Faith in a Dress

Welcome to Faith in a Dress!

2007-06-01T11:56:00.000-07:00

This blog was born of a project we lovingly call Faith in a Dress.

In June 2007, Pam Hogeweide and Erin Word were given the generous opportunity to guest-edit Bill Dahl's publication Porpoise Diving Life; and we chose to have this issue be written entirely by women.

We received numerous amazing submissions, and desired to create a place where people could interact with the articles, poetry and other submissions we received.

The articles are organized in the sidebar by title and author. Please feel free to discuss these articles in the comments section on each article's page.

We hope you will enjoy the many wonderful writings of the women who participated.

Thanks for visiting!

Sincerely,

Pam and Erin

Pam Hogeweide writes about
disillusionment and discovery
in the wilderness of faith at
How God Messed Up My Religion.

Erin Word writes about
rediscovering faith
from the inside out at
Decompressing Faith.

Weight of the World

2007-05-30T17:34:00.000-07:00

Weight of the World
by Tanya Gordon

Let’s go over this one more time

And see if I can’t toe the line

But it’s stealing the soul out of me

And I’m trying to find my spine

I want you to be happy

But my spirit’s grieved

I could give you my all

But there’d be nothing left of me

So take it away now

You’re making me crazy

And I’m not gonna be this small

All your delusion

It feeds my confusion

But you don’t seem to care at all

Give me my freedom

And keep your derision

Cause I am tired

And I feel like the weight of the world is falling on me

We could talk like the beautiful people

Civilized beyond their dreams

Serving up the free love in the free world

On their way into therapy

I want you to be happy

But my spirit’s grieved

I could give you my all

But there’d be nothing left of me

So take it away now

You’re making me crazy

And I’m not gonna be this small

All your delusion

It feeds my confusion

But you don’t seem to care at all

Give me my freedom

And keep your derision

Cause I am tired

And I feel like the weight of the world is falling on me

I’ll answer to the heavenlies

And give you what I can of me

But in the end my heart will speak this mystery

I cannot be silent

When my heart is heaving

I cannot be silent

When my soul is screaming

So take it away now

You’re making me crazy

And I’m not gonna be this small

All your delusion

It feeds my confusion

But you don’t seem to care at all

Give me my freedom

And keep your derision

Cause I am tired

And I feel like the weight of the world is falling on me

c 2007 Tanya Gordon

Tanya Gordon is a 33-year-old singer/songwriter, radio host, writer and speaker who lives in Brisbane, Australia, with her devastatingly handsome husband, Dale Rankine, and their three gorgeous daughters, Isabella, Olivia and Gabrielle. She is passionate about helping teenage girls and young women to discover how unique and valuable they are to their Dad in Heaven and the vital roles they have to play in God's plans to bring healing and redemption to humanity. You can learn more about Tanya and her music by visiting : www.tanyagordon.com

Exceptions to the Role

2007-05-30T16:56:00.000-07:00

Exceptions to the Role
by Maria Smith

We recently organized a discussion-slash-debate-slash-conversation at our church the other night. It was about the F-word.

That’s right: we talked about feminism.

There were no shrinking violets on this three-woman panel, but on the other hand, no bras were burned during the course of discussion either. There was talk of headship, and of roles, and of calling; and of course, there was talk on Ephesians 5 and 1 Timothy 2. All were women who held their own, all were women who knew the Scriptures, and all were women held in high respect. What got me thinking the most, though, was a statement made later, over dinner that night.

Between bites of chicken curry and naan, my friend,who happened to be male and also a pastor, said something I would probably never have thought about otherwise. “During the debate,” my friend said, “I thought to myself… I’m glad I’m a man.” Now, before you start cursing my friend, he went on to unpack that statement. He freely acknowledged that based solely on his gender, no one was questioning his calling. No one was questioning his abilities. No one was restricting his duties. No limits regarding gender had ever or would ever be placed upon him and his Y-chromosome. To be sure, this ideology and luck-of-the-draw seemed to trouble him as much as it troubled me.

Suddenly, I was taken back to middle school English, recalling George Orwell’s classic Animal Farm:

ALL ANIMALS ARE EQUAL
BUT SOME ANIMALS ARE MORE EQUAL THAN OTHERS

We can talk of being equal but different all we want, but honestly, isn’t Orwell onto something here? This governmental structure can just as easily be applied to our biblical purposes. If “equal but different” implies a lack of hierarchy, should there not be a comparable amount of exceptions with regard to “acceptable” roles for each gender? Where then are all the examples of roles that should not be filled by men? The limitations, it seems, are all marching down the same one way street.

Women are equal, but...

Women are valued, but...

Women are capable, but...

What disturbs me the most is that during the course of discussion, I was accepting as fact that this fight was perfectly normal and acceptable. As a woman, I am so used to the need to justify our collective position, that I forget just how easy the men have it, and how utterly unfair it all is (by no fault of their own, mind you).

The subtle assumption of feeling second class is second nature, it seems.

A blogger friend of mine was in Washington, D.C. a few weeks ago. She came upon the following quote, carved in stone:

"Women who stepped up were measured as citizens of the nation, not as women… this was a people’s war, and everyone was in it."

- Colonel Oveta Culp Hobby

I was going to write an appropriately snarky comment on being appalled by this quote. The audacity of this colonel to imply that being a woman is a step below the status of citizen! I decided, though, that I should at least find out who, exactly, Oveta Culp Hobby was before starting in on character defamation. As it turns out, she was a colonel in World War II. (The audacity of me to assume that this colonel was a man!) This puts the quote in a different light, to be sure. But I am still appalled by this quote, albeit in a completely different way. I know, I know: Rosie the Riveter was a new concept in America's history. Second-wave feminism was a few decades off. I shouldn’t be surprised.

But I am. I am surprised that for so long women have believed we are somehow inferior. Women have believed we are less than citizens. Women have believed we need to cite examples and reasons and qualifications before doing whatever particular activities our male counterparts have participated in for centuries.

We have believed the lies, and we have limited ourselves. We have interpreted scriptures to point us further from what Jesus himself came to bring. We have missed the point of the good news of the gospel.

We must fight the good fight. We must equip ourselves and each other for every good work. We must hope that one day, future generations will not regard equality with men something to be grasped, but something already established. We must believe that daughters and sons, sisters and brothers, wives and husbands, are all of equal worth in God’s sight. And we must believe that none are more equal than others.

Maria Smith is a twentysomething accountant from Ohio. She does not in the least expect this piece to be published, and is currently taking suggestions on how to become independently wealthy. Her presence on the internet tubes can be found at Unleashed.

The Story of the Weeping Camel

2007-05-30T09:09:00.000-07:00

The Story of the Weeping Camel
by Megan Ady

The vast, lonely Gobi desert surrounds the mother camel. She has no music to express the pain she feels, pain which goes on and on, seemingly without end. Into her exhaustion arrives her white baby camel, sadly bleating for his mother's warm body and satiating milk. She pushes her child away, and loses herself in the arid wasteland. The white camel pursues her and she snarls at him, threatened and afraid.

My five-year old daughter Eowyn watched The Story of the Weeping Camel with me, and said: "She wanted to love the baby, but she didn't know how to love the baby." Like the mother camel, I had no music to express my deep pain throughout my childhood and adolescence. When other people and God sought to extend love to me, I hid in the expanse of my loneliness and unsung sorrow.

"Hooooooos" sang Ogdoo to the mother camel, her voice enchanting and mysterious. The desert winds caught the strings of the violin, and played a single note, haunting and resonant. The mother sang the note with the violin, with Ogdoo. She was finding a voice for her pain, a community in which to sing her song, understanding.

Singing her own song let tears flow from the mother camel's eyes. As she mourned and grieved the sorrow from which she had hidden, she let her baby drink from her breast, and talked to him, her deep contralto words blending with his silver soprano voice.

I began learning my own song after my brother Stephen died, and others stood with me in my grief. My song grew louder on board LOGOS II, standing at the bow beneath an enormous sky filled with stars, the ship rhythmically rolling, wind and salty spray kissing my skin. Crossing the Atlantic, I remembered swimming with dolphins at Palm Beach, Australia, and how that had been a tangible sign to me of God's love.

I read the God's words in Job 40, standing alone on LOGOS II's bow: "Shall a faultfinder contend with the Almighty?" Job was well-behaved and stayed silent. I spoke. "YES I'll content with the Almighty and find fault. I hate the way you haven't protected me God, and abandoned me to loneliness, rejection and abuse!" In the silent moment after my words, I feared God would discard me for my impiety. In the silent moment after my words, I saw on the horizon a swirling, boiling, bubbling patch of water, moving towards me. As my ship and the conundrum drew closer, I realised what it was: DOLPHINS! Hundreds of them! God's response to my song was not rejection and abandonment, but love, in Megan's language.

As I learn to sing my song, I let the white camel approach me, and be nourished by me. I hum my sweet, sad, vibrant melody in harmony with its intonation. During goodnight prayers tonight, I prayed that as the Hoos ritual taught the camel to love, Jesus would teach me to love. My three-year-old daughter Cosette plaintively declared: "Yes, I will teach you how to love!" She is right! The intensity, wonder, tension and tangibility of motherhood is a battleground where I am learning adoration. My children's delight in my love, and their enormous acceptance of me awakens my soul in a new way.

In Santos, Brazil, singing next to Benjamin on board LOGOS II, I sensed God saying "Yes, Megan, I am healing you, and shall give you Benjamin to stand with you as your husband to be devoted to you and be part of my healing you." Like the Hoos ritual for the mother camel, a symphony of song has surrounded me, loving me into hopefulness. I am especially thankful for the kindly voices of Benjamin, Eowyn and Cosette, and my sister Serendipity Rose. I honour the wise voices of my counsellors Allan, Myles, Theresa and Lisa. Grateful am I for deep throaty tears shed with me, unleashing my own healing tears. For this gift I thank Tom and Anita at JFK airport, April at Late Afternoon Tea in Buenos Aires, Sam on the shaggy carpet of our Fremont apartment, Dad in the car driving into the Cascade Mountains, Mum in the talk about lighting a candle in the dark and sitting with God, Becca reading my story at Aberystwyth, Kate, walking along the dry, dusty road, Gimena and Caroline, yelling "FUCK!" with me at the quayside in Tema, Ghana, and Benjamin, Dirk Jan, Eva, Simon and Kate, weeping for me in LOGOS II's aft meeting room after Eva declared: "God hates what happened to that little girl."
And lastly, thank you to Jesus, the invisible, enigmatic orchestrator of my personal Hoos ritual.

