Philippians 4:8

Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.

There's just not a lot of that on TV. I'm thinking specifically of Law & Order: SVU, a show in which there are typically on about three plots, most of which involve rape or other sex crimes and usually of, against, or even by a minor. The more sordid, the more it sells. I happened to see part of an episode last night, while looking for something less offensive than the local news.

But dawns on me that if people didn't watch it, it wouldn't be on. Networks don't continue to market things that aren't selling -- so obviously enough people are watching it to keep it on the air. My question is not only 'who,' but also why?

Really, what's attractive in seeing, as in this show, repeat depictions of sex crimes, particularly those against minors? Why do people watch this? It can't be enjoyable -- and if it is, that's a different problem entirely. It can't be said it's for the vindication of seeing the bad guy get it in the end because there either isn't a clear bad guy or s/he doesn't actually get caught or stopped. And even if he or she actually is caught, these are not even the real bad guys! You turn off the TV, the bad guy disappears!

I'm not saying everyone ought to become ostriches and stick their heads in the sand, denying that things like this happen. That's hardly a responsible attitude. I just don't think they should be prime time entertainment. And the networks are marketing tragedy that they can't sell without a market. So there's a huge population out there apparently getting a vicarious thrill out of watching things like this. And I have to wonder why?

I don't think that TV "causes" crime, but I think it can inspire it. I think it can promote it as much as anything else. It can flesh out ideas that otherwise may never have seen the light of day. People are responsible for their own actions, but sometimes I have to wonder where some of them get the ideas.

I'm not a Michael Moore fan and I hate the movie Bowling for Columbine, but I do agree that the media is a fearmongering enterprise -- and the rest of TV caters to the darker sides of humanity, making entertaining or even acceptable those things that used to make us cringe or cry in outrage.

They acted shamefully, they committed abomination; yet they were not ashamed, they did not know how to blush. Therefore they shall fall among those who fall; at the time that I punish them, they shall be overthrown, says the Lord.

Jeremiah 6:15

We're not blushing. And I can't help but think it will be our overthrowing.

Kathleen Norris: Preaching, Faith and Perfection

Kathleen Norris' book Amazing Grace has been a favorite of mine since I was introduced to it 3 years or so ago by my friend Jenny. I'd read The Cloister Walk before and thought it was okay. I'd read both better and worse. The Cloister Walk had in no way prepared me for this book: I had no clue the effect it would have.

I can't point to anything specific, and every time I read it, there's something new. I'm rereading it because it both encourages and challenges me. I don't agree with her on all points theologically, but I can't argue that God has used her greatly.

Tonight, I was struck by a phrase that I really liked -- and one that applies to many things in my life the last few weeks. In this chapter, she's talking about her experience of being thrust somewhat unexpectedly into a preaching ministry and reflecting on, literally, the faith of her fathers.

Who am I, to think I could escape the burden of all that preaching in my blood?

I don't preach because my faith is especially strong or worthy of imitation. My faith has become more stable with experience--and I believe that the year in which we were searching for a new pastor when I preached on two or three Sundays a month, helped my faith to mature.

It's an interesting enough chapter, well written and thoughtful. But what caught my attention was a single phrase that rings with truth: My faith has become more stable with experience. And she's right.

I find it interesting that she couples the stable faith of experience with the idea of maturity. The word often translated as "perfect" in the New Testament is a word that signifies more the idea of completion or maturity rather than our modern concept of perfection.

Experience births within us a perfect(ed) faith. Particularly now, I find that comforting.

A burial of hands

I work at a children's hospital that specializes in extremely rare diseases and cancers.

On the floor where I work, the walls are decorated with hand prints. Every time a child is discharged after a transplant or major procedure-- bone marrow, stem cell, etc -- they get to play in the paint, basically, and stick up hand prints on the wall, along with their names, hometowns and whatever they want to write on the wall next to it. There are several prayers recorded there, and chronicles of victory through struggle.

