Emerging Women

By Mihee Kim-Kort

Moments of irony hit me hard…I think it’s because I subconsciously hold up my worldview like a blanket wrapped around me, these expectations and preconceived notions woven together tightly in my brain, so when something outside of my usual assumptions happens to me, it knocks me out cold and stays with me for awhile.

I grew up in a traditional Presbyterian home…culturally Korean on the inside, culturally attempting-to-be-American [whatever that means] on the outside. But, no doubt there was an undeniable hierarchy in the house, as well as at our church home. My father was the bread-winner, and my mother the homemaker, while at the church, only men were the elders, the leaders of the church, and certainly the pastor and any visiting preacher during the yearly weekend revivals. The women were always deacons, literally servants of compassion and hospitality for the church, which essentially meant they rotated bringing food, washing dishes, and cleaning the kitchen every Sunday after the fellowship lunch, and heading up the church bazaar fundraisers. This was my world, and I never gave it any thought until my dad attended seminary while I was beginning my undergraduate studies.

At the same time, as I reflect back, I remember it wasn’t so black-and-white, and there were little moments of contradiction that I brushed off, but kept on the back burner. My mother, solely responsible for taking care of the home, also managed a few stores, that is, businesses that they attempted to start up in various parts of the city during various parts of my childhood. Over and over again they would tell me their dreams for me were to enter into some kind of successful, public profession [medicine, law, education], but very little mention of marriage, family, and a home life. I went to a church service once where a woman preached that Sunday morning, and I was simultaneously repelled and enthralled by it. Perhaps these moments caused the little rips and tears that would make the entire cover almost completely unravel at the seams that one fateful day.

When I started my undergraduate studies, I had planned on going pre-med [I know, so stereotypical of Asian Americans, though actually a number of my Asian American friends are in medicine]. But I fell in love with the humanities courses I was taking particularly in the religion, English, history and philosophy departments. I was also involved in various ministries to high school and college students, and felt a tug towards church and ministry. But I would never have considered it in a million years until that one conversation with my father in the middle of my freshmen year. He was attending Princeton Seminary at the time and enjoying the classes and community with numerous women who were studying to also become…pastors. “Pastors??? But the Bible says that women are supposed to submit to men…and church leaders are just supposed to be only men; I can’t imagine a woman being able to do it!!!” I argued with him over the phone and we went back and forth.

And there’s the irony.

My father, the symbol of Asian patriarchy, was trying to persuade me, a woman, but a young girl at the time, that women could and should do much more in the church. My father argued for an egalitarian view on the role of men and women in the church, especially in the Korean church. He told me stories of how women had been leaders of the church for a long time, and many were elders in the Presbyterian church, and also becoming pastors all around him…and he admired and respected them, in fact, supported them. He reminded me that the first people to preach the gospel after Jesus’ resurrection were women! He was taking a class on feminist/womanist theologies…the same class that would impact me deeply some years later during my own seminary coursework.

“And, you can be a leader, too, an elder, a pastor, anything you believe God is calling you to be in your own life…” he said to me.

I know it seems a little cliche, a little after-school special, like too “you can be anything you want to be.” But for me, these words were truly radical. They turned everything upside down, in a frightening, but truly redemptive way…one of the first few tastes of grace for me. I can’t help but remember the words to a Christian song, though honestly I rarely listen to this genre of music: Redemption comes in strange place, small spaces calling out the best of who we are…I look back and see that was certainly the case here. And while I was left with bits and pieces of yarn, string, remnants of that shroud I had hung onto for so long, I realized that these pieces were an invitation to create and make something new because I was given the ability, power, and freedom to do and be something more… This is grace, an invitation to be beautiful…This is grace, an invitation…So here I am on the other side thankful for that one moment, and all the small inspirations in this journey that have helped me become more of me, a more faithful me, encouraging me to respond to God’s call courageously, and most of all, to share it…And I want to add to the beauty…to tell a better story…

[Lyrics from Sara Groves Add to the Beauty]

Mihee is an associate pastor at a Presbyterian church for youth and children in Pennsylvania. This post originally appeared at Mihee’s blog First Day Walking

By Lori Wilson

Last Sunday, our family stood in a row and recited the Nicene Creed together with our local congregation, in unison with other congregations around the world, and indeed down through the centuries. I find particular delight in joining my voice with that of thousands of others, acknowledging my own infinitesimal part in something much, much bigger than myself.

