There were several things I had to repeat to myself over and over while reading Women and Men in Ministry by Saucy and TenElshof -- and they worked for a while (a statement I'll explain more fully toward the end of this post).

I had to remember that

• This book was written by God-fearing people who've studied, fought, struggled and prayed about this as much as have I.


• These people are only seeking God's will for their lives and for the church.


• I have biases and presuppositions and even different connotations for certain words, too, which may or may not be as great or greater than are theirs.

However, I also have to remember that:

• This book is not the Bible; it's a tool, not an inspired mandate on high. Rejecting it is not, as the authors would have the audience believe, rejecting God.


• God has given me the ability to think critically and some intelligence; he's given me the ability to discern a good source from a bad source and strong logic from faulty leaps


• I don't have all the information yet. I won't have the answer at the end of the book, regardless of what number book it makes that I've read by then.


• Regardless, in the end I have to decide for myself and trust in God to give me the wisdom to pursue ministry in whichever venue he desires.

---

Anyway, those are some things I had to keep flipping back to for the duration of the book. And it helped for the most part. Unfortunately, it became harder and harder to remember that these are simply God-fearing people seeking the will of God as the tone of the book grew sharper and the not-quite-hidden barbs grew more and more frequent. The book is a revision of the position that women must submit to men because God created us second and made us for the sole purpose of completing and submitting to man, that women are ill-fit for autonomy of any sort because we possess weaker physiology, psychology, spirits and intellect. The point of this book is not that if you disagree that you are wrong, but is instead that if you disagree, there is something wrong with you. It's not a faulty belief within you, it's a fault, an expression of sin.

As a separate post, I want to highlight particular sections of the text and my responses (in the margin) to them. The tactics of rhetoric employed in several of the chapters are beneath contempt and hurt the credibility of the book and its authors without ever having to encounter the theology of the writing. The theological holes and leaps are great and their stand is only hurt all the more by the shameful way in which the authors communicate these beliefs.

One should always have the fortitude to stand behind his or her assertions; a failure to do so communicates one's doubts in the strength of the truth behind them. I am given the distinct impression these authors aren't fully persuaded of the truth of their position on any level other than feeling.

I don't deny that there are differences -- psychological, emotional, physical -- between the sexes. It'd be hard to contest that and of little value to do so. However, one thing that bothers me, particularly in the reading of this book (Women and Men in Ministry) and which I hope to address more fully later is this: Why is it so inconceivable, particularly in today's world in which men and women share many of the same responsibilities, circumstances and even temptations -- why, then, is it so hard to believe that they may actually have overlapping, rather than opposite, needs?

Does having a certain need preclude one's filling that need in another? I would hope not. Otherwise love is flat out.

An example of this: in the book, "exaltation," or recognition is given as a need of man -- and one that he should rightly desire, according to the authors, because of his primacy in creation and his role as the expression of the observable aspects of God) -- while for a woman, the need is "to feel needed." The ideal woman of this book is a supporter who "uplifts" (it says "others," but the only "others" the context allows is "men") and who has no need beyond that. The ones who do are simply "broken."

Why is that which is seen as a virtue in the one seen as a weakness in the other? Besides, traditionally, aren't we taught that the man needs to feel "needed" and therefore feels compelled to be protector and provider while the woman has a more "exaltation" based need in that she "needs to feel cherished, loved and put on a pedestal?" That's what my notes from Christian home say ... maybe Dr. Isom was flip-flopped.

Anyway, it bothers me that in reinforcing the differences between the genders, it suddenly becomes impossible for any overlap to occur without immediately blaming it on a brokenness in one or the other.

I'll have tons more to say on this later. Later, I'll post the checklist that I've made for myself that I have to refer to constantly to keep from flinging this book across the room in a rage against the vacous lack of logic.

I'm reading Women and Men in Ministry by Robert Saucy and Judith TenElshof.

This book is driving me batty. Ultimately, on some things, I kind of agree. But the way in which they reach these conclusions is infuriating. In one paragraph they will say "egalitarians [blanket statement] assume that this text implies this. It is not necessary to infer that." And in the next, they'll infer their own tenuous translational idiocy. It retrojects the idea of "ministry teams" and counseling ministries onto the first century church (and before). It makes use of some scholarship I find questionable -- as well as avoiding scholarship it would have been helpful to see it dispute.

I'm having to read it slowly, though, contrary to my normal pace to allow for the periodic outbursts of rage and/or logic.

I think I've been here before: I've got some huge questions, but there's no one to ask.

Shy of converting, what do you do?

As reported by the AP to KTVU.com here, 8/13/04

BRIELLE, N.J. -- An 8-year-old girl who has a rare digestive disorder and cannot consume wheat has had her first Communion declared invalid because the wafer contained none.