I realize (and all the more since I've been there over a year now) that it can be sad to see the prints of children who left with such hope only to relapse, return and not make it this time. It can be, I know. But those kids had time, often years, that no one believed they'd have. So even if they didn't live forever (who does?) many of them lived longer and fuller lives than they would otherwise have been able to.

Why go into this? Because they've decided to remove the hand prints and to discontinue the practice. I'm sure it has as much to do with HIPAA as with anything else, but their removal depresses me in a way. They're replacing it with murals depicting various outdoor and athletic activities. I understand why they'd want to do murals -- nearly every other floor in the building has been painted with fun murals done by local artists. But still: we had the hand prints -- something not done for the kids, but rather something they did themselves.

And I like to think it helped the kids who are current patients. Looking at the names and hands of all the children who've gone through what they're going through and came through it -- kids who got to go home -- it just seems the sort of thing that builds hope. I know they helped me when after my diagnosis, I underwent chemo, radiation, bone marrow aspirates. Every hand is the hand of someone else -- all of them much younger than I am -- who'd endured similar (and worse) things.

They're photographing the hands and adding them to a scrapbook that they'll put on display, but it's not the same. I spent a lot of time studying the hands and names of the children and families represented. The families could write around the prints as well. Those that were there will, in a sense, be preserved. But there won't be anymore.

It's sad to look at the wall now. There are blank spots now where there used to be bright, child sized hands -- some sloppy, some neat, and all different. Empty places. It just feels like erasing hope. The mural proposals seem empty and meaningless by comparison.

And what's worse, I think, is that in a few years, many will have forgotten that the hands were even there.

Lucky?

A friend and I have been talking about blessings, goals and miracles. God has worked in my life in ways I (and others) can't deny. Things that are not possible have become so. I have been brought to places I cannot be and given opportunities that are beyond my ability -- and given the ability to fulfill them.

He doesn't see his life that way. And there don't seem to be as many "big events" he can point to and say, "Yes. This was the hand of God." At least not on the surface, but I've been thinking.

Sometimes I wonder if the fact that the bad things haven't happened isn't as much of a "miracle" as when the really good things do.

Sometimes, in looking for God to do amazing things, we forget he already has. How many thousands of multi-ton vehicles and somnolescent drivers, my own and myself included, shared the road with me this morning, many ignoring the posted rules and regulations meant for safety -- and as of 7:44 this morning, I'm still alive.

Before that, I woke up. Maybe it doesn't seem like much, but regardless of when I wake up or how much sleep I've gotten, I did wake up -- sometimes despite the fact that there are biological reasons why it would be improbable.

I haven't lost my job at a time when so many have. I'm don't have to worry or wonder about what I'm going to eat tonight or where I'm going to go. I have more than enough water to drink -- and can opt for bottled when I don't like the taste of the tap. I have enough for a hot shower every morning and a bath at night -- and what's more, I have the time for both, and for leisure in general.

If my apartment is too hot or too cold, I can adjust that. If it doesn't work, someone will fix it. If I get wet when it rains, usually it's because I've chosen to go out in it, not because I had no place to get out of it.

I don't have to walk everywhere I go. As much as I complain about gas prices, my tank is still full. I have friends and family who love me when so many are alone.

I'm not lucky. I think there are plenty of events in my life to prove that if I'm relying on luck, I'm ... well, out of luck. But I have been blessed.

Thinking.

It's dangerous when I do that, I know.

I was rushing around to get to work this morning, rushing through the traffic and the maze of cars, irate at traffic lights and stop signs alike, as well as slow drivers. (In Memphis, a "slow driver" is anyone who actually goes less than 5 miles over the speed limit at any given time.)

It's only now, at my desk, that I wonder what all that rushing really got me? I'll leave at the same time today as I would if I'd gotten here a full 15 minutes later. And I think of the things I could have done with those 15 minutes.

My daily Bible reading has been at night for a while and it's a shame. I'm just not as attuned at night. I'm ready for bed -- tired of rushing around all day, I suspect.