Megan Ady is an Australian writer living in Seattle, USA, where she mothers Eowyn (aged 5) and Cosette (aged 3). She enjoys the company of her wonderful husband Benjamin, struggles in relating to her enigmatic Maker, writes creative fiction and blogs at Bag End. She would be delighted to hear from you, and her email address is meganady@gmail.com.

Are You Saved?

2007-05-30T08:56:00.000-07:00

ARE YOU SAVED?
by Penni D'Aulerio

The kindest thing my parents ever did for me was to have me baptized in the Roman Catholic Church as an infant, even if at that time they were not particularly church-goers. I think I got a jump-start on spirituality, sans my permission.

I have loved Jesus since I was little, learning about Him in Sunday school and Youth Group at our local Methodist Church. That was my Jesus on the front of the building: mosaic-tiled, looking lovingly down on the two children He had gently placed His hands on. If I had no such place to center myself, growing up dysfunctional may have been slightly more traumatic.

I can recollect being 13 and listening to the AM station in the dark of the night. The light from the clock radio would illuminate my room, while the raspy voice of the Radio Preacher suggested his dutiful listeners should "give their lives to Jeee-zus" and "belieeeve in Him so yeee shall be saaaved…" Every Sunday night for the better part of a year, I laid in my bed, reciting the words of the "Sinner's Prayer" as fervently as I could without sounding trite; I was sincere, after all. I would feel a flood of relief wash over me each and every time Raspy Radio Preacher announced that I had been "saved." Prior to that time, I have no memory of anyone telling me I was saved. Wanting to make sure I really was, in fact, saved, I continued praying the prayer.

At least 43 more times.

Good thing, because years 14 through 20 in particular were a blur, either because of the emotional abuse I tolerated as a child, or the marijuana-induced haze I continuously entered into to endure said abuse. Good times; pass the bud. My mid-20's were less blurred because they had to be: I was thrust into adulthood by having a son to raise. How naïve it had been of me to marry an agnostic who was, by all standards, truly an atheist, simply holding onto the agnostic title "just in case there was a God…"

Although I had grown up in the Methodist church, during this particular time I attended a nearby Episcopal church. They they welcomed me as a single parent with open arms; the pastor counseling me during a period where I felt all had been lost. While I don't recall feeling anything overtly spiritual happening then, I felt love, warmth, and an acceptance I had longed for. I felt safe.

"Jesus loves you," Fr. Mike would tell me, time and again…

"And I, Him…" I would respond, as enthusiastically as I could muster due to the challenges I faced in raising a toddler alone. After my divorce, I would sit alone poring over scripture verses, seeking anything to hold onto while I clung to the cloak of my Lord, begging for the hemorrhaging to cease. I was determined to have something break through because I was supposed to be saved at least 43 times; I was having my doubts.

When I met my future husband, he had a solid faith, but he was "a Catholic." Being Catholic was foreign to me, but it somehow made sense: after all, I had been baptized Catholic and was already practicing a faith that was one step removed. After attending Mass with him, I thought "I can do this"; initially because I had a husband who loved God and, get this, went to Church! Eventually, something much deeper latched onto my spirit and I converted.

As someone who had already participated in two other Christian denominations, I had a unique perspective about how each faction felt about the other. I have heard ultra-conservative Catholic views, such as how we should be more obvious with our Catholicism – in displaying signs, symbols, scapulars. If that is the case, should we also widen our phylacteries and lengthen our tassels? Or perhaps stand on a corner and chant so we can be heard for our many prayers? While I am sacramental by nature, I do believe we need to be more inwardly collected. If our outward actions show others Jesus is our Lord, we don't need to prove our religiosity when God is the only one we need to impress. He knows our hearts, after all.

Conversely, I have chatted with Protestant brethren in such innocuous settings as grocery stores, where conversation ultimately turns to the things of God. One question has become the classic conversation ender: "Where do you fellowship?" I always hesitate before I answer, not because I am ashamed to reply, "St. Bernadette's"; simply because I know the talk is about to come to a grinding halt.

"Oh…is that…..Catholic?"

"Yes….can you believe it?"

I never remember questioning whether another believer was saved, but when I became a Catholic it became a routine question asked of me. If they felt I wasn't (because I didn't spontaneously break in to speaking in tongues or something), they would further question, with a narrowing look to their eyes, my ability to read Scripture or if I worshiped Mary.

For the record, I've been reading the bible since I was a small child and have never worshiped anyone other than the Triune God. Although our services differ in a myriad of ways, when it is broken down to the basics, is it not the same God who loves us all because He is no respecter of persons?

We all have so much to learn from each other, if we would only choose to listen and dialogue rather than pointing out how truly wrong the other is. Thereafter, we should lower the volume of the response after our opinions have been so stated. Should I have told my almost-new-friend in the grocery store that I am "different" and may not be like the other Catholics she knows?

Instead of sharing further thoughts with my grocery store acquaintance, after our awkward exchange we parted ways: she pushing her cart and wondering if I "had been saved"; me pushing mine, wondering if I should have offered that I have, in fact, been saved 43 times...44 if you count the night where I professed my faith openly for the first time as a Catholic, some 13 years ago.

Penni D'Aulerio is a Christ-follower and married to a saint of God, Jimbo. They have three children plus one daughter-in-law to be. Although she works at a nearby childbirth center, she desires to be an Addictions Counselor. When not helping babies and mamas, she can be found blogging at Martha, Martha.

Completely Single

2007-05-30T08:40:00.000-07:00

Completely Single
by Kathleen Rose

It seems to happen on a daily basis; someone comes up to me and asks me if I’m finally dating. Sometimes it is said jokingly and most of the time I’m sure that it is meant with the best of intentions. But lately I’ve been thinking about it, since all I ever seem to hear from people is

“When are you going to start dating?”

“Are you finally seeing anyone?”

“Are you ever going to get married?”

It has begun to sink in and make me think that to be worth something I need to be in a relationship, that it isn’t ok for me to just be single and actually be happy being single, NO… I have to be dating or be married. Apparently I am not enough just being myself, living out my dreams whether or not I have a man in my life.

It seems to be a huge message to all young single women out there. Most of the time we aren’t told straight out, “There is no way you are ever going to be happy alone” or “You will never be enough for us unless you are dating or better yet married.” Though we aren’t told that, it is implied EVERYWHERE! You have friends and family constantly asking about your love life. You watch TV and the only time people are happy is when they meet someone and fall head over hills in love. Even those I’m-done-with-men movies end up with the girl finding some guy that sweeps her off her feet. We hear it at church, because of course, most pastors are married and though they might talk about how difficult it is to be married, some how they are always implying that being married and with someone is the only way. We have “young adult meetings” which honestly are nothing more than the church just trying to get single people to meet each other so they can get married. All because leadership doesn’t want to think about hiring someone to actually work with and care for the SINGLE people. I just don’t understand it, No wonder women have a problem with feeling worth something. We lack the confidence because we don’t have people who will actually encourage us in being who we are, to be all we can be.

For those of you, who are still single, learn to embrace it! It is ok to be single! If we look at the people who have made the biggest impacts on this world, majority of them are/were single. (Mother Theresa, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, and many of the disciples to name a few) Take this season that you are single and unattached and do all that you can with it. Because one day you might be married with children and not have the time that you have today, take this period of your life and start giving all you have to others. Don’t let your life pass you by as you sit and wait for someone. Instead take advantage of the freedom you have. Start becoming the best you; don’t be afraid to take time to better yourself, whether that be in a physical sense, mentally or spiritually. You don’t need to have someone in your life to complete you; be complete in yourself. And by being who you are you’ll realize that you’ll become someone who might be able to make a difference in other people’s lives. You might do huge things for others, or it might just be in the small everyday routines. Start being you, then you can start changing and helping others to be their own person.

And for those of you who are already married or in a serious relationship, instead of being so caught up in your single friend’s and families’ love lives, try to be interested in what they are really passionate about. Be beside them cheering them on, helping them grow in who they are, and who they can be. If all of us single people had two or three other folks really pushing us to grow and to learn, standing with us and encouraging us to make the most of this season in our lives, imagine the great and awesome things we could all do.

Kathleen Rose is an unashamedly single redheaded film geek who actually watches the commentaries on movies. Being the second oldest of nine children has given her a unique perspective on life. She shares her thoughts, rants and other strange things at Ramblings of a Redhead.

Stick to Your Guns

2007-05-30T08:35:00.000-07:00

Stick To Your Guns
by Tanya Gordon

For someone who seems so confident to other people, I’m actually quite a chameleon. Over the years, I’ve often adapted my ideas and dreams to what I thought other people wanted to hear. I think it’s important to be humble and understand that I’m not perfect, I’m not always right and I don’t have all the answers. I believe that every other person on the face of the Earth has something to teach me, and two heads are nearly always better than one. But, on the flip-side, I’ve come to realize there are certain things that should be non-negotiable.

A few years ago, I was in a meeting with my male senior pastor, pitching what I believed to be an important, groundbreaking idea. I wanted to put together events and resources that would inspire and encourage a group in the church that I felt had been generally overlooked by the Christian community - young women between 18 and 35. In researching this group, I had found that many desperately craved mentoring and felt like they lived in no-man's land. Programmes were targetted at youth and older women, but there was nothing reaching women who found themselves too old for pizza and bowling with 15-year-olds and too young to ponder the complexities of menopause with the other middle-aged ladies in their congregation.

