy Carter, a man after God's own heart, says something (read article here) that jives with feelings I've had all my life. Feelings that I now believe are from God. I have felt these things in a very deep place all my life. I have never (and I say never VERY strongly) been able to shake the feeling/belief from deep within my soul that "church" has been getting this wrong all my life. I think that's why I was a "justice freak" kid (though that sounds a lot hipper than "bossy" did back then.) I just wanted things fair. I wanted rules followed. I had opinions...beliefs. And I wanted to be heard. Okay, I also wanted to be right, but more importantly I wanted THE right to my opinion and the right to share it with whomever I chose.

Let me share a piece of my childhood with you. When I was a teenager, the Church of Christ I attended had no formal youth group. We hung out with each other after church on Sunday nights and mostly went to watch R-rated movies and hang out in the parking lot afterwards. But there was an older, single guy who kind of gumped his way into being our mentor of sorts, and sometimes he even helped us make better decisions. I started thinking that if we only had a formal youth group and youth minister, perhaps we could be guided into more spiritual endeavors. (Yeah, I was that kid. But I still wanted to work within the "system" at that point in my life.)

So I thought, hey, why not see if anyone else feels like this? So I just started a little survey/petition to see if there was an actual need or interest in starting a youth group. Well, that's what I get for thinking. Soon enough an elder found out about it (not that I was hiding it from them) and took it out of circulation for me. So at 16 yrs old or so, I was summoned to the preacher's office after church (without my parents present or consulted) to find our three elders sitting there (them sitting, me standing) ready to set me right. I was first interrogated then told, in no uncertain terms, that the survey was over. I was to let them handle church matters. How dare I think I had the authority to do such a thing? And I'm pretty sure I remember (though I've been quite successful at suppressing painful memories) they laughed at me when I tried to defend my opinion and the petition. It was a scoff really. I know, scoffed? Surely not! But that's exactly how I felt--scoffed at. Like why did a teenager, much less a GIRL, think she had the right to express an opinion on a church/religious matter?!

I left that office feeling violated by those elders and mocked by God. For a girl with the aforementioned early-onset justice issues, this was...well, UNjust. I left feeling distraught, demoralized, angry, hurt and went home just wanting to die. I can't even remember talking to my parents about it.

That event left such deep wounds in me that the scars have never gone away. But I thank God for Mr. Carter's article because it's a salve to my soul. A salve to a hurt little girl's soul. Salve to a woman's soul who seldom gets to see someone like her in the front of her auditorium full of believers. Who never gets to hear a woman pray in her public worship assembly. Who rarely hears a girl's voice reading the Word of God. Who gets excluded BEFORE the Holy Spirit is is publicly invoked to guide people to come forward and lead a prayer or share a thought. Who's never asked to lead a prayer in Bible class, praise team practice, small group, etc. A woman who keeps being called a "man" and a "son of God" over and over and over until SHE wants to scream.

The reason why this article has been so healing for me is that it was written by a man. It's nothing that many women haven't been saying for years. But if change is ever going to happen in the Churches of Christ, it will need to be helped along by the current leadership. And we all know who that is. Because of that, I'm so thankful for a small handful of men who have dared to let me whisper these feelings over the last few years, because there are so many more who don't get it at all. Who think my thoughts are from Satan himself. Who don't realize that the NIV sounds less unnecessarily man-centered and therefore excludes me far too often. Who don't realize what decades of male omnipresence in worship assemblies has done subconsciously to the spiritual lives of many women. Who don't realize that hearing a woman pray is beautiful and needed. Who think that I'm just trying to usurp their authority by thinking it would be okay for my daughter to pass a communion tray. And the list goes on and on. But thank God for those few men who have allowed me the freedom to read a scripture or share a testimony from "behind the mic." They'll probably never realize how much that meant to me.

So I just wanted to share this in case there's another girl or woman out there who thinks she's second rate in God's eyes. (And don't give me the whole different but equal crap. It rings hollow, and you know it.) You, we, are not second rate. We shouldn't be treated as the "seen and not heards" of the church world. I don't care what some man wrote to one specific church like a billion and a half years ago. God loves us all the same and calls us all to the same calling. When I die I want Galatians 3:28 on my grave marker. (My girlfriends will see to it, won't you?)