In the summers, I work at a Christian youth camp in the middle of nowhere, Arkansas. I love it. And for a week, despite the dogged-tiredness that comes from being physically active daily (an athlete I'm not), I somehow find the time at 5:00 a.m. to hike to the bluff and spend 20 or 30 minutes reading and praying.

Of course, I think that's because the kids don't go to sleep till just before then, so a half hour alone is hard to snag any earlier.

But it keeps me focused and for that week, I feel less dead, less overwhelmed and less hurried than otherwise. And somehow less tired.

So. Do I really need to rush here a full fifteen minutes early? No. Will I change anything? I guess that's what I'm about to find out.

A rant without pause or apology:

I love God -- but there are times I cannot stand his church.

Reading a commentary on 1st Corinthians should not reduce me to tears. Trying to explain the frustration of being female in this movement should not be so incomprehensible to male members.

One reason slavery is a damned institution is that the moment you subject another to yourself, you begin to see them as somehow less human, less in the image of God.

Some would have the woman be literally selfless in the most degraded, debased way. Obedience in all things, regardless.

Patriarchalists make the faith unpalatable. Whether a woman would want to be "nurtured and cared for" by her husband becomes a moot point; it is now so tied to the false hierarchy that women run from that model for fear of perpetuating a dehumanization.

Or aren't we 'adam,' too?

Grandad

My great grandfather ("Pa" or, as my nephew called him "little Pa") passed away in September of 2003. I won't let him go.

Not in the forgetting sense; I don't ever want to forget. I won't let go of the memories. Everything is colored by my thoughts of him.

I remember when my family moved to Arkansas. I was nine and hated it. My relatives sniffed at my brothers and at me like suspicious cats to a new canned food. We smelled out of place. They were cordial but quiet when we didn't understand the peculiar language, the drawl of the south. "I'm sorry. What?" We spoke too quickly, too sharply. Too alien.

I wondered if we'd ever fit. But he was different, too. No words, just a crushing hug and I met my granddad, a white-haired man in horn-rimmed glasses, barely taller than I at nine. No prying questions about schools, math or hobbies, just a hug and a smile. Family. Later, to a neighbor, "These're my grandkids."

It wasn't the first time I'd met him, but the last time was early -- too early for good memory. I was 3 and we stayed only briefly. That's why the family was so clinical, so distant, I think, when we returned. "How long will they stay this time? Or will they just leave again, after we're attached?" They were afraid it would hurt again.

My granddad knew we might not be there long - all the more reason to hug us closer now. Hold tight, you don't know how long you have.

...

When we lost my grandma Grimes, I was 10. A year here as family in this new home and already holes appeared. She was gone. I'd hardly known her.

My mother tells great stories of when I was young and would sit in Grandma Grimes' lap and sip tea from a saucer, sharing her afternoon ritual. Gold rimmed, cream porcelain with pale rose pattern, I thought it was gorgeous. Drinking from the saucer was special, for me. I have the cup still; the saucer is chipped.

Picking blackberries or zucchini in her garden out back and being chased by a snake are other memories. It was always summer with Grandma. I can't think of her in snow. Crocheted butterfly magnets on the green refrigerator, waterspots on the "stainless" steel sink, soft light coming in the window, though I don't know what color the curtains were. It's odd what you remember. And odder still what you don't.

A year into this and I had to muster mourning over chilled tea and dusty windows.

...

The first time Granddad was in the hospital, I didn't go. It was odd. Five years since grandma's funeral, but I'd had enough. Hospitals always smelled of death and old urine. Later, at his house - his now, she was gone - I sat with him. The room smelled of vanilla cigars and old spice, like him, like life. He was sick, but he would get better.

He did. And when he could breathe again, we'd talk. I understood not breathing and he understood the fear. He voiced what I didn't know I thought. "You can't keep people close by pushing them away." He loved me even when I was stupid. "I loved her," he said about Grandma. "When she died, I did too. A little. If her death didn't kill me, I'll probably live forever."