Now, Haley Waldman's mother is pushing the Diocese of Trenton and the Vatican to make an exception, saying the sacrament should be changed to accommodate the girl's condition.

Roman Catholic doctrine holds that communion wafers must have at least some unleavened wheat, as did the bread served at the Last Supper of Jesus Christ before his crucifixion.

In May, the girl received her her first Holy Communion from a priest who offered her a wheat-free host. But last month, the diocese told the priest that Waldman's sacrament would not be validated by the church because of the substitute wafer.

It's not a new question.

When thou wert in the world, Lord, Thou didst not despise women, but didst always help them and show them great compassion. Thou didst find more faith and no less love in them than in men.... We can do nothing in public that is of any use to thee, nor dare we speak of some of the truths over which we weep in secret, lest thou shouldst not hear this, our just petition. Yet, Lord, I cannot believe this of they goodness and righteousness, for thou art a righteous Judge, not like judges in the world, who, being after all, men and sons of Adam, refuse to consider any woman's virtue as above suspicion. Yes, my King, but the day will come when all will be known. I am not speaking on my account, for the whole world is already aware of my wickedness, and I am glad that it should become known; but, when I see what the times are like, I feel it is not right to repel spirits which are virtuous and brave, even though they be the spirits of women.

--Teresa of Avila, 16th c. AD

My Mama Doesn't Call Me Q (Or: Unrelated Ramblings)

I acquired the nickname "Q" my freshman year of college from Hillary, my then roommate and still best friend. It caught on quickly and soon all of our friends called me that -- and introduced me to others by the same.

It didn't stop there, though. Soon, my brothers picked it up, and even a few of my aunts. Professors and librarians were calling me Q. And it was spiffy.

Then my mama called me Q.

I dunno how to explain it, but that just felt wrong. I never minded when she'd called me "Sis" or "Key" when the boys were little -- that's what they'd called me then. But Q just didn't sound right coming from my mother. When I told her that, she didn't understand at first. She mock-pouted for a day or so, "Mrs. Haynie can call you Q, but your own mama can't. The mailman could call you Q, but you won't let your mama," etc. What she didn't realize is that she had it exactly right.

I want my mom to call me by my name -- my REAL name. Is that weird? It just seems more personal than the catch-all nickname dispensed to the world at large. There are about 3 people in this world whom I don't want to call me Q, because the relationship I hold with each of them is unique and for some reason, it just seems more fitting NOT to be called Q. Nicknames can be affectionate tags (and I hope mine is...), but names are special.

Or maybe I just put too much stock in names. ^_~

Random: a song in six stanzas

I finally updated my "current reading" list, but I only updated it with the ones I could remember off the top of my head, so maybe I'll remember to stick a few more in there at some point.

I'm also in the middle of doing paperwork toward buying a car. Since I don't think I've said this here, I'll say it now: I hate teh car-buying thing. Hate it. Really. A lot.

Ideally, I want to find a car that will last the next 20 years because I don't want to do this again. Ever, really, but I'll settle for 20 years or so. However, the ideal only exists in my warped mind, apparently, so I've decided to settle for a Honda Accord, which was the closest I could come in the real world.

Dad may start chemo this week, too. Earlier than they'd originally thought (which is a mixed blessing). And he'll be doing it here in Memphis, so I'll be able to see him during.

Also, my nephew explained to me that the sun goes night night when it's night night time; it gets dark because he turns out the light so he can sleep. He keeps his blanky tucked up under the clouds. The moon sings him songs and watches over him till it's time to get up. Then the moon gets to use the blanky and the sun sings to him.

I like the way his world works.

I read my hometown newspaper online. It's a pretty good way to keep up with at least highlights of what's happening where most of my family is, things they wouldn't necessarily think to tell me like which schools hired which new teachers for the fall, what upgrades are being done to city hall -- basically local news not directly related to my family. I generally read 4 sections: the obituaries, the police & courts section, letters to the editor and the news highlights.

I read the letters to the editor because sometimes it's a shouting match, but sometimes there are some thoughtful articles. Sometimes there are some thoughtful responses to shouting matches. Sometimes it's frustrating and/or annoying, but it always seems worth it somehow to see the things people from my hometown actually care about and how they express it. (I guess the letters to the editor are a sort of mini-blogging for the community; must be what people did before instant publishing.)

The news highlights fill me in on general town happenings and 'police & courts' is generally an easy way to keep up with the kids I graduated with... (Okay, so not all of them.) The obits I read because sometimes there are people whom everybody knows, but not everybody knows well. Just standing fixtures of the community whose funerals I may or may not have attended if I were in town, but whose passings distinctly affect the nature of the place. People I just assumed would always be there.

Reading the obituaries makes me think about a lot of things, though. A person's entire life is encapsulated to a few brief paragraphs and a list of survivors. The ones I know, I can fill in some of the gaps for myself. Others give only a fleeting impression of who this person was, what s/he did, what was important to him or her. More than an epitaph, but hardly a legacy.