So thank you, Mr. Carter, from the bottom of this woman's heart.

from Jimmy Carter

"Everyone is entitled to all the rights and freedoms set forth in this Declaration, without distinction of any kind, such as race, colour, sex, language, religion, political or other opinion, national or social origin, property, birth or other status ..." (Article 2, Universal Declaration of Human Rights)

"There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus." (Galatians 3:28)

I have been a practising Christian all my life and a deacon and Bible teacher for many years. My faith is a source of strength and comfort to me, as religious beliefs are to hundreds of millions of people around the world.

So my decision to sever my ties with the Southern Baptist Convention, after six decades, was painful and difficult. It was, however, an unavoidable decision when th e convention's leaders, quoting a few carefully selected Bible verses and claiming that Eve was created second to Adam and was responsible for original sin, ordained that women must be "subservient" to their husbands and prohibited from serving as deacons, pastors or chaplains in the military service. This was in conflict with my belief - confirmed in the holy scriptures - that we are all equal in the eyes of God.

This view that women are somehow inferior to men is not restricted to one religion or belief. It is widespread. Women are prevented from playing a full and equal role in many faiths.

Nor, tragically, does its influence stop at the walls of the church, mosque, synagogue or temple. This discrimination, unjustifiably attributed to a Higher Authority, has provided a reason or excuse for the deprivation of women's equal rights across the world for centuries. The male interpretations of religious texts and the way they interact with, and reinforce, traditional practices justify some of the most pervasive, persistent, flagrant and damaging examples of human rights abuses.

At their most repugnant, the belief that women must be subjugated to the wishes of men excuses slavery, violence, forced prostitution, genital mutilation and national laws that omit rape as a crime. But it also costs many millions of girls and women control over their own bodies and lives, and continues to deny them fair access to education, health, employment and influence within their own communities.

The impact of these religious beliefs touches every aspect of our lives. They help explain why in many countries boys are educated before girls; why girls are told when and whom they must marry; and why many face enormous and unacceptable risks in pregnancy and childbirth because their basic health needs are not met.

In some Islamic nations, women are restricted in their movements, punished for permitting the exposure of an arm or ankle, deprived of education, prohibited from driving a car or competing with men for a job. If a woman is raped, she is often most severely punished as the guilty party in the crime.

The same discriminatory thinking lies behind the continuing gender gap in pay and why there are still so few women in office in Britain and the United States. The root of this prejudice lies deep in our histories, but its impact is felt every day. It is not women and girls alone who suffer. It damages all of us. The evidence shows that investing in women and girls delivers major benefits for everyone in society. An educated woman has healthier children. She is more likely to send them to school. She earns more and invests what she earns in her family.

It is simply self-defeating for any community to discriminate against half its population. We need to challenge these self-serving and out-dated attitudes and practices - as we are seeing in Iran where women are at the forefront of the battle for democracy and freedom.

I understand, however, why many political leaders can be reluctant about stepping into this minefield. Religion, and tradition, are powerful and sensitive area to challenge.

But my fellow Elders and I, who come from many faiths and backgrounds, no longer need to worry about winning votes or avoiding controversy - and we are deeply committed to challenging injustice wherever we see it.

The Elders have decided to draw particular attention to the responsibility of religious and traditional leaders in ensuring equality and human rights. We have recently published a statement that declares: "The justification of discrimination against women and girls on grounds of religion or tradition, as if it were prescribed by a Higher Authority, is unacceptable."

We are calling on all leaders to challenge and change the harmful teachings and practices, no matter how ingrained, which justify discrimination against women. We ask, in particular, that leaders of all religions have the courage to acknowledge and emphasise the positive messages of dignity and equality that all the world's major faiths share.

Although not having training in religion or theology, I understand that the carefully selected verses found in the holy scriptures to justify the superiority of men owe more to time and place - and the determination of male leaders to hold onto their influence - than eternal truths. Similar Biblical excerpts could be found to support the approval of slavery and the timid acquiescence to oppressive rulers.