I figured he would, too. After 4 rounds with cancer and an amazing recovery after every one, I figured he was invincible - and safe to love. Superman in overalls.

...

And so I'm sifting through these memories when I ought to be asleep. I keep wondering what he'd tell me - and all he'd do is grin. He'd tell me I'm 24, I should be able to think for myself by now or I'm not as smart as he thought I was. He'd tell me I'm clinging too much, that I can't bring him back and that crying won't do anyone any good. And that if I survive, I must be immortal.

I figure I must be. I come from good stock.

...

But I won't let go. I can't patch the hole in my world where the wisdom used to leak in, but I can keep what I collected while it did. Hold tight, I think, but to what? To everyone, always: I don't know how long I'll have.

So what do we do?

The words “women” and “ministry” are seldom together in church of Christ vernacular unless, of course, the heretical change agents are making a bid to take over and uproot all orthodoxy – or so it is often presented. And while the issue of women’s “roles” is an ongoing and important topic, I am concerned with a more immediate need not of women in pulpit ministries, but with women’s ministries in the churches of Christ.

I’ve been a member of the churches of Christ for several years and an active participant of the congregations of which I’ve been privileged to become a part. But in each, almost without fail, I see a sad lack of effective, intelligent women’s ministries. Often what is classified as “women’s ministry” is nothing more than wifely boot camp. My brothers, this ought not be. There are scores of women who are a vital, yet untapped, resource in our churches today who are ages from even the contemplation of marriage. What is there for them? While there is merit in learning to love one’s husband and be a good spouse, many women today are making the choice not to marry at all. Ministries like this are simply not adequate.

The problem, however, does not even begin there. It begins with the youth group. In most youth groups, there comes a point at which the boys are considered young men; they begin to learn to serve communion, lead singing and to lead prayer. The girls are then either farmed out to nursery duty or subjected to yet another dating class. By the age of 16, they simply aren’t interested anymore. Many begin to feel that they are simply props at church; the church needs them for babysitting, but not much else. I honestly think fewer women, myself included, would struggle less with the discussion of the ‘roles’ of women if there actually were any. Instead, the roles of women are defined by what they may not do as opposed to what they may and even must.

So what do we do about it?

Your Mission, Should You Choose to Accept It

On Wednesday nights, I had attended a class at my church in which we studied missions, both domestic and foreign. I'm not going to get into whether the great commission ¹ was a specific command to the disciples present at the time or a command for all time. Specifically, whether those particular verses are eternal or temporal is irrelevant. It's clear from the rest of the new testament (not to mention all manner of indications for God's plan for Israel in the old) that the message is to spread, the conduit is the people of God.

In the class, we're looking at the Zambian mission we support as an example, but one that is applicable even within the bounds of our own city. One problem encountered in earlier mission work - specifically U.S. (and European) mission efforts - is that aside from bringing bazillions of diseases into areas with no immunity to them, they also brought in U.S. (or European) Christianity. They considered the people to be 'churched, converted and civilized' when they had church buildings (as we have), wore "Sunday clothes" (as we do) and gave up everything considered "savage" -- often including their native languages.

We've come a long way since then, but there's still a lot of work to be done. Many in the class have a hard time with the idea that "church" will simply look different in Africa than in Tennessee - as it's different in Brazil, Uganda, England, Canada, Russia, China, and any other corner of the world. And this is where I (finally) get to the point:

It's simple arrogance on our part. We seem to forget that we are nothing like the world into which the gospel came. Yes, we struggle with many of the same temptations and sins - including all manner of idolatry -- but our differences are great. We apparently don't understand that we are a "mission church."

Somehow our own adaptation is acceptable and theirs is not. I find it fascinating that we can become convinced that to convert is to normalize people to our standards of civility when our culture is so alien to the biblical mind. If God can essentially proselytize us -- and do so within the workings of our culture -- why it's so hard to understand the implementation of that elsewhere?