What seemed like a blatantly obvious need to me, registered a minus 12.1 on my pastor's Richter scale. Not only did the Earth not move when I laid my ideas out in front of him; he seemed to look at me like I was speaking in a foreign language. To put it simply, he didn’t seem to get it - at all. He was the kind of guy who needed to see how an idea could fit in with already established programmes in his church. As the words were spilling out of my mouth and scattering all over his office floor, I thought, “I’m dying here. If I can squeeze this size 18 idea into the size 4 swimsuit that all the other church programmes fit into, I might have a chance.” So, I spent the next 30 minutes prodding, shoving, poking, rolling, pinching, scooping and squashing my concept into his itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny, yellow polka-dot church model. As I stood up to go, I felt like I’d achieved something. And I had.

I’d taken something that was big and beautiful and full of potential and compressed it down into a constricted, breathless nothing.

I felt like I had sent my child to have cosmetic surgery. Like someone had come in and nipped and tucked to their heart’s content while I just let it happen. When they told me the idea wasn’t pretty enough, I believed them and willingly let them butcher it until it didn’t look anything like it was created to look.

The older I get, the more I’ve learnt to stick to my guns. If the input of others strays too far from the original idea I’ve had, I thank them for their enthusiasm and politely exit, with the original idea, stage left.

I have mentors and my husband is my six-foot-two, devastatingly handsome sounding board. If he strongly disagrees with a project I want to undertake, I don’t move forward with it, and vice-versa. Sometimes that means scrapping a project completely. Other times, it means sidelining it for a while until we’ve had time to talk it through and reach a point where we’re happy to go ahead.

Ultimately, I’ve learnt to listen to my gut, to be true to what I believe I’m meant to do. If I go ahead with an idea and it fails, at least I’ve kept my integrity intact.

There are 6 billion+ people on the planet and they all have an opinion. But the only opinions that really matter are yours, God’s and those of your closest family and friends.

The yellow polka dot bikini experience with my pastor all those years ago inspired me to write a song called Weight of the World. This song could sound like an all-out attack on my pastor, which it isn't. We were actually very good friends before and after this encounter. Weight of the World is about the oppression we can feel when we constantly try to fit into someone else's or society's mould. Ultimately, I believe we need to be primarily concerned with obedience to God rather than gaining the approval of man.

Tanya Gordon is a 33-year-old singer/songwriter, radio host, writer and speaker who lives in Brisbane, Australia, with her devastatingly handsome husband, Dale Rankine, and their three gorgeous daughters, Isabella, Olivia and Gabrielle. She is passionate about helping teenage girls and young women to discover how unique and valuable they are to their Dad in Heaven and the vital roles they have to play in God's plans to bring healing and redemption to humanity. You can learn more about Tanya and her music by visiting : TanyaGordon.com

Emerging Birth

2007-05-30T08:31:00.000-07:00

Emerging Birth
by Jemila Monroe

Birth isn’t easy. Anyone who says so is either suffering from postpartum amnesia, or extraordinarily high. Nevertheless, birth is as natural as it is difficult; what is gestating in secret cannot remain hidden forever.

When a new creation can’t be contained in so small a space, an emergence happens, which is to say a birth.

The emerging baby must be welcomed, even when we feel scared of the unknown, uncertain of our ability to raise this new being to maturity, or freaked out by the innate discomfort of labor and the inherent mess of birth. Emergence creates a bloody mess. And there’s usually poop.

Also beauty beyond words.

Emergence alters both parents and new creation forever, awakening something kindred and foreign, causing cataclysmic changes in the tectonic plates of our deepest groundings. We can never go back. Although sometimes we get nostalgic for the old life, we’d never sacrifice our new child for the old landscape. We struggle in the early days to integrate, and for exquisite moments, we do; our smile fills the heavens.

Birth is both challenging and transformative because emergence is not a cliché, or a hip check box on an inventory of life experience. Simply, it’s the opening a space once tightly closed, of new life squeezing through a narrow tunnel, persevering through a risky trip toward the light of day.

Birth at its best means a mother and her new creation journey through labor together, breathing, moving, releasing and being born; both held and caught and caught in arms of love. I am talking about the church.

Just six weeks and two days ago, my newborn daughter emerged from my womb. Her daddy caught her as she came out, with the gentle and vigilant supervision of our midwife, and together they lifted her onto my eager bosom. She breathed on her own, on and off for a little while before fully entering the world of the born and awake. During her transition to this brand new world, our baby daughter was sustained by her uncut umbilical cord. If we had cut the cord too soon, so might have suffered damage. Because we waited, my sweet little daughter was fine. Soon she breathed peacefully through her own lungs, snuggling softly below my neck, nearest my heart, child of my heart. Separate, yet in communion, mother and offspring beginning a journey of learning from one another. Of course my daughter will outlive me, and that’s wonderful news.

My first daughter figured my bladder was a super bouncy trampoline, and maintained a breech position until the doctors lifted her butt-first from my body during a planned C-section. My second child and third child each met the great world at home. Here’s what I learned from all three experiences:

Artificial evacuation is a form of emergence that’s sometimes necessary, like when a child or church is so breech that it needs direct, active intervention. Or when there is a rupture so great that a quick escape to safer territory with lots of healing hands is the only life-saving measure.

But sometimes staying with the pain of opening slowly, each contraction squeezing and swooshing away all remnants and illusions of control, is just what our new creation needs to emerge healthy and ready for life. Intervening for convenience, in response to undue fear, or because doctors (and ministers) think you have to do something any and all times the going gets rough or the terrain uncertain can create more problems than are solved.

Our temptation, in this managed-care, fear-based world is to arrange our decisions to avoid any and all discomfort or risk; to intervene and something at the slightest sign of struggle. And sometimes we are absolutely right to act decisively.

Most often, we need to allow, rather than act, respond, rather than react to the natural rhythms of the Body. We can join birth proactively, without yanking for control, staying with our burgeoning creation, learning to breath and accept rather than fight or flee.

During my first vaginal birth I fought like hell. “Can’t you just beam the baby out, Scottie?” I just wanted it to be over. Now. And it was over, like 24 hours later. And though I was immensely happy my son was alive, out and healthy, I looked (literally) like a bloody zombie. There’s a picture of me right after the birth, with my son curled between my legs, and my mouth hanging agape, eyes sunken and closed. I’m sure there’s drool spilling from my lower lip, which the camera was kind enough to let slip under the radar.

With my third birth I did things my way. No Enya music; I wanted Cindy Lauper. And I wasn’t donning a flowing nightgown at the first sign of labor. I wore Jeans until 5 centimeters. But mostly I joined my labor labor instead of fighting it. I chose this for “my” way mostly because the other way didn’t work so great. So I embraced the squeeze, choosing to work with labor instead of against it. I chose to be present, to surrender.

I made loud, primal noises and forgot to wonder what the neighbors might think. I squatted. Contractions came quickly and hurt like nobody’s business, but labor lasted 5 ½ hours, and when my baby daughter arrived, I still felt human.

All my children emerged and continue growing beautifully into their wonderful selves. Yet it’s taken me longest to connect with my C-section baby, less time with my fear-ridden natural birth, while bonding was immediately with my “let’s go for it and embrace the process” baby. Because faith, hope and love facilitate emergence: Faith that the pain involved in transition is opening a passageway for a beautiful new expression of God’s image; hope that our new creation will arrive intact and breathing, and love that embraces what is without condition, granting us courage to hold on and let go in an unknown place where adventure and mystery are the land and sea.

Jemila Monroe is a part-time seminary student, wife, mother, writer and occasional painter who would like to go skydiving when she is very old. Ms. Monroe's work has appeared in Christianity Today, The New Pantegruel, The Ooze, Open Source Theology, Emerging Women, Spiritual Sensuality, as well as her personal blog, Quirky Grace. Jemila is currently working on two books: Memoirs of a Book Flirt, and Parenthood Is For Freaks.

You can find samples of Jemila's writing by following the links below:

Quirky Grace
Christianity Today Library
Spiritual Sensuality
Emerging Women

Why Wait Twenty Years?

2007-05-30T08:30:00.000-07:00

Why Wait Twenty Years?
by Susan Barnes

Deborah, the prophetess, wrote a song after she and Barak had defeated Jabin and his Canaanite army which concluded with these words. "So may all your enemies perish, O Lord! But may they who love you be like the sun when it rises in its strength" (Judges 5:31). Deborah pictures God's people as being like the sun whose heat grows stronger as the day progresses.

Perhaps this imagery appealed to Deborah because it reflected her own life's experience. Under Ehud the land had known peace for eighty years but after his death, Jabin, the Canaanite king had cruelly oppressed the Israelites for twenty years. Then one day Deborah called Barak because it was time to attack Jabin's army.

Why wait twenty years?

God waits for us to grow in faith. We have different expectations of fruit trees that have just been planted to fruit trees that are 20 years old. Likewise God often waits until we are more mature before He asks us to act in certain situations. For 80 years the Israelites had not needed to fight a battle. It would now take time for the people to become battle ready and for Deborah to learn to know God's voice. Deborah settled the disputes of her people (4:5) and no doubt it was during this time that she learnt to hear God's voice and trust His direction. When the time came to act she would need to know with certainty that God had indeed spoken to her.

If you have been a Christian for more than 20 years it is interesting to consider if over that time your faith has grown stronger like the rising sun. Do you trust God more now than you did when you first believed? Is it easier to hear and know God's voice?

Susan Barnes likes to think of herself as a writer who works part-time as a library technician. She has been writing devotional articles, book reviews and church news columns for over 15 years. She lives with her husband in a small town on the outskirts of Melbourne, Australia. She blogs at A Booklook.

I Have a Dream

2007-05-30T08:27:00.001-07:00

I Have A Dream
by Lyn Hallewell

I’ve been thinking about what to write about for PDL for a few days now, so many ideas have filled my mind. I wanted to write down thoughts that would inspire and were from the heart. Finally I have decided to write about what I envisage the church of the future could be like. Driving home from grocery shopping today Martin Luther King’s great speech “I Have a Dream” came into my mind. I realized that this is what I should base my thoughts around. You see I, along with many others out there, have a dream of what and who the church could and should be. You may not agree with all of my points, which is great! The world would be a very boring place if we all agreed all of the time. One thing I love about being a Christian in bloggosphere is that we have some really interesting, funny, and at times heated discussions. These discussions, I believe, stretch us, open up our minds to different ways of thinking, and help us to grow. I hope what I write stretches and opens up your mind to the potential that is within the church.

