In Celebration

It's not official until all the clerks report the votes of the classes, and the General Synod ratifies it this summer but...word on the street is that we have now reached the requisite number of classis votes (30) to remove the conscience clauses from the BCO.  A disclaimer: the "word on the street" is mostly coming from me, as I've been tracking the votes of each classis for the last several months.  So, I'm not celebrating yet (much), but was inspired to say thank you to some people whose lives have paved the way, regardless of whether the removal has officially passed or not.  

Thank you, women who went to seminary before "people" was declared to include both men and women.  

Thank you, women who came under care without knowing that ordination would ever be a real possibility.  

Thank you, women who were ordained without the certainty that a second call would ever be available to you.

Thank you, men who argued for the inclusion of women in our assemblies before those women were allowed a voice or vote.

Thank you, women who were the first to preach, the first to administer the sacraments, the first to intern, the first to be called, the first to sign the formula as a member of classis, the first to be elected to positions of leadership in the assemblies.

Thank you, women and men alike who proposed and advocated for the conscience clauses to make for peace and protection in a volatile time.

Thank you, commissions, classes, and individuals who worked for the clauses' removal and were defeated in years past.

Thank you, professors and mentors who encouraged women through the challenges of pursuing our calls.

Thank you to all of you who have poured your energy and tears into making the RCA a place where women can live and serve in the full ministry of the Church.  May you feel the gratitude of generations.  

Confessions of a Former Complementarian

This is an essay I wrote some time ago, so some of the references are a bit outdated, but given the current discussions in the RCA, it seemed relevant.

"You keep using that word.  I do not think it means what you think it means."  ~ Inigo Montoya in The Princess Bride

I've come across a lot of anti-woman sentiment lately.  Some of the more conservative members of my denomination have a Facebook group that I occasionally look at when I'm in the mood to get good and mad; this week some of them took a break from blasting the evil homosexual agenda to share some of the grief with the evil feminist agenda.  Then I met a random guy at my hangout of choice who, out of nowhere, with no idea that I am a minister, announced that he was against women in church leadership.  He then made a valiant attempt to out-Bible me, which is always fun.  And then there have been a slew of articles like this interview of Mark Driscoll, in which he reveals himself to be arrogant, pushy, and fairly unconcerned with facts, and this article from The Council on Biblical Manhood and Womanhood, in which femininity and females are characterized as all manner of negative things, including imbeciles.  Different but equal, eh?

So, I have a confession: I was a complementarian once.  At least, I tried to be, back in the day when the only people I knew who seemed to take Christian faith seriously were a group of quite conservative evangelicals at my college.  I tried very hard for two years.  Really.  I had had one of those dramatic conversion experiences, and I thought their path was the one I needed to follow, too.  They told me a lot of things about what the Bible said.  Among other things, they told me it said that women were supposed to be submissive to men, that husbands were supposed to rule their households, that women were not allowed to teach men or hold any position in the church that might be considered higher than a man.  And I believed it.  I tried very hard to believe it.

They also taught me to read the Bible, intensely, closely, carefully.  They taught me to use the tools available to me to explore the language and context.  They encouraged me to study it alone and in community with others, to honor the text and hold it close.  

I loved the Bible, and I kept reading, and reading, and reading it.  I found it somewhat puzzling that there were so many women doing important things in it, being used by God, proclaiming the Gospel, supporting the people of God, even doing things that might be considered teaching and having authority.  A woman a year or two older than me offered to do a study with me on godly womanhood, and I happily accepted.  We read from Proverbs 31, the passage about the wife of noble character, a verse a week, poring over what these words, the Word, might mean for us.  Who was this godly woman?  As it turns out, she wasn't such a great advertisement for the submissive, stay-at-home wife and mother who was the ideal for most of our campus fellowship - this woman who runs her own business, conducts her own affairs, who gives instruction, who is a partner in whom her husband can have full confidence.

They taught me to treat the words of the Bible, the Word, with great care and attention.  And so I noticed the profound truths, the beauty of the language and the narratives, the compelling teachings, and I grew closer to the text.  As I did so, I also started to notice the inconsistencies in the stories, the multiple but slightly different accounts of the same events, the alarming and troubling passages, the teachings that seemed universal and those that appeared to be directed to a specific community.  My view of what it meant for the Bible to be the Word of God shifted.