To paraphrase a book by Rubel Shelley and Randall Harris, ² if the church is the body of Christ, then the function of the church is to carry on the life Christ would live if he were still physically present. As his body, we're to do the things he would do, meet the needs he would meet and care for the ones he cares about. And that won't always look the same everywhere.

---

¹ Matthew 28:19 - 20, Mark 16:15 - 16, and alluded to in Luke 24:47
² Second Incarnation, Rubel Shelley and Randall Harris

Mea Culpa (Latin for "Dude, my bad!")

Too often we - and here, I mean "I" - use the excuse of perspective to keep from taking a stand. No, not everything is simply black and white and people don't see all things in the same ways, but too often that caveat becomes an excuse and a cover for my cowardice or my resistance to stand behind what I profess to believe.

Either the truth (the truth that saves, redeems and sets us free) is knowable or it's not. Either things are true or they aren't. If it is not and if they are not, then none of it matters, God is wasting our time or we are wasting his.

If we believe that we can only know a fraction and that that fraction is infinitely divided along the spectrum of perspective then we are indulging in a spectacle of chaos and our time would be better spent elsewhere on other matters.

And it's nothing new: the double-mindedness has been self-evident throughout the ages, the cross of Christ being subjugated to the altar of tolerance. Either I believe or I don't.

I cannot make anyone else believe. I won't be suddenly shoving it down the throats of others, but I won't apologize for what I do believe. I don't expect others to back down and I won't either. I won't suddenly cease to love and admire those who disagree.

I just have to decide whom it bothers me to disappoint more: them? Or Him?

Tolerance (a rant and my own brand of sermonics):

Tolerance is pretty much defined as "those who agree with the most popular stand on things."

Sadly, this is true. If I state that I believe that there is a God, a heaven and a hell, and some moral absolutes and if I add to that a conviction that certain lifestyles are, in fact, wrong or sinful, I am going to be characterized as intolerant. Why? Because I've said something unpopular.

See, what burns my biscuits is that people will look at that list and assume that I'm either swallowing some ages old dogma that's been rammed down my throat and I'm just too insanely deluded to see past it. Or they'll think I'm narrow-minded and intolerant.

The other mistake I see is that when I say "certain lifestyles," others hear, "People who live certain lifestyles." I resent that. I reserve the right to think that, for instance, Rush Limbaugh is, as Al Franken says, a big, fat idiot. But people who listen to his show may not be. I think alcoholism is pretty bad. I don't think alcoholics are, though, by default. Same with drugs. Same with prostitution.

Plus, I tend to think I'm pretty tolerant (probably just because I'm arrogant). But I tolerate all sorts of things. That doesn't mean that I can't have convictions, beliefs and opinions, though. I don't know when 'tolerance' became synonymous with 'wishy-washy.' I think that the people who avoid taking a stand on any issue because they might offend someone are roughly on par, mentally, with defective jelly fish. It's not wrong to hold convictions.

The intolerance I see exercised most often is against those who have beliefs different from what's selling best on CNN or Fox "News."

And another thing I might as well throw in here while I'm at it. For all those who say they have a problem with "organized religion" when they really mean "Christianity," STOP. Say what you mean. I see the term bandied about by several people when they really mean they can't stand ... oh... Reverend Phelps and TBN. STOP. For the love of something remotely accurate, stop. Or have you forgotten that Islam, Judaism, Sikhism, Buddhism, and Hinduism can all be classified as 'organized religion,' too? But no one seems to mean those religions when they say it.

And if you don't like Christianity, at least have a reason. Don't say because you went to church with hypocrites when you were a kid. So did the apostle Paul. This may strike some people as a news flash, but the church wasn't created as a refuge for perfect people. It's made up of people who aren't perfect. And as much as that might bug you, you're not perfect either. It's the weakest, most spine-lacking, cop out to let someone else's actions be your excuse.