I have a dream that one day the church will be a place of unity, that there will be no division, no denominational differences. The past will be in the past and a united Bride of Christ will dance in step with her groom – Jesus.

I have a dream that the church will not be defined and organized by binding programmes and structures, but the Spirit of God will lead her in all of her ways. She will grow like the churches in Africa and China, whether or not she is oppressed.

I have a dream that the church of the future will consist of many different communities, and she will never be known as a building again. There will be no hierarchy, everyone is welcome, and everyone is valued and equal. I dream that the church will be abundant with people. Communities with relationships of increasing wholeness and health, deep relationships that are an inspiration and witness to all humanity. A community who meet whenever they can, drawn by love, who break bread, and share life together. It will be a place where no one feels judged, where people can open up and share, and know that they are supported and loved. It will be a community where everyone is welcome, whatever their social background, ethnicity or creed. Worship will flow spontaneously from the heart, with as many expressions as there are hearts. Children will join in and feel that they are part of the Body of Christ, rather than excluded from it. God will take centre stage and people will be crying out to Him, seeking him in new and powerful ways, really wanting him to be the centre and focus of their lives. Through this new freedom will be found, and lives will feel complete.

I have a dream that the church of the future will see the Spirit of God moving again in powerful ways. There will be miracles, healings, and revelation. Communities of believers will be active and present within their locality, and wider a field. Communities will come together to worship God, but this will not be their primary agenda. First and foremost communities of Christ will be ministering to those in need, serving, loving and caring for people from all walks of life, in all contexts, without judgement or bigotry. Villages, Towns and Cities will be transformed through the power of Christ, as people on the fringes of society are reached.

I have a dream that the church will begin to resemble the early Christian community, and that the corporation it has become will be taken into receivership. In the future people will not grimace when they hear the words “Christian” and “Church” instead they will think of a community which has given food and shelter to the homeless and needy, loved prisoners, served those suffering with addictions, helped to eradicate extreme poverty in the world, blessed the elderly, cared for the sick, looked after the widows and orphans. They will be known as a people group who have impacted and changed the world, a people group who are relevant and trustworthy and respected, a people group who worship and honour God, who don’t just talk the walk, but also walk the talk. The church will finally fulfil the mandate that was given to her.

And when that day comes the church will be free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty she will be free at last!

Lyn Hallewell lives in Hertfordshire, England with her husband, a church pastor, and two turbo-driven children. She is a Registered Nurse, but is currently on a career break as she begins to homeschool her children. She has a passion for social injustice issues and to pioneer the church out of its comfort zones. She blogs at Beyond the 4 Walls.

Music Review : Tina Marie Williams

2007-05-30T08:27:00.000-07:00

Tina Marie Williams: Acceptable

A Music review by Lynn Brunner

I stumbled across Tina Marie Williams working at our local coffee shop and got invited to her concert at the Tralf, a small music venue in downtown Buffalo, New York that features high quality acts. She blew me away! Her music and lyrics are raw yet tender, full of that longing for God that can burn like salt in a wound, but in that good way that starts the healing.

In “Scarlet,” one of my favorites, God holds out promise for rest and redemption:

“Slide from all the thoughts in your restless mind, to your knees and

Find that I’m still waiting, there’s still time to

Slide…aren’t you tired tonight?”

Tina writes beautiful poetry set to just the right music, which is very satisfying without being sweet. She sings with a mix of passion, power and vulnerability that suits the turbulence of her stormy questioning.

Tina Marie Williams is a young woman “emerging” musically and spiritually, but I listen because her work is just some of the best I’ve heard in a long time.

Acceptable is available at her website tinamariewilliams.com. You can also hear some of her music there and find links to her MySpace and YouTube sites where you can see video clips of her performing in concert.

Lynn Brunner is detoxing and emerging in the Buffalo, New York area. She can be reached at lmb3@buffalo.edu.

And

2007-05-30T08:24:00.001-07:00

And
by Kelly Hall

And, I can’t say…
honestly,
earnestly,
emphatically enough...

while swallowing down
heart beats
shard by shard
to where true heartache
wails blues never to be touched
by oxygen...

I keep unfolding kisses
each crease
a perfectly pressed petal
gold dusted--entrusted
and tucked gently

into envelopes
into pockets
into memory

nestled sweetly
as I keep walking
this uncomfortable walk
leashed and yanked
to this broken heal
that knows
this one march
that ends at your doorstep
panting words to vapors
that you will never hear

Kelly Hall lives outside of Houston, TX with her husband and children. She’s a freelance artist, writer and editor, currently working on The Voice Bible, a retelling of the scriptures. You can get more information about The Voice at Hear the Voice.

Awake Woman

2007-05-30T08:24:00.000-07:00

Awake Woman
by Kelly Hall

I am not that woman of many arms,
moving everywhichway,

(The woman I am,
holds less than two hands
one (inside the other) inside the other,
lost found webbed and free
two palms sowing love
two palms weeping woe
in a good-gone-sour world
ground, sky, water once braided
and bowed in harmony
stands matted mangled tangled—
an accessory to now-life.)

I tell you,
before these lips ever whispered for air
and ever since these feet touched her face
there was Love
and Love lays in her (alive, and still)
this woman she is
sleeping beneath will
nested in her many arms (though they twitch)
rounded and waiting for the shell to crack
bringing out her face to the Glow
orever-life winding in and out of her lungs

awake.

Kelly Hall lives outside of Houston, TX with her husband and children. She’s a freelance artist, writer and editor, currently working on The Voice Bible, a retelling of the scriptures. You can get more information about The Voice at Hear the Voice.

The Sinful Woman at Simon the Pharisee's House

2007-05-30T08:22:00.000-07:00

the sinful woman at simon the pharisees house
luke 7:36-50
by kathy escobar

she busted through the door
fell at this feet
desperate, searching, certain that He’d
give her something she craved.
peace. understanding. hope.

they scoffed. how could she?
how could He?
her type’s not welcome here.
this gathering, it’s for the together,
the smart, the boys, the elite.

welcome or not, she knew she
had to get there.
to His feet.
to lay before Him
and offer her tears, her heart,
her thanks.
the sweet smell of perfume mixed with
her tears
filled the courtyard.

and the bystanders gaped.
you can’t do that. we’re talking
theology here
and you want to weep,
to fall all over yourself?

yes, He affirms. she gets it.
this is the theology He’s talking about.
she understands.
believes.
accepts.
doesn’t care if she’s misunderstood.
she knows He forgives.
He loves. He believes in her when
nobody else does.

and because of her past, all the mistakes,
raw and real.
because of her desperation,
her unwillingness to hide or pretend
because of her humility,
her openness to healing.

she receives.

may i be like her,
unhindered by
human-created norms,
breaking the rules.
causing heads to turn.
risking my pride.
seeking Truth,
willing to find Him at all costs.

kathy escobar copastors the refuge, a church plant in north denver committed to the messy, the hurting, the marginalized. she co-authored come with me: an invitation to break through the walls between you and God, published by discovery house press, she also co-authored some new material coming out july 2007 called refresh: sharing stories, building faith; it's in a magazine format and published by new hope. you can find kathy at the refuge or the refuge blog. you can also e-mail her at kathy at therefugeonline dot org.

Fishers of Minnows, Fishers of (Wo)men

2007-05-30T08:21:00.000-07:00

Fishers of Minnows, Fishers of (Wo)men
by Erin Wilson

Ankle-deep, I learned that if I could be still, the tiny fish that lived in the warm lake shallows would come close, and swim around my summer-browned skin. After a time, the gentle waves would cover my feet with sand, and I would slowly lower my young body, folding legs and lowering arms until hovering just above the water. Minnows would gather in the small shadow made by the sun, high over-head. Slowly my small hand would move through the water, my fingers gathering bits of sea weed and tiny brown minnows.

From farther down the shore would come sounds from children introducing themselves to minnows in other ways. Small groups would splash and kick in the water, attempting to heard small schools. Some scooped with nets, or large plastic sand sifters. And each would shout with disappointment when the slick brown minnows swam between their legs and out into deeper water.

Of course, these other children were too busy to comment on my methods. Bent low into the water, feeling small minnow bodies slip past my legs, this suited me just fine.

**

The earliest Church was made up of women and men, ministering out of home churches and temple courts, living the Gospel and learning what it meant to be fishers of men. It didn’t take long though, until some began prescribing the shape of Church. They chose who could minister (themselves), and who could not (everyone else). More specifically, they decided that a handful of men could minister, and everyone else (including women) could not. Along the way, they also continued to define, for themselves and anyone within their realm of influence, the role of gender. They protected the role of school herder and of net wielder for themselves alone. They carefully drew lines around what men could do, and what women could not, building castles out of sand.

The foundational problem with their building scheme has been their inspiration. The role of gender/character in many corners of the Church has had much more in common with society’s norms than the upside-down Kingdom ushered in by Christ.

"God blesses those who realize their need for him,

for the Kingdom of Heaven is given to them.

God blesses those who mourn, for they will be comforted.

God blesses those who are gentle and lowly, for the whole earth will belong to them.

God blesses those who are hungry and thirsty for justice, for they will receive it in full.

God blesses those who are merciful, for they will be shown mercy.

God blesses those whose hearts are pure, for they will see God.

God blesses those who work for peace, for they will be called the children of God.

God blesses those who are persecuted because they live for God, for the Kingdom of Heaven is theirs.” (from Matthew 5)

While men set about to become who they desired to be as “men”, they failed to realize that they were making it increasingly difficult to become like Christ. Needy, able to mourn, gentle, lowly, merciful, pure in heart, makers of peace… these aren’t qualities that most men within the Church have been clamouring to become. Instead, they have been busy shaping these qualities into a palatable form, determining the shape of strength and leadership.

In the meantime, women have ministered. It hasn’t always happened publicly, but countless women have not waited for the approval of men or for titles. We have, instead, looked to our Lord for direction. For women, there are no societal pressures or pressures within the Church to not seek these qualities. While others were busy making kingdoms, we had the freedom to quietly pursue Kingdom. In doing so, countless women have become leaders and mentors and ministers, and blessed by God.