At the same time, I am also familiar with vivid descriptions in the same scriptures in which women are revered as pre-eminent leaders. During the years of the early Christian church women served as deacons, priests, bishops, apostles, teachers and prophets. It wasn't until the fourth century that dominant Christian leaders, all men, twisted and distorted holy scriptures to perpetuate their ascendant positions within the religious hierarchy.

I know, too, that Billy Graham, one of the most widely respected and revered Christians during my lifetime, did not understand why women were prevented from being priests and preachers. He said: "Women preach all over the world. It doesn't bother me from my study of the scriptures."

The truth is that male religious leaders have had - and still have - an option to interpret holy teachings either to exalt or subjugate women. They have, for their own selfish ends, overwhelmingly chosen the latter.

Their continuing choice provides the foundation or justification for much of the pervasive persecution and abuse of women throughout the world. This is in clear violation not just of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights but also the teachings of Jesus Christ, the Apostle Paul, Moses and the prophets, Muhammad, and founders of other great religions - all of whom have called for proper and equitable treatment of all the children of God. It is time we had the courage to challenge these views.

• Jimmy Carter was US president from 1977-81. The Elders are an independent group of eminent global leaders, brought together by Nelson Mandela, who offer their influence and experience to support peace building, help address major causes of human suffering and promote the shared interests of humanity.

article originally published in The Observer, Sunday 12 July 2009

(Who knew that former President Jimmy Carter was a rudetruth lurker?)

part 6: excellent women

Excellent Women, by Barbara Pym, was on the syllabus of my Brit novel course at Harding. As a student, I loved it for the wonderful voice of Mildred, protagonist and narrator, whose sotto voce commentary on every situation provides the irony upon which the book turns. For Mildred never actually says those things. She too is a PK, well-versed in the necessity of conforming to expectations.

The "excellent women," to whom the title refers, are the backbone of Mildred's little Anglican church: the women who polish the brass and organize the rummage sales and make endless cups of tea for all occasions. I must admit that the book improves upon a deeper and more personal acquaintance with the Anglican tradition (the inside jokes about Cardinal Newman are now hilarious to me), but the excellent women themselves seem to transcend denominational specificity. Excellent women are to be found in all churches: silent, hardworking, dependable , and underappreciated. Easily ignored, and easily maligned.

As an ACU student attending Highland, I found myself one Sunday in a small group discussion on the role of women, an adult bible study which was part of the larger process of Highland's study on the topic. In this intimate setting I remember being astonished to realize, at the end of the discussion, the woman sitting across from me in our informal circle was openly weeping. How, I thought, how could this liberating possibility that she might use her voice, act in ways she never could before in her church, how could this cause grief? And then she spoke, haltingly, about how she had, her whole life, conformed to the roles she had been taught were biblical and godly for women; how this shift in perspective brought not a sense of freedom, but condemnation, on the submission of her whole life. That weeping, excellent woman.

Like JW, I too am one of the blessed ones. I come from a long line of excellent women. I know their names, their contributions. Very few others do. They are the excellent women, the backbone of our churches: silent, hardworking, dependable, underappreciated. Unrecognized.

Perhaps I wish that they had not been quite so excellent, that instead they had been a little more discontent, a little quicker to express themselves, a little louder, a little more out-of-order. Shall I malign them, because they chose differently than I wish to? These women, who have, in their excellence, made it possible for me to see and to value women's work, women's wisdom, women's voices. Made it possible for me to see that the excellence with which they fulfilled expectations were the very ways they exceeded and challenged expectations. Made it possible for me to see that everyone should value them, the excellent, and the not-so-excellent, women of our churches.

My mother, who taught me that Jesus told us to be salt, not sugar.

My grandmother, for whom I am named, who not only learned Chinese but taught herself biblical Hebrew (to the enduring astonishment of a certain Harding professor who, years later during roll call for freshman OT survey, would greet me with delight as her granddaughter, and regale my whole class with the story of how this crazy woman, some missionary's wife, walked into his office and floored him with a flawlessly read and translated random passage from the Tanakh for her final exam--the only reason I even know this story).