If your reasons are instead that you don't find anything compelling about the Christian faith and care to list specifics, great. That at least opens the door for dialogue -- on a human level. Not everyone is out to prosyletize you; don't start out defensive and you'll find you have much less cause to ever be so -- at least with me. I can't (and won't) speak for anyone else.

Those two may not really seem that connected, but they are: if you can't make up your mind, don't resent the fact that I have. It's not close-minded to have convictions. I posted a quote here once that said (roughly) a person can have considered the evidence and still think you're a moron. While I wouldn't say it that strongly, I'd probably say a person can consider the evidence and still believe you're wrong. Tolerance isn't about agreeing with everyone. It's about allowing them (and being allowed) the right to disagree.

And disagreeing, by definition, means each party believes the other to be in error. It takes two to oppose.

My favorite exegetical caution:

“And we all know that chapter and verse divisions were made by drunken monks writing with broken quills on horseback. In the dark.”

--John Fortner, Ph.D.

Compassion

I was reading this post on Mike Cope's blog. It kind of hit a chord that's been vibrating for a while in my mind.

I am constantly amazed at people -- in both good ways and bad. Compassion is simply the act of remembering the humanity present in your fellow (wo)man. It doesn't excuse or exculpate anyone, it just acknowledges the shred of dignity that each person carries simply because s/he is human. It's the ignoring of or demeaning of that dignity that leads to wars, abuses, and all manner of evil. War is only possible when you work from within a framework of "us" vs. "them." People applaud at the executions of criminals and the slaughter of enemies because they've managed to dehumanize and objectify them in their own minds. They are "the enemy" or "the Other."

This has, in part, to do with the happenings in the middle East, yes. I am bothered deeply by what happened on both sides and I hope the responsible parties will be punished. But Nick Berg died because he became a symbol of American oppression. The Iraqi prisoners were humiliated and tortured because they became symbols of Iraq and of terrorism and of things that tick us off. The Jews were slaughtered by the millions because they were no longer seen as people.

But what concerns me isn't just that we remove the humanity from others. I'm also concerned that in doing so, we remove it from ourselves.

I'm sorry that it offends people that to me there is no difference which "side" a person is on when s/he is killed, maimed, tortured, abused or otherwise mistreated and that I'm outraged by all of it. I'm sorry I can't be "more mad" over the things that happen to "our people" than the things that happen to "them." I don't see people like that.

It may have something to do with the people I encountered as I was growing up. It may not be directly related, but this is the tie-in with Mike Cope's post. My aunt Genave is severely mentally retarded. She suffered quite a bit of brain damage as a child and also has cerebral palsy. She's in her 40's now and has the mind of a 3 - 4 year old and linguistic skills below that. But no matter how different she seemed to me, no matter how odd it was the first time I encountered her when I was 4, my family has always treated her wonderfully. I didn't realize until much later, in my teenage years, that not all people are like this. The number of times we'd go out in public and people would be embarrassed to look at us directly or would be blatantly rude appalled me. Some people could not see beyond her physical and mental complications to the person she is. And in my opinion, albeit probably biased, they've missed out.

I know that there are people out there who do horrible things. I'm not naive. I also don't protest the death penalty or many of the other punitive actions taken by the US government. I can think there are awful people in the world, that there are stupid people in the world and I can have an occasional vent about it all, but I cannot forget that whatever their flaws, enormous or trivial, they are still people.

"Help me do this by myself."

"Help me do this by myself."

Those are the words of my nephew, professional three year old, big boy and guru in training pants.

In case I haven't made this a repeated bragnote (as I am required to by the official Aunts of Three Year Olds Training Manual, Rule Book and Lexicon of Useful Terms): Doodlebritches potty trained early and potty trained well. He's pretty much got it down to an art now. Early in the process, though, sometimes he needed reassurance.

"Key?"

"Yes, Doodle?"

"I need go pee."

...

"Well, okay. Bathroom's that way. Need help?"

"No. I gon' do it by. my. self."