However, I discovered something new this time, something I hadn’t [perhaps consciously] noticed before: the language of the Creed is so highly propositional. It lists the things which we, together, claim to intellectually affirm. And while I’m all for intellectual understanding & inquiry & application, I hope that my faith is something more. I don’t wish to take issue with the specifics of the creed; others have done so and will continue to do so “till the end of ages, Amen.” What I’d like to see, though, is language that reflects a wholehearted devotion to this God, to this path, to this way of being. A more holistic approach, perhaps. Tiny adaptations, really, but changes that would alter how we interpret our experience and engagement. So here, as a trial run, is a way in which I might like to recite the Creed someday:

The story of my people begins with one God,
the Father, the Almighty,
maker of heaven and earth,
of all that is, seen and unseen.

Our life is grounded in one Lord, Jesus Christ,
the only Son of God,
eternally begotten of the Father,
God from God, Light from Light,
true God from true God,
begotten, not made,
of one Being with the Father.
Through him all things were made.
For us and for our salvation
he came down from heaven:
by the power of the Holy Spirit
he became incarnate from the Virgin Mary,
and was made man.
For our sake he was crucified under Pontius Pilate;
he suffered death and was buried.
On the third day he rose again
in accordance with the Scriptures;
he ascended into heaven
and is seated at the right hand of the Father.
He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead,
and his kingdom will have no end.

We are sustained by the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life,
who proceeds from the Father and the Son.
With the Father and the Son he is worshiped and glorified.
He has spoken through the Prophets.

We find life and love in one holy catholic and apostolic Church.

We participate in one baptism for the forgiveness of sins.

We look with hope for the resurrection of the dead,
and the life of the world to come. Amen.

Lori is a home-based mom of two, volunteer-at-large, and proud survivor of 10 Michigan winters. She and her husband own Compass Outreach Media (http://www.compass-om.com/). Exploring faith–from the paradoxic vantage points of a rich heritage and a break-the-molds future–helps her get out of bed in the morning. This post first appeared at her blog QueFascinante.

By Krista Finch

Ooo, child, things are gonna get easier
Ooo, child, things will get brighter
Someday…
The Five Stairsteps, “Ooo, Child”

Hope. It’s the place you move to when you get evicted from all those warm, comfy circumstances. And as you unpack your beat-up guitar, your Bible, a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, the rosary you made for your son and those pearl earrings from the love of your life (the only necessary possessions) you realize these four walls may suit you better.

Sure the other place had crisp paint on the walls and hardwood floors, but underneath it was water-damaged drywall and a cracked foundation. You just couldn’t see it yet.

And the new place – hope – is a little dingy, but this haven of expectancy and brokenness has potential. It’s made you count what you love best and do things you never thought possible. The way you see it, you’ve got nothing but time to clean up the dust bunnies in your new home. And Grace just hollered from the back room that she’s here to help.

Krista Finch is a wife, a new mom and an author with a passion for finding glimpses of glory in an as-is world. Her recent book, As Is, digs into the mundane majesty of life here and now.

This is what a girl power movie should be.

I went to see Whip It because it looked fun and was a totally Austin film (there’s something fun about sitting in the Alamo Drafthouse watching a movie where the characters go to the Drafthouse…). I discovered though the most genuine and life-affirming coming of age story that I have seen in a long time. The story is that of small-town Texas girl, Bliss (Ellen Page), who escapes her mother’s beauty pageant dreams for her life by entering a roller derby league. Sounds like the standard cliched formulaic “girl discovers herself” plotline. But Whip It acknowledges the cliche and gives the predictable a twist.