My great-grandmother, who raised a son whose faithfulness would mean a lifetime in the mission field, and who wrote a whole book of her own hymns, and painted biblical scenes of Christ and his disciples.

I come from a long line of excellent women.

part 5: birth and rebirth

And then, I became a mom.

My doula told me beforehand that I would find it spiritually empowering. I thought that was just goofy talk, so I nodded politely as she described how that sense of empowerment would spill over into all other dimensions of personal and professional life. I couldn't see how giving birth would make me a better theologian.

That was beforeI gave birth.

Many people have written and remarked on the role of their children or grandchildren in bringing them to a realization of the arbitrary limitations of gender within our churches. But that's not what I want to write about. Giving birth didn't teach me the absurdity of gender injustice within the kingdom of God--I was already aware. Giving birth taught me how to love being a woman, a lesson I didn't yet know I hadn't actually learned.

It's not that I ever wanted to be a man. It's just that, till then, being a woman was somehow always framed in the negative. And it was so normal that I didn't even realize it. I--still--didn't think of myself primarily as a woman, except for those instances when I was forced to, in recognition of the limitations of my gender. I still on some level thought of myself as a person, or a student, something generic--"man" in that grammatical universal sense supposedly divorced from actual gender. Female embodiment was sort of accidental, a historical and genetic contingency, and sort of irrelevant. I did, after all, spend a lot of time living in my head.

Pregnancy rewrote my concepts of woman and embodiment. Being a woman was suddenly revelatory, life-giving, positive, superlative, something other but also more than generic "man." I loved my body in a way I never had before; I bought tubs and tubs of cocoa butter not so much out of fear of stretch marks but for the sheer joy of rubbing my growing belly. I reveled in the compliments, which seemed to grow in proportion to my midsection. I had never before felt so beautiful, so at home in my own skin.

Birth rewrote my concepts of spirituality and materiality: who could have known that the most holy moment of my life would occur amid water and blood and shit? Or rather, how could I have missed that messy, bodily, out-of-bounds birthing is at the very center of Christian faith? That birth and rebirth are a privileged metaphor of the spiritual life within Christianity?

Maria was right: it has made me a better theologian.

I don't want to claim that this experience is necessary for a "true" understanding of Christian faith. Not everyone gets to have this experience of birthing: obviously, men do not, but neither do all women. But this is my story. This was my road to wholeness: the birth of my daughter, which rebirthed me, not as the false generic "man," but as a woman. Finally.

by Jeremy: "Leaving Church"

Leaving Church



It begins, who knows
when it begins or how.

It does not begin
with the tears no one notices,
the ones that well-up
in the middle of the sermon—
not the ones that lead you
down the aisle at altar call,
not the ones that change
from shame to relief—
but the ones that do not
roll down your cheeks,
the ones you hold back
until ensconced in the safety
of your car you sob;
sob until you are as dry
as the Wilderness of Sin—
the barren land
you’ve been condemned
to wander
by no fault of your own.
Even Miriam led God’s people
in song and dance
but there is no place for you.

Something has been said,
the same thing has been said
that has been said
for thirty years,
for forty years,
since your grandmother
was a child sitting silently
in church with a funeral parlor fan,
since the last woman preacher
was silenced
in the fields of Kentucky
or Missouri or Ohio,
sometime back in the 19th Century,
when preachers
like the good Robert Lewis Dabney,
a Presbyterian—then again
so were the Campbells and Stone,
at one time—
and Confederate chaplain—
but we’ve moved so far beyond
slavery and Jim Crow—
proclaimed from the pulpit
and in print that
“women’s preaching was simply pagan.”

No, this was not said;
not this time.
But it has been said.
You were in chapel
when the preacher praised
his corn-fed wife
and then expounded on
slippery slopes
and broken hermeneutic limbs,
before explaining away
the case of Deborah
as exceptio probat regulam,
after all,
did not God use her song
to shame cowardly men.