Well, okey doke then, Mr. Independent, I thought, remembering back to times before he made complete sentences. Seconds later, I hear a small voice down the hall, "Key?"

"Yes, Doodle?"

"Come help me do this by myself."

----

I remember laughing quietly. How was I supposed to do that? But he was entirely serious; he wanted me to help him do this by himself, and I did, grinning, because he's not only brilliant, he's cute, too.

I've been thinking about that a lot, though, and it strikes me that he might not be just adorable -- the little stinker may also be right.

Time and time again, I've found that the things I've done I've never done alone. I've always had some sort of support network -- friends, family, fan club, whatever -- people to cheer me on and to reassure me that I'm headed the right way. I've had people to help me do this by myself.

The best thing my parents ever did for me was to equip me to face life and its challenges: they help me do this by myself. It's all very biblical, when you get down to it. It's the building up and enabling of one another to be everything we are each meant to be. It's the strengthening and encouraging of the body of Christ, our source, who helps us do this by ourselves.

Sometimes I just need a three year old to point it out.

The Real Historical Position

Often in discussing the "role" of women in the church (specifically the churches of Christ brand of church), someone will say that what is being taught now is the historical position, the one Christians have always held and believed. That's not exactly true.

First, this discussion must begin with outlining what is, in fact, the historical position. Traditionalists today often say that they are promoters of the ‘historical view’ of women and women’s roles within the church and that they are simply teaching what Christians have always believed. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately as we shall see) this is iredeemably untrue.

What is referred to as the historical position today is better referred to as the traditionalist stance and will be called such for the remainder of this section in order to differentiate between the two. They are indeed very different.

The traditionalist stance believes that men and women are created equally in the image of God and of equal value and talent, but that in matters of home and church, male headship and female submission is God ordained from the beginning. Normally, this is substantiated by referring to the “order of creation.” Without spending much time on the merit or defect of that argument, it briefly states that man was created first and is therefore to lead woman. Her being created second does not necessarily impute any inferiority to her person, yet she is unchangeably under the leadership of man as part of God’s design. This is generally thought of as a divine mandate and is therefore seen as a timeless principle.

The traditionalist stance is not consistent in its commenting upon the reasons for the restrictions placed on women via its use of 1 Timothy 2:9-14, though when pressed it is not unusual for them to comment that women are less likely to discern things of doctrinal importance and to be able to separate orthodoxy from heresy and that “saved in childbearing” refers to her fulfillment and the blessings she receives in adhering to her ordained role; her unique domain is the bearing of children. While some cringe at that wording, it is a softening of the historical position as will soon be apparent.

The historical position is indeed much different. The early church fathers, often writing within 50 - 100 years of the apostolic age of the church, thought much differently about it. Woman’s creation second to man is a divine ratification of her inferiority; it has been this way since the beginning and will be until the end to time. Thomas Aquinas when pondering this very topic asked, “Does the fact that man was created first, woman second, imply that she is a deficient or defective male?” His answer? “Yes.” Emphatically so, in fact. And he is not alone. Chrysostom, Origen, Tertullian, Cyprian, Jerome and many others have made similar statements from days very early in the history of the church that “because woman was created second, she is to take second place to man; she is an inferior being.”

This inherent weakness, this defect of character, is generally seen to be the reason Eve became the focus of the temptation account. The serpent, knowing her gullibility, sought her out knowing she would fall. As such, she became the gateway of sin and death to a previously idyllic world. As Tertullian wrote concerning women, “Do you not know that each of you is Eve? … You are the devil’s gateway, you are the first deserter of divine law.” More recent theologians such as Luther and Calvin have also held this view.

It is for this reason that woman is to be subject to men in all situations. The reinterpretation that this applies only to roles within the home and the church is actually extremely new. In fact, one is unable to find any reference to any discussion of “roles” before the 1960s, and then it is nearly an exclusively Western phenomenon. This, however, is not the only innovation. In fact, the usage of the “order of creation” argument called as such and in its current manifestation is completely unheard of before World War II – and is again an exclusively western phenomenon. It is a cultural interpolation on the text.