What does this brand of minister look like? It sometimes looks like my new friend C. She moved with her husband and children into the heart of the downtown east side of Vancouver: the poorest postal code in North America, and now co-leads their church community. C’s new neighbours are ten thousand addicts, homeless people and survival sex-trade workers. C. and those in her church community live in solidarity with the marginalized, living in the same tiny rooms in rundown hotels, sharing a toilet and shower with more than a dozen strangers. When I spent an evening with C., we knocked on doors in more rundown hotels and checked in on her friends who lived there. We spent quite a lot of time with F. He was high, and sad, and both surprised and moved to find us standing at his door with a potted flower. We talked with him in the hallway, listened to his story, and prayed over his life, his hurts, and all those hooks that have kept him down. When we finished praying, he looked at C. and said “You look just like Jesus”. Despite his current circumstances, he didn’t miss recognizing Jesus when he saw Him.

C. dreams of having cell groups on every floor of every rundown hotel in the downtown east side. She loves in beautifully radical ways. She loves in ways that are completely fitting for an upside-down Kingdom. She extends love to every sort of marginalized person imaginable and is a fisher of men operating out of the power of gentleness. C. demonstrates so well that there is nothing weak in meekness.

I have to confess that I grew up in a denomination which has ordained women for generations. When I approach the topic of Faith in a Dress, I can’t help thinking of those net-wielding kids at the beach. While some make great noise at building kingdoms, they have been to busy to notice others finding Kingdom in stillness.

Erin Wilson designs museum exhibits, restores old building, sews handbags from vintage fabric, blogs, talks to strangers, and can usually be found in the midst of story. Her recent trip to the downtown east side of Vancouver had such an impact, she's packing up and moving to a neighbourhood that has forgotten what radical love looks like. She blogs at Biscotti Brain.

Tomato Soup

2007-05-30T08:19:00.000-07:00

Tomato Soup
by Kelly Hall

Her face hangs;
heavier than long winter’s romances
that have been gently creased, cut
forming delicate snow crystals
that meander above her brow,
whispering secrets tucked
behind the hairline where…

“Once upon a time…”
babies breathed life against lobes
studded in stainless steel,
morning’s milk
and half moon scratches

Now, all-a-dangle with bangles
all too rich for curious giggling fingers
while hosting enough fire to melt
silvery strands that bow to their brilliance…

And so we sit and stare into memories
somewhat recalled, once again...
for one more afternoon
over grilled cheese and tomato soup

…not because it was his favorite,
(he liked crackers and milk)

But, just because it's the hot meal
her fingers can still manage…
sandwiches cut diagonally
to hug this steamy mug

as it mists up moments
of a lifetime well spent.

Kelly Hall lives outside of Houston, TX with her husband and children. She’s a freelance artist, writer and editor, currently working on The Voice Bible, a retelling of the scriptures. You can get more information about The Voice at Hear the Voice.

Confession IV

2007-05-30T08:17:00.000-07:00

Confession IV
by Kelly Hall

today,
i will cry again over the absence of you

because i will never be a priority
above any boy, man, or country.

because you continue to choose
to serve yourself.

because i work

and you play.

because i know
not every little girl gets a daddy.

remember that day Jesus took me in for a glass of water?
you kept glaring at me from behind the bushes
waving your arms, motioning for me to run?

we were just going to ring the bell and run, but i got caught.
(it’s almost like someone tipped us off)
you and i both knew i was done for as He nudged me into the sky,
took my cactus hands, and interlaced our fingers into a braid of devotions

honey’d thoughts clung in blue

i asked Him if i was dead
(He laughed His side sore).
He motioned me towards a gape
between His puckering ribs
once leathery and leaking...

there—
my name, carved upon His skin,

right under yours.

Kelly Hall lives outside of Houston, TX with her husband and children. She’s a freelance artist, writer and editor, currently working on The Voice Bible, a retelling of the scriptures. You can get more information about The Voice at Hear the Voice.

In the Dust of My Rabbi

2007-05-30T08:14:00.000-07:00

In the Dust of My Rabbi
by Rachel Stanton

As part of a series on discipleship, my Sunday School teacher recently shared with us a beautiful ancient Jewish blessing. He explained that in the 1^st century, there were many prominent rabbis and each rabbi would have disciples. It was a great honor to be invited by a rabbi to become his disciple, but becoming a disciple did not simply mean to become a student of the rabbi’s teachings. It meant actually following the rabbi from place to place, becoming like him, emulating his actions and attitudes, developing his character. It was common to say to someone who had become a disciple: “May you always be covered in the dust of your rabbi.”

I have thought a lot about this concept as I have been seeking to understand what it truly means to be a disciple of Jesus. I was raised in a Christian setting where all the questions had easy, direct answers and faith equaled certainty and superiority. It was a world of doctrinal statements and eschatological charts and clearly defined roles. It was a boundary-focused faith that made it very clear who was in and who was out. Following Christ was defined largely by maintaining and protecting those boundaries.

But now my faith understanding has changed. I no longer have a neatly packaged systematic theology. I don’t even begin to understand everything in Scripture and I’m distrustful of those who claim they do. It seems that the more I continue on my journey, I realize that there is so much that I don’t know about faith, about life, about God and the universe. In fact, some days I feel that I scarcely know anything at all. But I do know that I want to exchange my boundary-focused faith for a center-focused faith. And that center is my rabbi Jesus.

If I am focused on following my rabbi that means that I’m not focused on judging or condemning others or comparing my performance to theirs. I’m reminded of our family dinners when my younger brothers and I were kids. Dinner would always begin with someone saying grace and, often, as soon as the “amen” was said, one of us would point an accusing finger at the other and announce, “He had his eyes open during prayer!” Hmmmm…

If my life of discipleship is center-focused, then I won’t be so concerned with checking to see who has strayed outside my neatly drawn boundaries. If I have my eyes focused on my rabbi walking ahead of me, then I won’t be busy looking around to see who didn’t have their eyes closed during prayer!

There is so much about faith and life that I can’t even pretend to explain or understand. But what I do know with confidence is that I love Jesus and I want to follow him. I want to love and serve people like he did. I want to communicate grace and mercy and hope to others. I want to live a life of justice, kindness and humility. I want to walk so closely behind my rabbi that I am covered in the dust from his sandals.

Rachel Stanton co-hosts the Off The Map sponsored blog Justice and Compassion, "a conversation about how to create a more just, compassionate and peaceful world." She and her co-conspirator Benjamin Ady invite you to join the conversation.

"I Am"

2007-05-30T08:10:00.000-07:00

"I Am"
Music & lyrics by Jan Powers

I write lyrics for time’s journey, I am rhythm in life’s song;
I am melody for faint of heart, I am rest when days are long.
And the stirrings before time began I sang into space.
Out of chaos, I make music: anytime, anyplace.

My love flows into a tide like a river that runs to the sea.
So you are fed and watered by me.

I am drink that slakes your thirst for life, I am sustenance you can’t buy.
For the hungry seeking righteousness I am bread that satisfies.
I am good news for the poor; the captive I set free.
In the wilderness I make a way to go: follow me.

I am sculptor of the mountains, I am seamstress of all that is torn.
I am judge who wants to pardon, and I comfort the forlorn.
I am cosmic womb who labors for the fulness of time
When the people of all nations call, "I Am!" That name is mine.

And you know me as a mother who gives milk to her young,
And as father-love that’s prodigal, that waits for your return.
Source of hope, well of blessing, in the face of the sky I smile.
And I’m walking close beside you every mile, after mile.

My love flows into a tide like a rive that runs to the sea.
So you are fed and watered by me.

The Rev Jan Powers is a restless-creative-prophetic -lover of Jesus, an ordained minister in the United Church of Christ, an out bisexual, partnered with Pam for nearly 20 years, and mother to son Jordan, philosopher and gardener. Jan wrote this song after a short-term mission trip to a two-thirds world country. She was saddened by the patriarchal theology that had been imposed on the people. When she arrived home, these lyrics tumbled out of her as a way to affirm the God she knows and loves, whose facets are far more sparklingly diverse than current and recent church history might indicate. Jan is an ordained United Church of Christ minister in Massachusetts.

I Am Not the Perfect Mother

2007-05-30T08:09:00.000-07:00

I am Not the Perfect Mother
(in memory of Susannah Wesley)
by Danielle Thorp

I am sticky, with peanut butter artwork
all over my chair; the table is
covered with crumbs and he grins,
with his brown milk mustache.

Susannah had more children than I
have imagined, yet she lived. I do not
understand. She married a preacher; he
was rarely home. Her children were
rowdy, and she had to cook
on a fire, had to churn
her own butter, had to wash
her own clothes - in a kettle. And
be nice. It is said when she most
needed God, she would throw up her
apron over her head (she had sewn it
herself) and her children were instantly good.

Mine are not. I wash my clothes in a
washing machine, my butter is quite
manufactured, my diet is birthed
in a microwave oven, and my children are
somebody else's. When I most need God -
well, I scream. But then, I have no apron.

Danielle Thorp, known to most of her friends simply as "Happy," is a worship leader and an artist. She loves sunshine, good books, and chocolate - and considers ice cream to be its own food group. She blogs at A Fundamental Shift.

Why I Gave my Daughter a Strong Name

2007-05-30T08:07:00.000-07:00

Why I Gave My Daughter A Strong Name
by Julie Clawson

I gave my daughter a strong name. I wanted her identity to include a symbol of a woman who pursued what was right and followed her dreams even when it defied her society’s expectations for women. So my daughter carries the name Eowyn after the warrior princess from Lord of the Rings. Despite obstacles, Eowyn chose to make a difference for good. She feared her life becoming a cage until she grew old and became content with the fact that “all chance of doing great deeds [was] gone beyond recall or desire.” To have that choice, to be encouraged to make a difference, and to have that freedom to live fully no matter one’s gender is my dream for my daughter as she grows.

During my own childhood my heroes were women – Molly Pitcher, Susan B. Anthony, Sacajewea, Marie Curie. I devoured the series of biographies written for youth that I discovered at my school library, especially the ones about women. I read about women who were strong and fought to achieve their dreams of making the world a better place. And in school the message I received was one of encouragement. I could do whatever I wanted with my life. My options were endless – astronaut, writer, teacher, President, scientist – all were encouraged, all were possible. I was affirmed. I was given role models. I was in a healthy environment.