This is a film about a girl being empowered to find herself. But it does so while admitting that life is messy. You have the standard plotline of restricted kid being held back by irrational parents, but it is also more than that. Bliss’ mother isn’t just a controlling mom shoving 1950′s stereotypes of pageant queens down her daughter’s thoughts. She loves her kids and wants them to have more opportunities than she ever had. Bliss’ doesn’t pursue roller derby to rebel, she does it because she has discovered a part of herself she never knew existed. Sure, there is conflict with her family, but the take-home message is that the individual always has to exist in community as a vital part of a family. Bliss realizes that she needs her family and her friends even as she comes into her own.

What she realizes she doesn’t need is the boy. Like any in girl grows up movie, Bliss meets the guy, falls in love, and gets hurt. And doesn’t get back together. She realizes that she doesn’t want to be “that girl” who allows herself to be hurt by guys and who has to change who she is for them. She regrets giving everything to her boyfriend, but comes through the pain more aware of who she is and knowing that she doesn’t need a boyfriend in order to be a whole person. This isn’t a “men – who needs them” message, but it’s a strong reminder that a woman’s worth and identity is not defined by the man she’s attached to.

I also loved that her experience in roller derby wasn’t based on success but on being empowered by the experience. Unlike the typical guy sports film where the team ends up winning the state championship (and hence proving that hard work pays off blah, blah, blah…), when Bliss’s team comes in second place they don’t despair or choose to learn from their defeat or work harder next time – they break into a joyous team chant of “We’re number 2! We’re number2!” happy in their accomplishment of playing the game. They were a team and they proved to themselves as women that they could do this thing. That, not winning, was what mattered. I loved it.

Whip It was all about this healthy empowerment. It was the story of a girl discovering her own strength in community. She can be fierce and powerful and good, really good, at what she does. She doesn’t need to define herself by the warped standards of this world. She can be herself. This is the sort of story that we need to hear more often. Instead of the standard plotlines of “princess in need of rescue” or “someday my prince will come” found in most girl coming of age movies, Whip It provides a realistic role model I wouldn’t mind my daughter looking up to. Instead of telling women that we are defined by our bodies, our relationship with a man, our ability to compete and win, or our ability to be nice and compliant – we can hear that it’s okay to be ourselves in all of our glory and messiness.

But lest you think that Whip It is just a sappy after school special, remember that this is a movie about roller derby. It has action, fantastic skating scenes, and tough self-assured women all over the place. In short, it’s a fun movie that (thankfully) isn’t just drivel and fluff.

Crossposted from Julie Clawson’s blog onehandclapping

By Lisa Colón DeLay

When I first spoke about remembrance stones, or Ebenezer stones, a visitor friend of mine wrote this:

I also have small “alters” of stones in my house…up in jars. They are written on with a sharpie pen. I write one or two words down when I have a breakthrough, or a praise. When people come to visit, they ask about the stones and I can tell them that “good things happen here”. I take that from the Bible. Whenever there was a victory, as you probably already know, they use to build an alter…so that when people came by, they would see, know and remember.

This visitor’s practice of erecting contemporary “standing stones” helps her remember God’s goodness, mighty works, and faithfulness in her life. It can help her tell her story. It’s wonderful to have a visual reminder, also, because we can too quickly forget God’s work when we hit troubling times, or get too busy.

The practice of using stones as a memory device goes WAY back. For a brief devotional or your own research, look up the Scriptures of Joshua 4:9, and I Samuel 7:12.

nsider trying this practice for yourself. The materials are easy to find, and when you go through your jar and reflect on what’s inside as you are alone with God, or with someone else, you’ll be reminded of God’s faithfulness, and goodness.

I’m sending out a (free) fragrant stone, plus 18 ideas for meaningful practices to increase awareness of God’s presence, and memory of his faithfulness. I’ve found something as simple as a stone can create added spiritual awareness and mindfulness, and this has brought me a lot of hopefulness and joy, as I have an enriched experience of God’s love. The stones I send out go to my blog visitors, like you, who express an interest. You can find out more here.