These fervent and dedicated people taught me to identify and develop my spiritual gifts, insisting that every Christian had them.  No spiritual gifts inventory ever told me that I had gifts in "womanly" areas like prayer, mercy, and service.  Maybe I was meant to teach in a women's ministry, they told me, or maybe children.  Maybe missions, although it would be better if I could find a husband to lead the ministry.  Beyond that, I think they just weren't sure what to do with me.  So I was left to fight it out with God over these gifts in teaching, prophecy, and leadership that distanced me from the community I had become part of.

A lot of time has passed between then and now, and a lot of other formative things have happened, but that was the beginning of me becoming the minister I am now.  I'm thankful to that group of people for starting that process, for helping me love the Bible and take it seriously.  But if I could go back, there are some things I'd like to say to them.  They are the things I want to say when I hear Mark Driscoll, or read the more vitriolic comments of my complementarian brothers, or meet people who define masculinity, femininity, manhood, and womanhood very narrowly and attribute limited roles and characteristics to those terms.

I would like to tell them that I am who I am, do what I do, and believe what I believe, not despite what the Bible says, but because of it.  Not because I decided that I didn't like it and could therefore ignore it, but because I love it and take it as a whole, and use the overarching themes and consistent threads within it to interpret the individual verses.

I would like to tell them: you keep using that word, Bible.  I do not think it means what you think it means. The Bible exists to teach us about God, guide us in how we live in the world, and give us hope in God's future. It is not a science textbook, an etiquette manual, corporate bylaws, or a weapon with which to beat other people into submission.

You keep using that word, feminine.  I do not think it means what you think it means.  Femininity is not by nature soft, feeble, compassionate, cowardly, imbecilic, nurturing, polite, or inferior.  A woman might exhibit any of these characteristics (with the exception of inferiority) and many more - and so might a man. Masculinity is not tough, courageous, unemotional, intelligent, protective, rough-mannered, or superior.  A man might be these things, and so might a woman.  And if you define God as masculine because, as Driscoll claims, God protects and disciplines (like a father) in addition to nurturing (like a mother), well, I'm guessing you don't know any mothers very well.

You keep using that word, equal.  I do not think it means what you think it means.  If one group of people is limited to a particular set of roles while another group has access to all roles, they are not equal.  If one group is subordinate to another group, they are not equal.  If the abilities and assumed characteristics of one group are considered to be less valuable and versatile than those of the other group, they are not equal.

You keep using that word, Gospel.  I do not think it means what you think it means.  "Believe exactly what I believe and adhere to my ideas about who you should be because it's the only way God will love you and not throw you into hell" is not good news.

Most of all, you keep using that Word.  I do not think it means what you think it means.  The Word is not a rigid text that prescribes our every move.  It is not a set of verses that can be plucked from the whole at will without consideration of context.  It is not a document that explains everything clearly for all people in all times and all places apart from the counsel of the Church and the inspiration of the Spirit.  The Word is the living, breathing, moving embodiment of God that has been there since the beginning of all things, and will be with us through eternity. 

Victims and Oppressors All

In the aftermath of General Synod, I'm seeing a lot of angry and anxious rhetoric flying around - no great surprise there.  Many of us are still the walking wounded at this point and thus are speaking out of deep pain.  However, can we take a breath and maybe consider that we are not all being intentionally victimized by the decisions made or the speeches given at General Synod?

For example, a number of people at GS expressed a complementarian position.  I find this position to overemphasize certain Bible verses and ignore others, and I don't believe it to be consistent with the great arc of God's redemptive story as told in Scripture.  It is a view that feels personally hurtful to me as an ordained woman and as a single person, as respect for singleness is often given lip service in complementarian circles while the focus is put on how a married couple reflects Christ's relationship with the Church.  It's a view that I once held myself, that caused me to struggle against what I now understand as God's call on my life (a post for another day: "My Days as a Complementarian").  For me, complementarianism isn't just another doctrinal perspective; it intersects with my life continually in very personal ways.  It's easy for me to react out of the pain that perspective has caused me, and sometimes I do.  