Then there was church.

Women did not seem to have many options in the world of faith. Never were women up front as leaders and teachers. The Bible stories I heard seemed to reduce women to only their bodies. They were praised for their beauty (Esther), blessed for their wombs (Mary), or cursed for their assumed sexual exploits (Mary Magdalene). The healthy encouragement and role models I saw in the public schools were never present in church. As a child this disconnect didn’t bother me, mainly because I kept church and “real” life strictly separate in my mind. It wasn’t until I began to examine my faith and make it my own that I began to hear the strains of dissonance.

One incident in particular forced me to examine those views of women. I went away to a Christian college and began attending a popular local church – one very similar to the church I grew up in, but even more restrictive of women. In that church, women couldn’t serve anywhere but the nursery (lest they sin by teaching 5-year old “men”); the pastor managed to weave the issue of women’s submission into his sermons on a weekly basis; and letters from people who questioned the pastor’s teaching were read aloud and ridiculed to the whole church. And I was okay with it. Well… truthfully, I hated it; but I made myself be okay with it because I had been taught that it was sinful to question the church.

Then, one Sunday when the college pastor was away, instead of a sermon, we had a time to openly share our testimonies. It was a refreshing and uplifting experience that particularly touched me. Unfortunately the college pastor didn’t agree. The next Sunday when he returned, he solemnly addressed the group and informed us that we had a serious problem. Because more women (7) than men (5) had shared during the testimony time, it meant that women were “leading” our group. And since that was obviously a position that God didn’t want them in – nor one that women themselves truly desired (according to our college pastor) – our group was in sin and needed to change.

That was my last Sunday at that church. I had been unwilling to question the church’s rhetoric against women, but in this instance I was appalled that the church would dare restrict the testimonies of God’s work in people’s lives. At the time, I saw the incident as having little to do with defining women’s roles and everything to do with quenching the Spirit and denying the power of God. If the story of God’s work in my life would be denied the right to be heard, then I finally realized that this was not a place that would allow me to be fully who God made me to be.

The choice to leave and find a new church seemed like a small step, but for me it was the turning point. I had left a church because I knew what they were doing was wrong; and that one choice changed everything. Perhaps that is why I had always been taught it was sinful to question or leave a church; because it does lead one to unexpected places. But from my perspective I had found a new freedom. Freedom to question, to think, to learn, to explore, to be myself as a follower of Christ, and to merge my talents with my faith. This was not a quick or painless process, but it was one that formed me as an individual and as a believer more than anything I had ever experienced before. I could finally dream, as a women and a Christian, of how I could serve God and be who I was created to be.

As I accept that I am free to follow God fully, my desire is for other women to discover what that same freedom looks like for them. I gave my daughter a strong name in hopes that her life will not be lived in a cage. I want her to experience a faith that encompasses all areas of her life and doesn’t offer conflicting messages about her worth as a woman. This is my dream for her and for all women in the church, and I will work to make that dream a reality. I will call for the voices of women to be heard alongside the voices of men. I will educate and encourage. I will help women learn, serve, and lead. I will help women be free to be who God made them to be.

Julie Clawson is a mother and an emerging church-planting pastor in the Chicago area. She enjoys being involved in Emerging Women activities, promoting social justice causes, and reading good books. She blogs at One Hand Clapping and she can be reached at ShalomMJC@msn.com.

The Feminine Side of God

2007-05-30T08:05:00.000-07:00

The Feminine Side of God
by Julie Clawson

At lunch the other day a women who has shown up at our church a few times, and who I am just beginning to get to know, confessed to me that she had recently started to explore her identity as a woman in the church and that it had led her to think about the feminine side of God. She then asked me to not run away from the table because she was a heretic. I didn’t run. I smiled and told her that I had been thinking about the same things.

While my mainline friends shake their heads and tell me they have acknowledged the feminine side of God for years, this is still a big deal in the evangelical world. It’s a taboo that must not be violated; a subject that is not to be explored – at least publicly. But as my friend demonstrated, I am discovering that many evangelical women encountering the freedom and permission to ask questions within the emerging church conversation arrive at this topic sooner or later.

As women explore their faith and read about topics like “how (not) to speak of God”, they become concerned not only with their identity in the church, but with naming God rightly. They realize that all of our language for God is metaphor. The nature of language is that words are not the thing in itself, but a description or symbol of that thing. Words are finite and limited to our experience. So an infinite God cannot fully be defined by words. But God has been partially revealed in terms that we can understand through our experiences. Metaphors are used – objects, ideas, gender- to describe God. In using the metaphors we are saying that God is a bit like these things I am able to understand.

Problems arise when we latch onto one or two of these metaphors and call them theological absolutes. In doing this, we create an idol, a false image to worship that we equate with God. For many in the emerging church conversation that is where this conversation ends – acknowledging that our language for God is limited. But others, especially women, are questioning the idolatry of our gendered language for God. They want to push the conversation further.

Few people hear, God is my rock, and assume that God is physically a rock. No, we understand that there are certain aspects of God that are similar to certain aspects of rocks and leave it at that. But when we hear God called Father, we often create an idol of God in the image of a male. Combine that with a proclivity to only use a few metaphors for God (Father, Almighty, Lord) and we are left with a very limited conception of God that assumes God is male. Re-enforce that message enough over the years and it cements itself in our minds as true biblical doctrine, which is partially why this is such a controversial issue.

Such male-centered language not only implies that women aren’t created in God’s image, but it limits God. God is neither male nor female. We need to be reminded of Deuteronomy 4:15-17, therefore watch yourselves carefully, so that you do not become corrupt and make for yourself an idol, an image of any shape, whether formed like a man or woman…

The call to speak of God rightly has awakened in many women the need to reclaim the feminine metaphors for God. God is of course neither male nor female, but in the image of God both male and female were created. God’s image is reflected in all of us. To use feminine metaphors for God is not a call to swing the pendulum to the other side and think of God as exclusively female, as much of the Divine Feminine and Goddess talk has recently called us to do. It is merely a call to balance our perceptions and rightly name God.

Women are discovering that the use of feminine language for God is not without precedent. Scripture contains many references to God using feminine imagery, and writings from church history contain some beautiful feminine conceptions of God as well. As women study and explore the theology and history of the feminine side of God, it often leads into a journey of self-discovery. They see that our names for God should not exist merely as head knowledge, but that it needs to be translated into heart language and into action. If we have an intellectual understanding that God can be described using multiple metaphors, but we still continue to use our default gendered names for God, we are in essence shoring up the idols. It takes effort to broaden our language and let our words affect our faith practice. I’ve even heard it suggested that some people may need to “detox” from our male image of God by using exclusively female names and metaphors for a time. It is a process that takes being aware of how we address and refer to God and examining why we do so.

As women take the journey of seeking to know God and name God as correctly as they can, they find that they feel more at home in their faith. They feel an integral part of a family that loves and welcomes them as women. They can finally claim to actually reflect God’s image and not be afraid to do so. Contrary to what they expected, they have discovered that it is more heretical to limit God and create idols than it is to explore the multitude of ways we have to catch glimpses of the Divine.

Julie Clawson is a mother and an emerging church-planting pastor in the Chicago area. She enjoys being involved in Emerging Women activities, promoting social justice causes, and reading good books. She blogs at One Hand Clapping and she can be reached at ShalomMJC@msn.com.

Faith Which is Within Me

2007-05-30T07:59:00.000-07:00

Faith Which is Within Me
by Erin Word

Once upon a time not so long ago, I nearly lost my faith. It snuck out the door one night while I was preoccupied, and quickly vanished into the darkness. I didn't see it leave, but soon I noticed something missing. I mistakenly believed it would return on its own, when it was good and ready; but time went by and it did not return. A growing emptiness worried me, I realized I could no longer even remember what it looked like. I determined to set out on a journey to relocate it. I became anxious about where this adventure might take me; what might I find to fill this empty void, and would I know it when I saw it?

I followed the trail my faith had left through wood and dale and field and plain, neath starry skies, moon, and clouds. Soon I came upon a grove of trees, where fairies danced and spells were cast. I caught a glimpse of maidens clothed in capes of green; they called and sang to the earth. Their mystery was enticing, voices whispering in darkness. I was tempted to abide with them, if only for awhile, and yet, something was not quite fitting to me. Suddenly, I recalled my mission, "Have you seen my faith?" I cried to them, hoping they would know.

And the Pagans said, "An it harm none, do what ye will"!

Towards the East I turned, renewing my quest; soon in a foreign land. I saw people dressed in white from head to toe; spinning, swirling in unison, round and round and round, mezmerizingly. They bid me come and dance - one hand receiving from the Divine, one giving away to all; and for a moment I considered it. "Is my faith here, perhaps?" I asked a man as he gracefully passed by me.

And the Sufis said, "Love for others what you love for yourself".

Near hills of red and stripes of coal and clay, I met an old woman holding a pipe, with a fragrant fire to warm herself by. I said, "My faith is missing". She simply smiled and passed me her pipe, motioning to the starry sky. For a moment I felt a sense of peace and unity with all things and wished it would last a lifetime. Then she drew an owl in the dirt with her finger. I understood the sign of wisdom, and saw it in myself, yet did not feel complete.

And the Native Americans said, "All things are our relatives; what we do to everything, we do to ourselves. All is really One".

I came upon a chapel where a group of souls were lighting chalice candles. I sat and watched awhile as they began their lovely singing. The people there were from all walks, and seemed at peace with each other. It was a gentle group of friends and neighbors, where I could feel at home. I tapped a woman near me on the shoulder and inquired, "Has my faith been by this way?"

And the Unitarian Universalists said, "We affirm respect for the interdependence of all existence".

I sighed and turned toward home, knowing I had failed. I wondered if my faith was lonely, was it tired or cold or hungry? Where could it be? I mused, for I have looked in every place I could think to tread. I almost thought I saw it everywhere I went, and yet each was not precisely right. All those things were good, providing comfort to my spirit, I could even, maybe, take a part of each for mixing as my own - a faith concoction unique to me. Yet, all the others, even combined, just could not replace my faith; there was nothing which could compare. I decided I would never see it again, it was gone for good, and I sat upon a grassy hill to weep.