You’ve heard the Bible boys
whisper such things
among themselves;
you’ve heard their girlfriends
come back from prayer sessions
on white swings
under dogwoods
repeating such things—
but you do not know
if their muttering
is the grateful prayer
of the believer
or the desperate one
of a girl trying to pray
herself into believing
what she’s always been told,
but knows,
knows in her bones,
is not right.

You’ve heard
the mother’s day sermons,
you know that the preacher,
like Lincoln,
owes all he is
and ever hopes to be
to his angel Mother,
and that all you
should ever hope to be
is a silent elder’s wife
and mother to preachers.

The tears began much earlier
than this well-worded
sermon on reconciliation
and forgiveness
that began
with some misogynistic
and racialized joke
downplaying
the fact that a praise team
was sitting mic’d
among the members—
“do not worry,” he said,
“a praise team does not mean
that Janet Reno”—
the embattled and censured,
the ridiculed by sketch
comedy Janet Reno—
“will be here,”
pointing to where he stood,
"in a sequined robe leading
a full Gospel choir.”
Was it what he said…
or the casual manner
in which he tossed
the statement out
before moving
on to his message:
“We are called to live
lives of reconciliation…
to forgive and be forgiven.”?

Indeed, seventy times seven.
You do the math
adding up the countless
elder’s wives whose husbands
were appointed so
that the aura of power
would lure them back
into the pew on Sunday—
God, after all, in infinite wisdom,
knew that man was weaker
than woman in every way,
knew that man was not
as naturally spiritual as woman,
knew that man
has a natural antipathy
to female leadership,
so God appointed man
head of home, church and state—
to those thousands
you add the Sunday school
teachers removed
from their third grade class
because a nine year old boy
got baptized
and you add the wives
and daughters
who never learned to pray
and you add
the number of times
it’s been said
that casseroles and cookies
are the true ministry of women
and you add
and you add
and you add…

How long
must you hear men
daily disown your worth?
How long
will they offer you
the bitter cup
of your trampled gifts
expecting you to drink
from it as if it were
the cup of forgiveness?
How long
before you cross the sea
and dance with Miriam
on the shore
because now you can sing,
sing words written by women
and not have to wonder
why Fanny J Crosby
gets a voice
but not you,
not your sister poet,
not your mother
whose closed-door prayers
have brought you
to the very gates of heaven?

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 "GR"

Growing up, I didn't really like saying the pre-dinner blessing: it seemed a chore, like being asked to clean up after the dog or brush my teeth before bed. There was always a bit of unspoken competition between my brother and me, in which we would both slouch as low as possible to avoid being called on to say the prayer.

A few years later, I hesitantly came out of the closet. After many tears and arguments, my parents and I reached an uneasy peace that has held more or less steady for the last five years. But a funny thing happened in 2003 after I came out: I was no longer asked to pray at the dinner table. These days, when my family gathers, either my brother or my father blesses the food. The prayers I did not want to say are now the prayers I am not allowed to say. My mother and sister have always been silent. And now I am, too.

It was this experience, this loss of status, more than any other in my life, that taught me about the silence of women in the Church of Christ. I am not a woman, and the experiences of Church of Christ women are different than this gay man's, though I think our experiences run parallel. But I understand now what it is like to be told your voice is not welcome. I understand the power of exclusion.

I have never heard my sister pray. I hope one day I will.

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.

part 4: lady-preacher

And then, somehow, I turned into a preacher, or lady-preacher, as my BFF once called me.

As a sophomore at Harding, I dated a guy taking preaching. We spent all evening once in the lobby of Cathcart dorm, he wrestling with writing a sermon for the next day that would meet the established criteria, I trying to, well, help write it. It wasn't quite "three points and a poem," but it was old-school. Particularly onerous was the requirement of an illustration for each point. Finally, for lack of a better (and original) idea for a needed illustration, one of my suggestions was adopted--it was close to curfew, time was running out. The next day I attended the preaching class, as moral support. I was invited to fill out a peer-critique form, but asked not to speak. The peer critiques from the other would-be preachers were pretty harsh--but pretty much uniformly, regarded the bright spot in that sermon to be my illustration. We didn't let on.