And yet, when I am the best version of myself, I realize that the person expressing a complementarian view is probably not trying to hurt me.  He's expressing what he believes to be a faithful interpretation of Scripture (I say "he" because I mostly have these conversations with officebearers in the RCA, who by necessity of the complementarian view must be male).  In some cases, he is even hesitant to express it because he knows it will be hurtful to me.  Sometimes this view is expressed disrespectfully and even abusively, but more often it is put forth as an honest perspective on what the Bible says about the genders and the relationships between them.  When someone respectfully states an opinion that is contrary to mine, even if it touches on my life personally, even if it advocates for that position to be held or allowed in my denomination, I am not a victim, and he is not an oppressor.

The substituted version of R-56 caused me great pain and has many negative implications for my ministry.  It feels like a personal attack on my congregation, friends, community, and self.  I think it was a serious mistake on the part of GS.  But that doesn't mean that those who advocated for it are actually trying to cause harm.  From their perspective, they are trying to heal.  I can disagree strongly with their opinion without believing them all to be bigots and homophobes.        

Similarly, when I give the report of the Commission for Women and advocate for the egalitarian position to be held by the RCA, or express support for the ordination of women, or say that a strictly delineated headship model for church or marriage is not what I believe to be the ultimate intention of God, my intent is not to harm complementarians.  My intent is to honestly express what I believe to be right.  When the President of the GS gives her report and speaks of churches that freely ordain women and laments the pain of women in the RCA, she is not denigrating people who hold complementarian views (although she may well be implying that she finds that view to be incorrect).  She is observing the state of the RCA from her perspective, which is what she was asked to do as President.  When we express these honestly held views in a respectful way, you are not a victim, and we are not oppressors.

I hope that none of us are conspiring to attack or destroy each other.  I've seen and participated in some strategizing to ensure that a particular viewpoint is heard and considered well, but that isn't the same thing as oppressing each other.  So, I wish people would stop reacting to everything as if they were victims.

Most of us got hurt in one way or another at GS this year.  Most of us participated in an action that hurt someone else.  At the end of Monday, my joy at the passing of the recommendation on the conscience clauses was tainted, not just by my pain at R-56, but by the realization that people I care about will be deeply hurt if the conscience clauses are removed.  Friends who fought vehemently for R-56 held my pain with me afterward.  I'm sure there are some jerks and crazies out there who do this kind of thing intentionally, but most of us are just trying to do what's best for the church and muddling through the consequences as they come.   

I have an idea.  Find someone who disagrees with you.  Listen to them until you can articulate for them their own point of view in a way that they find to be accurate.  When you state your own position, think about how the other person might be hearing it.  Stop assuming that everyone who disagrees with you is trying to hurt you, and try to hear what it is that they really value, love, or fear.  Maybe we can find some common ground once we get down to really understanding each other.  Maybe we can get somewhere from there, because I do not see us getting anywhere from the current state of suspicion and paranoia.            

Unity, Schmunity. Okay, Not Really.

I was too keyed up and conflicted during General Synod to post anything, but with a little distance (very little, as I just came home yesterday), I'm trying to get my thoughts in order.  It helps me to write and interact with others while I'm doing this.  So I ask your patience with these initial thoughts, as they are somewhat unformed and likely to change as more time passes.

I value unity.  Unity was the theme, constantly referred to throughout GS, especially before we began deliberation, in an attempt to set the tone for our discussions.  It's a friendly word and one that is hard to argue against, because really, who wants to be opposed to unity?  But it's problematic in that I don't think we've talked enough about what we really mean by that word, or what it is that unifies us.

Sometimes we are talking about the unity of the Body of Christ, the capital-C Church, as a whole.  That unity I believe to be a reality, the simple fact of our existence as people of God, a communion that we cannot leave or avoid no matter how much strife exists between Christians.  I believe it to be a gift from God, a foundation of support and belonging that transcends time, culture, tradition, and denomination.  I believe it to be a challenge to remember our true foundation, Christ, and to cleave to that which holds us in common.  I believe it to be a calling to ever move toward each other rather than away.  And I believe it to be a hope, that ultimately we are in this together, bound to the one in whom we live and move and have our being, and thereby to each other.