Just then I heard a wind and felt it blow upon my face. It was gentle and soothing for my weary soul. It shared with me an answer and then went upon its way.

"Your faith is not external, an object to be possessed, a thing which could ever be lost and one day found again. Your faith lies is in a Person who is always there within you; He will never leave you nor forsake you and He cannot ever be replaced. However, He is the common ancestor of every faith upon earth. For He has always been, His DNA in all creation; and all resembles Him. This is why the words each faith shared with you seemed very nearly like Him."

And in that moment, I heard Jesus say, "Be to others what you would have them be to you".

Erin Word lives in Portland, Oregon, with her husband and two children. She is an aspiring author and frequent blogger. A self-described freak of faith, she has abandoned the long-held standards of traditional Christianity, seeking instead to wander her own path and breathe the fresher air which exists outside-the-box. Her favorite things are loving, laughing, living. Oh, and Jesus. You can find her at Decompressing Faith.

Fish Out of Water

2007-05-30T07:56:00.000-07:00

Fish Out of Water
(Women in Ministry)
by Lorna Koskela

Women in ministry, a youth at an 8 am communion service, Jesus-lovers in a non-God fearing nation; they all have (at least) one thing in common: they feel – and are often treated - like a fish out of water, even if they are – from God’s perspective – in the right place at the right time.

The Bible is full of examples of fish out of water; women like Priscilla and men like Daniel to name but two. They were godly people, who for reasons beyond their control (the situation in Rome, the exile respectively) had to uproot and go live in a strange environment outside of their comfort zone, learn a new language, and take on new customs. Just like any fish out of water – it was not easy – but they survived the ordeal and brought glory to God.

Today in the C21st, women – and men – of God, young and old, are challenged by the environment in which they find themselves.

Behind the now rapidly rusting iron curtain, in Estonia, the most secular country in the EU¹, and its neighbouring Baltic states of Latvia and Lithuania, Christians are learning that being a fish out of water is part of their calling – and this particularly applies to women in ministry.

We all know the early church survived and indeed thrived in times of extreme persecution, and, it seems that even in the era in which we now live, the church does the same today. In the Baltic States there is living proof that God will build His church, and He uses women – and men –who step out in obedience to do it. For 50 long years the occupying Soviet powers kept the doors of the so-called free churches in Latvia and Lithuania locked and barred, while in Estonia the UMC were given less than 24 hours to find a new home when their church premises in Tallinn were taken over by the KGB no less! Today, after having suffered years of Soviet occupation, Latvia is free- but in an impoverished state. It is the country with the lowest per-capita income and highest inflation in the European Union, while as already mentioned Estonia is the most secular country within the EU. Communism has had it toll –both materially and spiritually it seems – and yet God is building up His church in this part of the world like never before. What’s more He’s using women as labourers to equip the saints for ministry. In Latvia today more than 50% of the pastors in the UMC are female, and just last year the UMC in Estonia ordained their first female elder-in-full connection, finally moving them from the no-man’s land (pun intended!) of being ‘merely’ a local pastor.

Being a pastor –whatever the denomination and whatever your gender- is never easy, and rebuilding a church after 50 years of decimation is not a mission for the feint-hearted. Rev Inese Budnika is one of the pastors in Latvia called to do precisely that. One example of how she –and women like her – are trying to bring the Gospel to people of all ages and from all backgrounds is an inclusive worship service to teach people that they can trust the Resurrection. Poignantly it is asked – whose footsteps are you following? Are you following the trail of the disciples, who scattered and broken after Jesus’ death were in hiding or running around in circles unsure of what to do for fear of being crucified too, or are you treading in the footsteps of those of the women whose steps led straight to Jesus, because they were not afraid to accept the truth of the situation? It’s an interesting question!

In these former Warsaw pact nations, where it was taught for so long that religion was only for losers; where, if there are still church buildings today they are often in bad shape and there is little or no money for their maintenance; where the pastor’s salary (even when it can be paid) is not even nearly enough to live on, let alone raise a family on, and for these reasons many pastors/church workers are bi-vocational, holding down another full time job in order to make ends meet, it would not be strange if Christians, particularly those in ministry, were discouraged. But they are not.

God is calling people into the ministry, the Gospel is being spread and the church is growing. EMKTS, the Baltic Methodist Theological Seminary, otherwise known as the Baltic Mission Center, founded in 1994 “to provide evangelical theological training for church leaders” stands in the heart of Tallinn (the capital of Estonia). Its website states:

“… to date, 60% of our graduates are in full time ministry across the former Soviet world and an additional 30% are actively involved in part time or volunteer work for the cause of Christ! Our graduates serve as pastors, teachers of religion, church planters, evangelists, youth workers, social workers, prison chaplains, military chaplains, Bible translators, etc. God is doing great things! Lives are being changed! The former communist world will never be the same!”²

What is significant is that not only does the seminary in Tallinn recognize that both men and women are future leaders of the church, but it offers a theologically conservative, yet ecumenical education to people from different nations (mostly the Nordic countries and the former Warsaw pact nations) and from several denominational backgrounds. Estonia it seems, may be the most secular nation in Europe, but there is a real sense of one faith, one baptism and one Lord – manifested in one calling: to make disciples and send them (male and female) to the ends of the earth.

Ilse Paukse a candidate for ordination is one such future leader. Alongside her distance learning studies at the seminary in Tallinn, she is working for the Kingdom of God back home in Latvia. She’s already planted a church and is pastoring it part time. For many she might appear to be an enigma, a young woman taking on a role that was traditionally male-only, but if she is a fish out of water, then she’s one who’s learnt to drink deep from the well of living water, and breathe in the spirit of God, and I for one, am convinced that not only is she the right person in the right place at the right time, but that she has been commissioned by God to preach, teach and lead men, women and children in a world that has been turned upside down by the love and grace of Jesus Christ.

1 In a recent survey in Tallinn, Estonia only 17% of the population said that they believed in a god (and not necessarily even the God of the Old and New Testaments)

2 http://www.emkts.ee/ last accessed May 2007, figures refer to graduates up until 2005

Lorna Koskela, who currently lives in a nation that is not her own ( Finland), embracing a language and culture that are not her own and loving it. Lorna , who is 47, is a final year student at EMKTS and blogs about her journey with God at See-Through Faith.

Stolen Identity

2007-05-30T07:55:00.000-07:00

Stolen Identity
by Crystal Neill

There was a story in the newspaper years ago about this woman who celebrated the Millennium in Las Vegas. After a long night of celebrating, she began to cross the street and was smacked by a car,and then another car. She was hit about three or four times before anyone could come to her side. As she lay there dying, people on the sidewalk ran to her and stole everything out of her purse. She died soon after at the hospital while thieves gambled with her credit cards and ran up all kinds of purchases in her name.

They had stolen her identity and used it to get what they wanted.

A few years ago, I was "struck by a car". I had just received one of my new identities, "divorced", quit my high-profile corporate job, handing over the identity of "Corporate Crystal" and began my new role in life as a church planter.

There I was, the Divorced Church Planter. Sounds pretty appealing, right?

I knew the Divorced Church Planter was my new identity because that is how people talked about me, "Yeah, she just went through a divorce, but she quit her job to help plant a church." It was on my lips, too. I was embarrassed that I was a divorced Christian, but I took pride in the fact that I left my well-paying job to do the Lord's work. I handed over who I was to someone that used my brokenness to control me. When I decided to leave the church plant that I had poured all of me into, I was left with nothing. I was completely broke. My heart was even more broken than my bank account and I had no clue what to do.

I sat on a couch for about three months conversing with God (and by conversing, I mean, yelling at).

It was the first time since I was twelve that I had not worked. It was the first time in my life I was alone. It was the first time in my life I didn't have anywhere to be on Sunday morning. I was lost.

I remember yelling at God, "What the f*ck? I have followed you my whole life and this is what I get? This is bullsh*t." Yep, I gave God the finger. But, God listened to me and He was quiet for awhile...He let me get out the pain I needed to vent and when I was ready, He said, "I love you." And I said, "That's all you got for me? " (Anger pie for dessert, anyone???) He replied, "Be still for a second."

In the quiet of the house I was living in God spoke to me, "I know your hurt. I felt it and I hate that you had to go through that. Now, listen to me. All of the things you used to cling to, cut the ties. The marriage, the church, your business card...Cut the ties. Cling to me. You are my child. I love you. You are forgiven. You are loved. You are valuable. You are free. "

In that moment, God handed me my true identity - it didn't include my weight or height , it didn't have my empty ring finger, it didn't have my failures, it didn't even have all of the things I had done right in my life. It just said...God's child.

Psalm 139:13-16
For you created my inmost being;
You knit me together in my mothers womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
Your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,
Your eyes saw my unformed body.
All the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.

Crystal Neill is a 32 year old foul-mouthed pastor's wife living in Portland, Oregon.

Interview with Pastor Rose Swetman

2007-05-30T07:53:00.000-07:00

Interview with Pastor Rose Swetman
by Pam Hogeweide

In 2006 I was in Seattle for a small conference hosted by Vineyard Community Church. Rose Swetman, who co-pastors the church with her husband Rich, sat down in an impromptu discussion with some of us. That day, she said something that wrecked my thinking about women in spiritual leadership. "It's not an issue of theology," she said, "it's an issue of justice." From that point on, my conviction about women in spiritual leadership changed from a theological dilemma to a dilemma of equality.

I am pleased to introduce her to the readers of The Porpoise Diving Life.

Tell me a little about yourself, Rose: I live in Mountlake Terrace, WA. Our facility is located in Shoreline, WA (just north of Seattle). I have been married to Rich for 10 years and we have a blended family of 8 children and 11 grandchildren. We are still parenting a 9 year old, Alex. I am currently in the doctoral program at Bakke Graduate University, Seattle.

How long have you been a pastor and when did you first decide to be a pastor? Tell me how that happened... I don’t have a moment that I decided it was just who I was and what I did. In 1987 I began working with a team at Alderwood Vineyard. The leadership of this church endorsed women in ministry. I led different groups and in 1994 was part of a planting team with two couples (I was single) and in 1996 I was ordained and set in as the associate pastor of the church I now lead. My ordination and pastoral call really came out of what I was doing.