(It's an interesting historical footnote that the other would-be preacher in that class who preached that day did a good job, even without my help. Brent preaches an even better sermon today--with or without my help.)

The next year, as a junior, I took "religious speaking for women." We couldn't call it preaching, but our text was Tom Long's The Witness of Preaching. We learned about exegesis and commentaries. We learned about the different styles of preaching. And we preached--if only to each other, in that small crowded room full of eager females. I worked hard on my first sermon, writing, re-writing, feeling stupid while reading aloud but in the process discovering the utter necessity of that discipline, timing it just at the limit. I don't know what went wrong there, because I was a good 10 minutes over. But no one stopped me; I don't think anyone could have.

One of the girls in that class began the semester wearing a headscarf as part of her daily dress. She chose as her text 1 Corinthians 11. The day of her sermon, she arrived without it.

I didn't preach again until 2004, at the West Islip Church of Christ, where Lance Pape and Katie Hays were then the ministers. They were away; Brent and I stayed at their house that Saturday night. I think I remember leaving flowers on their table as a thank you. What else can you do to thank people who've given you, not just a place to stay the night, but that place to go you'd always needed?

I was nervous. Terribly, terribly nervous. It had, after all, been years since my "religious speaking for women" class. And this was the real thing. I would have to walk up to an honest to God pulpit.

And the preparation for this, my inaugural sermon, was done in the aftermath of what I can only describe as a homiletical ambush. Just the week before, visiting the home church of a dear, dear friend, I listened to a sermon which went beyond simply the assertion of Church of Christ orthodoxy on the role of women into slanderous territory, naming names: Lance Pape and Dale Pauls and gal328.org, impugning motives: selfish, willful misrepresentation of the Word, to a chorus of amens and laughter at the mocking punchlines. It was like taking a soccer ball in the stomach, that awful sick prolonged moment when you can't draw a breath, when I realized it was all for my benefit. I'd been asked by the preacher if I was going to be there; at the time, googling my name brought as the top result gal328.org/forum. I sat and listened to that sermon, the whole damn thing, with my friends beside me, apparently insensible to my trembling, my near-hyperventilation. It was impossible to discipline my body's outrage even while I disciplined my mind to listen, consider, analyze, evaluate. After, I went and cried in the bathroom. After that, I went and ate sandwiches at the sandwich supper. I cried again till 2:00 am in my friends' living room, never able to say in how many different ways I felt betrayed by both the words and the silence. I cried again on the airplane home, writing and rewriting a letter which I never sent, and remains on my hard drive even now. For years I would cry in the shower, that sacred place where no one can bother you or see you, remembering it, thinking about it. Last year, I cried while blogging about it.

(Perhaps St. Francis of Assisi was onto something when he, perhaps apocryphally, said, "preach the gospel. use words if necessary." In our churches, a woman might preach effectively just by placing her female body behind the pulpit, and saying nothing at all. Just stand there. Let them see you there. Let them wonder, what's this about. Let them ask, why don't we see this more often. Shall we stage a protest, a silent pulpit stand-in?)

A week after that first sermon I received a card from Katie, telling me she'd heard the sermon tape (which, I have to say, I still have not, despite David Fritz's prompt supply of one for each sermon I have preached there) and that I'd done good. I still have that card. Of course.

Still later, I preached my first sermon at CCfB. I discovered how different it is to preach to people you know well. Not that there isn't honor in the hometown--just that the communication is weighted with so much more personal knowledge and intimacy and nuance. My weakness as a preacher is also my strength as a theologian: my sermons tend to be all about ideas. But preaching to CCfB has taught me that playing with ideas is not enough in a sermon.

A sermon has to communicate the basic truth that God loves. You. Me. Messed-up people, and with-it people. Know-it-alls and dumb-asses. Straight, gay. Needy, secure. Party people, lonely people. Moms, dads, babies, people orphaned or disowned from their own families.

Men who do what's expected of them. And women who don't.

God loves. God loves us all.