The traditionalist stance has in the past been called hierarchal, but more recently has come to prefer the term ‘complementarian,’ seeking merely to restore the roles they find in the model established at creation, the very roles and model being challenged by those who call themselves ‘egalitarians.’ There are, of course, every nuance of position between the two extremes – those who do indeed hold the true historical position on the one extreme and those who would rewrite the epistles or discard the Bible entirely on the other. In the midground, though, is where the majority of people struggle, people who are desperately seeking to discern the will of God and are at odds with one another because of it. Kevin Giles, a noted new testament scholar observes that “the truth of the matter is that both sides in this debate are complementarians.” He goes on to note that the differences are simply “between those who want men and women to complement each other by standing side by side in the home, the church and the state and those who want ment and women to complement one another with the men standing above the women. The contrast is thus between hierarchal comlementarians and egalitarian complementarians. Honestly demands that this be acknowledged.”

Imageo Dei?

We are made in the image of God, too, right? Women, I mean.

Sometimes I honestly think that I know how Hosea and Jeremiah felt. And Jonah. I sometimes wonder if it's not also a 'calling' to be commissioned to struggle with certain sufferings in order to comprehend a fraction of the father's heart. Following the will of God is not easy, calming and peaceful -- at least not from what I can see of the biblical picture. Christ sweating drops like blood and crying out to the father to change his will doesn't seem quite the idyllic picture of peaceful submission to the greater plan. Jonah, too, follows the will of God under duress -- as do scores of others we are given as examples. Moses, David, Jesus, Paul, the list continues ad infinitum. To be with God is to struggle with man, yes, but also sometimes with God and with ourselves.

I'm beginning to wonder if that's not some part of why I can't quit, even when I most want to and even when I've prayed to be relieved of the drive, the care and the--- whatever else it is that makes it all so hard. I know that when I feel like giving up, wussing out and throwing in the towel, there is something far beyond me that pushes me back into the fight -- something a whole lot bigger than I am.

Last week, I was covered in a blanket feeling of peerlessness that brought a sort of despair. At the grad school, there are men who are pursuing these degrees, there are males who are teaching us, mentoring us and serving as our practical examples. But at times like last week when my strength is empty and my temptation to quit, I have no one to look to for advice. There isn't anyone encouraging the heretics. Many would be happy if I did, in fact, manage to give up. It underscored the aloneness I sometimes feel as a female theologian in a male tradition. And it hurt. It had nothing to do with any 'new information' yielded by my studies or any revelation from on high that I'm in the wrong field. It had everything to do with feeling tiny, ill-equipped, and alone save for God.

And it's that feeling that reminded me a few days later of the struggle I'd related before concerning women's ministries, anemic as they are in my fellowship. Apart from heresy or doctrinal constraints, there is a need for a more organized network of women to act as peers and mentors and people to whom we are accountable. There is a need and a desire and there has to be a way. And so I think I realized from the acuteness of my own experience even in only that day that the need is urgent. It is a salvation issue; many have thrown off God because they can no longer stand what professes to be his church.

The church as it stands today -- and yes, I have to contend that it has changed greatly over the years and no current manifestation reaches the apostolic ideal; it is doubtful even the apostolic church approached the apostolic ideal, the God-ordained intent -- cannot be the realized manifestation of the church that God desires. It is inconceivable that any ideal conceived of by God and realized in a perfected or even acceptable form would be responsible for so much damage, hurt, anger and apathy. This cannot be the will of God. And if we are expected to believe in a God whose will it is, I can see why so many reject him.

None of this has anything to do with what women are "allowed" to do in churches, in worship, in general -- and I am so indescribably sick of people attempting to distill any opposition to tradition down to that trite point. It's asinine and shallow to presume such a thing, much less to promote it. It has everything, however, to do with the debasement of the image of God.