Lisa Colón DeLay regularly writes on topics such as prayer, purpose, soul care, spiritual practices, suffering, current cultural context & worldviews, theology, and community. Her contribution in Tyndale’s latest NLT Bible publication, Holy Bible:Mosiac, is a meditation on the subject of Anointing Oil and the Trinity. Lisa’s regular column, Notes from the Footpath: Existential Awareness for Life’s Journey is a spiritually formative feature that appears in the monthly publication Schuylkill News (circ. 15,000). She will receive her degree, a Masters of Arts in Religion, in Spiritual Formation this May. Visit her current project LifeAsPrayer.wordpress.com, or her site lisadelay.com.

By Jessica Glaser

All right. I’ve read this article twice and the condescending overtones are still driving me batty.

I’ve picked this up before in arguments by Dawkins, et al over the sexism in most religions. The educated white man takes off his glasses and stares at me, saying, “Why on earth would you want to subscribe to a system that treats you like dirt?”

To some extent, he’s got a point. Why do I stick around in a religion that has historically seen my embodiment as some kind of hindrance, proof of my own unworthiness, or source of evil in mankind? Why do I stick around a religion that seeks to control my body, treat my sexual desire as something dangerous, denigrate my mind because of my embodiment, and that in some denominations would deny my call to the ministry altogether? Why stick around when I hear that churches refuse to address sexual abuse and rape of their female and male members, even by members of the clergy? Why stick around when my questions regarding the feminine side of God are met by statements like “Nobody cares about stuff like that” or “That’s just idolatrous”? Why stick around when my religion has chosen to exclude my fellow queer friends and exploit the marginalized?

According to the article, it has something to do with my crazy woman brains. And my desperate need to have babies and be accepted by society. And the fact that I’m just not as enlightened as the rational men.

I…wait, what?

Did I just hit a time warp?

I get angry in church when some white guy stands up and tells me that I should believe something because he knows what is good for me and his genitalia somehow gives him direct access to God’s mind. I get just as angry when other condescending people pat me on the head, tell me that there might be scientific explanations behind my belief in God, but that I should evolve beyond it because that’s what enlightened men are doing, and they know better than I do what is good for me.

Neither one accepts my own agency as a spiritual being or respects the fact that I might have some darn good reasons for believing in God and being a Christian. And being a Christian woman, I MUST be oppressed, because liberal religion that might affirm women as something other than the tools and servants of men doesn’t actually exist! Never mind that I might be able to carve out a space for myself in my church, or that I might use my own understanding and rationality wedded to my studies and experiences to find a place before God that is my own and cannot be interfered with by any institutions, or that the teachings of Christ might affirm me. Such things are inconceivable in this enlightened age, when religious people are often equated with being ignorant fools.

Furthermore, the arguments are terribly reductionist and reminiscent of so many of the nature trumps nurture arguments that have been used against women seeking their own personhood since…forever? They remind me of almost anti-feminist screed I’ve ever read: that due to our own biological weaknesses, we don’t know what’s good for us and must have someone tell it to us. It’s for our own good.

Look, I’m not going into the history of women in the church or women and the church; there are a lot of books out there that will do so in a more coherent fashion than I can here. I know there are problems. I’ve listed some of them above. But I ain’t going nowhere. In fact, I’m going further into the institution. God(dess) help me. Christ’s message speaks to me. It gives me meaning. It gives me understanding. It gives me a challenge. It gives me love. It doesn’t discriminate, no matter what people have done with it since it was uttered. I love it enough to ask that his church mirror his love for me and others by asking for our inclusion.

In implying that women should accept discursive erasure of their spiritual experiences in order to be liberated, those outside of church are performing the exact same violence that those inside the church have been doing for centuries. Guess what? Y’all both need to knock it off.