Sometimes we are talking about the unity of the Reformed Church in America, stickier ground that should not be confused with the unity of the Church.  Denominations are not biblical, strictly speaking, although we see signs from the very beginning of Christianity that believers immediately formed camps around the more specific values that directed them.  I see denominations as a sort of accommodation to the fact that we are human, always faulted to some degree in our understanding, faith, and practice (but then, I'm Reformed, so total depravity looms large in my understanding of human nature).  Denominations offer us a larger body in which to reflect the whole Body of Christ.  They provide structures of accountability in which we discern the Spirit together (again, I'm Reformed, and believe and hope that the discernment of assemblies is less likely to go wildly astray than the discernment of an individual).  They give us resources greater than we would have as individuals or even congregations.  They force us to see a perspective broader than our own, which are so shaped by our contexts and experiences.  They keep charismatic, lone-ranger preacher types from having unchecked authority over their congregations.  Ahem.  Given the fact that we are unlikely to be unified across the entire scope of Christianity in this life, I think denominations are mostly a good thing.

We in the RCA have talked a lot recently about unity, but I don't think we've given quite enough attention to what we mean.  Our unity has never equated to uniformity.  We structure our denomination in assemblies and assign to them particular authority and responsibilities.  We make it possible for the whole denomination to be unified around central values, and leave other matters to the discretion of those within particular judicatories.  One consistory may consider the nature of ministry within its bounds - the congregation - very differently than another.  One classis may exercise its responsibilities for discipline and nurture of ministers and congregations in ways that another may find too lax or too strict.  

Our unity as the RCA is based in our Constitution: the Standards, the Book of Church Order, and the Liturgy.  As an extension of this, our unity is also based on the vows that our officebearers take, including one to be loyal to the witness and work of the RCA.  It's not exactly a vow never to leave, but it does bind us in a way that is different from your average, non-ordained churchgoer, and I think it would be difficult to think about unity in the RCA without considering what the vows of officebearers mean.  Specifically, what does it mean when we who have vowed to submit ourselves and be loyal to this body talk about leaving or dividing?  What does that do to our integrity?  

This all becomes complicated when you consider that there are people who believe that I am in violation of my vows because of my advocacy for LGBT equality, and don't believe that they can remain in a denomination where I am not being disciplined for that.  We don't agree about what Scripture says on this issue, which is more broadly problematic because it calls into question whether our biblical hermeneutic has enough commonality for us to claim that we are committed to and led by Scripture in the same way (speaking of which, a comprehensive and thorough study of Reformed biblical hermeneutics would be really helpful, although it may be too late).    

Let's be honest: it's also complicated by the logistic and financial issues involved with leaving or dividing a denomination.

I don't have answers to all of this, but I do know some things to be true.  I know that the RCA has been in conflict before and has lived to tell the tale.  I know that Christian history is full of divisions in the Church, and only a few of them can be viewed as truly positive or necessary.  I know that continued in-fighting between Christians makes us look petty, difficult, self-centered, and irrelevant to outsiders, and distracts us from more significant ministries.  And I know that I took vows be loyal to this particular denomination - not necessarily to do exactly what it tells me to do at all times, but to submit myself to discipline in all areas of my faith and life.  Which makes me wonder if perhaps our unity lies less in doctrinal uniformity than in the mutual agreement to submit ourselves to one another.                          

Pre-Synod Thoughts

As the moderator of a commission, the process of General Synod has run pretty much year-round for me for the last few years, but there is definitely an "amping up" that happens in the days immediately prior to our meetings.  For me, that means a lot of questions traipsing through my mind.  I've spent months working on the Commission for Women's recommendation to remove the conscience clauses from the BCO, but have no idea how that conversation will go.  I have yet to decide how I will frame my spoken report; the written version was done in March but I always alter the presentation depending on the discussion I hear from delegates.  A number of overtures about homosexuality are adding tension to the proceedings, and I can't predict what direction that discussion will take or even whether people will be civil.  Will we shift to meeting every other year?  Will anything come of the conversations about the future of the RCA?  Who will be elected as the next VP?  Will my roommate kill me for repeatedly coming in too late?  These are the things that pop into my head as we rapidly approach our first plenary session.

And then there are bigger questions that are less about the proceedings of General Synod and more about our identity and life as the RCA: What is the unity of the Church?  How does it relate to unity within a denomination?  How do we live out our unity?  What is worth fighting about, struggling through, or parting ways?  Do any of these things really matter to the people in our congregations?  

Anyway, I'm off to our first plenary session, otherwise known as "How GS Works 101."  This is my eleventh GS, but they keep changing the technology.  This year we even have a GS app!  In case anyone is curious, I wrote something a while ago for ecclesio.com about the conscience clauses, which you can find here.  If you're out there observing from afar, please pray for us; we'll need it.