I promise I'm not being morbid, but sometimes it makes me wonder what mine will say. I think the phrase that always rings hollow to me is "he was of the ____ belief," as though the faith of the person was as casual as his ice cream preference. "He was of the opinion that mint chocolate chip ranks above orange sherbet."

I don't want mine to say "she was of the church of Christ belief." Or "she attended the ____ church of Christ." Neither of those come close. I'm more of the sometimes waffling, always searching belief. I don't want just to "attend," either. I've been blessed enough to find a unique family of faith in the places I've lived; I want to do more than just "attend."

It won't matter, though, what mine says, really. The ones who know me will fill in the gaps for themselves; I guess it's my job to live in such a way that they've got good stuff to fill it with. The ones who don't probably won't really stop to think about it.

Tonight one of my elders spoke to me about my letter. He apologized firs and foremost for its having taken 2 months to get back to me.

His explanation didn't actually solve anything. It was just "another way to think of it." But his primary concern in our conversation was in making sure that I a) understood and b) was okay with their decision. I appreciated the heart of the man who approached me.

I've never doubted that our elders are praying, godly men. I appreciate the fact that they paid attention to what I'd written. I hardly expected it to affect the outcome, and it didn't, so that was moot. I appreciated the spirit in which he approached me, too.

There's not a good way to end this. So much of life eludes adequate conclusion.

Invisible II: Incarnation

I posted parts of this somewhere else first, but I kind of wanted to put it here, too.

It's always interesting to me when things just make sense. Sunday morning, Curt's sermon was on John 1:1-2, the Word became flesh. That night, it was on invisible people and Matthew 25:31-46. Somewhere between the two, the message became alive.

That morning, I met Kevin.

My guess is that Kevin is in his early thirties. I met him because I have a habit of sitting at the far end of the pew (I like to have an armrest) and suddenly, I found myself sharing the armrest with someone: Kevin.

I tend to sit close to the front, in the first 5 rows or so usually. Sunday I was closer than normal, in the third pew. (My "usual" spot was taken.) Sometime after the first songs and the few minutes where everyone greets everyone else, but before communion, Kevin wheeled himself down in the middle of one of the songs and parked next to me, propping his arm up by mine. He swung his head toward me and said, "Hi. My name's Kevin." Definitely got my attention because the rest of the auditorium was silent, pre-prayer, listening to the devotional thought before communion. So I did the only thing I know to do when someone introduces himself to me. I shook his hand and told him my name.

Kevin stays at the KDS (King's Daughters and Sons) home in downtown Memphis. KDS is an assisted living community for disabled adults, similar to the HDC cottage in Conway, AR in which my aunt Genave lives. The KDS home is located in downtown Memphis right now, but is soon to move to Bartlett on Appling Road in mid-September. I don't understand, but this move apparently makes some Bartlett citizens uneasy. I guess I could understand if the prison relocated to the backyard of Bartlett, but the reaction to this kind of confuses me. I look forward to it, though, because we have a sort of 'mission' team that goes to KDS each Sunday to conduct services out there. Right now, I'm not comfortable enough driving in Memphis to drive to McLemore where it's currently located. But I can make it out to Appling.

So I met Kevin and he immediately asked me to be his pen-pal (and I will write him) and also tried to hold my hand. (In the course of 15 minutes, he developed a schoolboy crush.) I told him we could be friends and that I'd write him, but that I'd get his address after the last song. So after each song, he'd ask me if it was the last one yet. I pointed out to him on the bulletin where we were in the service and showed him how much longer till the last song. Afterward, I wrote down both his current address and his future address which he proudly told me he's already memorized, spelling out the street names.

Kevin is someone whom the world (and sadly, the church) is content to let be and to let remain invisible. It's less complicated that way. Initially it may be hard to get past the more obvious differences, the wheelchair, the too-thin legs, even the drool. I wonder what it is about people like this that make others uncomfortable. In any initial meeting, we wade through a host of differences between ourselves and the other person without even thinking about it. But somehow, differences like this stop us short.

After church, someone told me I'd done "a good job" and someone else said God had probably sent him my way, knowing I'd know how to "deal" with him. I didn't know what to say at the time, but the words set wrong with me. It isn't a job to make someone feel more comfortable or welcome. It's a command. And Sunday, it was my privilege. I sometimes think if Christ were going to pop up among us today, he would quite possibly be just like Kevin, someone who's different enough to make others uncomfortable.

And as to God having sent him my direction, I think it's true -- but not for the reasons this person did. I've been praying for God to kind of shove me lately -- out of my comfort zones, out of my introversion, out of my personally preferred invisibility. (Comes with being an introvert, I think). Sunday, I think Kevin was part of his answer.