Jessica Glaser is a fierce mainline/emergent feminist affiliated with University Park United Methodist Church and House For All Sinners and Saints in Denver. Her writings can be found at http://aredhel72.blogspot.com/.

By Jenny Rae Armstrong

It’s been a rough year up in my neck of the woods. Our church lost two babies to SIDS and two young mothers to cancer, a statistic that would be less shocking in a larger community, but slices right through the heart of a tiny town like ours. My family lost a grandfather to kidney failure and an uncle to bladder cancer. The Wall Street debacle flushed what was left of a local economy that had been in the toilet since shipping dried up in the late fifties, devastating the homes, bank accounts, and job security of those of us clinging like barnacles to the shallow, rocky soil our stoic Scandinavian ancestors dug their plows into. And that’s all on top of the ongoing, everyday problems of living in a broken world. I spent most of last night lying awake, listening to my autistic son cry in his sleep, cleaning up the mess created by a GI system that just can’t absorb food properly. Somewhere between awake and asleep, set to the dissonant sound of my son’s distress, I remember thinking, “It’s not fair, God. It’s just not fair.”

It’s true. It’s not fair. Yet in some ways it is fair, brutally fair. God causes the sun to shine and the rain to fall on the righteous and the wicked (and heaven knows we’re all more than a little bit of both!), and didn’t shrink back from experiencing all the joy and pain of being human when he came to earth in the person of Jesus, a baby born into poverty and oppression, into the hopeless mess of humankind.

Why does a loving God allow bad things to happen? Why do we even ask? We have bought into the myth that we are entitled to an easy life, that it’s God’s job to smooth our paths and make them straight, to protect us from the fall-out of simply being human. Life wasn’t so great for Jesus, or his family, or his disciples, either. Why? Because God was mad at them? Because God didn’t care? Because they didn’t have enough faith? Because God blinked, and something slipped by him? No. Life was hard for them because in the words of the bumper sticker, shit happens, and sometimes it happens to us. No one is immune.

The Western world is addicted to comfort. We cruise down the path of least resistance in our climate-controlled SUVs, singing along to our favorite Christian radio stations, but what happens when we hit a bump in the road and get a flat, when we start leaking oil and burn up our engine? Do we set the emergency brake, lock our doors, shake our fist-clamped cell phones at the sky and wait for God to show up with a tow truck? Or do we climb off our high-horse, join the ranks of suffering humanity, and start putting one foot in front of the other in the direction of home?

I babysat a lot as a teenager. When I was fifteen a family I sat for, the Muirs, decided to take in a foster baby who had been born without a brain. When Karen, the mother, told me what they were planning to do, I was angry. That baby was going to die, and everyone knew it. Why would they put themselves through the pain of becoming attached to a baby who was doomed from the get-go? Why would they put their children through that pain? “But Jenny,” Karen reasoned, “don’t you think he has a right to be loved, too?” I supposed I did, but not at the expense of people I loved. Not at the cost of causing them pain.

It was not until little Emory’s funeral, just over a year later, that I began to realize the impact his life had had. Not because of anything he had done-because really, there wasn’t much he could do, besides breathe, suckle, and mess his pants, and even those were iffy-but because of the way he had been loved. Because of the Christ-like way the Muirs embraced the blessing and suffering of this tiny bit of beautiful, broken humanity, claiming and redeeming it for a greater purpose, and received more in return than they could ever have imagined.

What did I learn from Emory and the Muirs? That pain is not something to be avoided. That suffering and blessing more often than not come wrapped in the same package. That sometimes, it’s enough to be loved by a heartbroken God who came to claim and redeem us for a greater purpose. Sometimes, it’s just enough.

It’s been a blessed year or so in our neck of the woods. May the love, peace, and joy of a God who knows what it is to suffer sustain us all through the next, and lead us safely home.

Jenny Rae Armstrong is a freelance writer and musician. She and her husband Aaron own DeepWater Music (www.deepwatermusic.net) and live in Northern Wisconsin with their four little boys. This post originally appeared at her blog jennyraearmstrong.blogspot.com.