What have been the special challenges and rewards of being a woman pastor? Challenges: in the greater evangelical church world I have been marginalized (even in my own association – the Vineyard) labeled as a “feminist” or a woman with “an agenda”. Also, there have been folks that have come to the church I serve to check it out and leave because they don’t believe in women in ministry. Rewards: The congregation I serve has empowered me to lead in all the ways that my giftings and talents allow. Being involved in the spiritual formation that comes from being involved in community is probably the greatest reward.

Do you network with other women pastors? In what capacity? Are there other women pastors in the Vineyard movement? Do you know how many? In the past I have never intentionally networked with just women pastors. I have a friend, Deb Loyd, that I have much in common with, we are in the BGU doctoral program together and then there are a couple of young women I mentor. Recently the Vineyard movement has made a shift that on a national level that they will recognize and empower women in all levels of leadership. Since September I have been networking with a few of the women in the Vineyard functioning in Senior leadership in their churches. There are about 20 of us.

Have you ever had a theology or belief that women ought not to be pastors? I was raised Roman Catholic – I thought the only way women could serve was to become a nun. At age 21 I belonged to a Pentecostal church that modeled women in senior leadership. So, no other than my childhood I did not know that women could not be pastors.

What is your background in regards to women leaders? Have you had women leaders in your life? My first experience in evangelical/Pentecostal church was in a church and denomination that ordained women. The pastors modeled co-pastoring. His wife was ordained as well so there was a real team in senior leadership. She taught, preached and ran leadership meetings. Other than that experience my mentors have been men. Women mentors came from books, Barbara Brown Taylor’s preaching books helped me tremendously hear a woman’s preaching voice. Sadly there were not any visible women leaders in my purview for the past 8 years.

I heard you say, "Women in leadership is not an issue of theology, but an issue of justice." What are your thoughts about those who interpret the bible as barring women from being pastors? While everyone is free to their own interpretation, my view is with all the scholarly work on this issue where brilliant minds disagree my question is, why would you not fall on the side of freedom? Gender inequality to me is very anti kingdom theology. To tell me I have not heard the Lord and am out of biblical order because I am a woman is almost equivalent to the caste system. In my opinion, those who interpret the bible and bar women from being pastors is a justice issue just as much as slavery was and racism is to this day.

Missional is a buzz word for many progressive Christians. What does missional mean to you and how does that translate in the church you pastor? You know because it has become such a buzz work I almost don’t like it anymore. For me the missional literature came out at a time that I was trying to make sense of “church” it helped give me language to re-imagine the church as a sent people living a mission-focused life. How that translates in the church I serve…we have wrestled our way through to a couple of core values: spiritual practices (connecting meaningfully with God – or in other words loving God) and serving others (we believe followers of Jesus are to live out their faith as part of the new humanity in serving others in three realms, personal – family, friends, co-workers, neighborhood, faith community—local realm – if you have a facility to gather for worship then to serve that local community –global – anywhere beyond the local community – loving neighbor) it is pretty simple for us.

What advice would you have for women who are considering their roles in leadership in the body of Christ? Don’t limit what God might have for you because of biblical interpretation. Find men and women that will encourage you to fulfill whatever role, gift and call you might have in your heart. I am beginning to get calls from women who are in churches where the senior leadership (all men) will not recognize women pastors and they wonder what to do. I try to listen and encourage them to be faithful to God and the desires God has put in their hearts.

What's up ahead for you these days? Finishing my doctoral program is a top priority. Developing the non-profit agency we have birthed out of our church is next…keeping up with my pastoral role and of course finding the rhythm with my husband and kids makes for a very full life.

Pam Hogeweide is a writer and avid tattoo collector who lives in Portland, Oregon where she spends lots of time drinking coffee with her friend Erin. When she's not busy getting tattoos or bugging Erin she blogs at How God Messed Up My Religion.

Book Review: Fight Like a Girl

2007-05-30T07:51:00.000-07:00

Fight Like a Girl : The Power of Being a Woman

by Lisa Bevere (Warner Faith, 2006)

A book review by Susan Barnes

In her book, Fight Like a Girl, author and speaker Lisa Bevere seeks to correct the way women perceive themselves. Modern media, cultural norms and traditional viewpoints have all damaged women's confidence and self esteem. Women have a unique place in the purposes of God but this has often been overlooked or underrated in church circles. Bevere aims to present a more accurate view of women based on Biblical teaching. She points out the God-given strengths women have and how women are meant to come along side men rather than be in competition with them.

Bevere encourages women to be all that God intends them to be, to find their giftedness and talents so they can reach their potential in whatever roles God calls them to. For women who have experienced hurt and rejection at the hands of men she brings a message of hope and healing. Bevere uses examples from her own life which makes for interesting reading and practical teaching. I found the book easy to read, uplifting and encouraging.

Center of my Worth

2007-05-30T07:46:00.000-07:00

The Center of my Worth
by Cynthia Clack

The first clue came when he refused a trip to the library, choosing to stay home and take a nap. Several meals with no appetite and complaints of a headache were the second clue. When small red bumps began to appear on his stomach there was no denying the third. Chicken pox had come to visit. He and his brother were not around for the great family chicken pox epidemic eleven years ago that left my other seven children and me down for the count. It was their turn; at least one of them. With the other quick to follow, I was sure.

In a matter of hours the focus of my time and energy changed. I had a writing deadline in the midst of the normal busyness as a wife and mother. This would have to be set aside for trips to the store to stock up on oatmeal bath and calamine lotion. The first priority was getting drinks, pampering skin, playing games to distract from the itching. Other necessities of life filled up the rest of my moments.

My heart was pulled in two directions as I instinctively cared for my sick child but I longed to enter into that writing process of organizing my thoughts, researching, editing and rewriting. My mind swirled with recent questions as I wondered why it is that when her children need her, a woman’s world comes to a stop in a way that rarely happens with a man. My husband’s agenda wasn’t changed a bit by this illness.

I entertained internal rants at the injustice and whined to myself a bit. My thoughts returned to the great question of our day: What is the purpose of my life? Earlier that week, I had struggled with feeling like I was living vicariously through my husband as he dealt with important and interesting things, with a job that mattered to the public. My own life seemed mundane in comparison as I wondered what difference I was making. I had left behind a mindset that shaped my view of God based on what the world and then the church taught me about being a woman and I have been renewing my mind by knowing God first and letting Him form me as a woman. Many times though, I felt confused as old ideas clashed with the new.

What is the worth of a woman? Songs have been written about it, books are published about it, the culture defines it one way while the church defines it another. The former holds an expectation that women be beautiful. Never mind that the media has so distorted the concept of beauty that no woman can measure up on her own.

Unfortunately, many in the church embrace the same expectation.

Having a husband and raising children is usually the standard for those in the church. It seems that no real worth is attached except through other people in a woman’s life. It has been an interesting process to watch my twenty-year old daughter wrestle with having identity and purpose without a husband and children while I am wrestling with having identity and purpose with a husband and children. Both sides determine value upon career choices. Will she pursue an education and a career that will bring her accomplishment and viable income? If so, she will have to handle the challenge of balancing work and family without error, or risk condemnation from both sides. Or will she choose to stay home and practice the vintage homemaking skills of her foremothers? Regardless, neither side gives equal recognition or pay to a woman as to her male counterparts.

Let me personalize the question. What is my worth as a woman? I am a wife, a homeschooling mother, an artist, a writer, a daughter, a friend. But those are roles. Those things, or how well I do those things, do not determine my worth. It sounds cliché to say but my worth is found in Christ alone. A simple truth that is not so easy to hold onto sometimes.

It is more identifiable to look to people, to things, to accomplishments that will measure my value. However, when I do this, I inevitably feel like I am out of balance. I try to restore balance by allotting a percentage of my time and energy to one aspect of my life, another percentage to something else, until I have depleted all my time and energy and I am left exhausted, empty and wasted.

What if I look to Jesus to measure my value? What if He were my focus? Think of it as dancing or yoga. To maintain balance, one simply stays grounded in their center. The attention is not diverted to this arm or that leg but the focus is on the center and all else flows from there.

Another way I can look at it is to imagine a drawn circle that represents my life. I am a point on that circle and all around it are other points that represent my roles in life … my husband, my children, my friends, my art. In the center is Jesus. I don’t look at anything else without looking through Jesus. My movement is required; I must adjust myself to keep Him as center as I attend to the roles in my life. Christ defines my mission, my design, my worth and everything I do abounds from Him.

Since no one else determines my worth, no one else can diminish my worth. No opinion, no judgment, no expectation can add to or take away from the value assigned to me. Believing this has the power to change how I conduct my life. It empowers me to have gourmet chicken or hot dogs for dinner, to converse with emerging voices online or read Harry Potter aloud, to write thought provoking articles or minister to an ailing child when he needs me. When all I do is for and through Jesus alone, I hold the highest value.

Cynthia Clack attributes her creative inspiration, her wonder of life and her limited time and energy to one incredible husband and nine dynamic children. Add in three dogs, three cats, various rodents that have come and gone, including a recent visit from a possum and the picture of managed chaos becomes apparent. She shares her questions and few answers, her real life and dreams and her journey in the grace, love and mercy of God at Graceful Journey.

Round Peg in a Square Hole

2007-05-30T07:41:00.000-07:00

Round Peg In A Square Hole
by Rhonda Mitchell

We had formed a circle in the living room and by all appearances we were doing our meeting New Testament style. You know, the proper way.

Our meeting was an "apostolic" meeting. We were hand picked by the Pastor. We were the chosen ones. I felt special.

There my husband and I sat, eager to find out what special talents we had and how we'd be used by God. I can't remember when the yellow flag started waving, but it was after the first meeting or two. We'd make small talk until the Pastor would call everyone over to begin.

The question we were asked to answer were meant to target the unspiritual ones in the group and to raise up the spiritual. A couple began before me and my husband. When it was my turn, I rambled off something as spiritual as I could muster, but in the end I couldn't pull it off. I didn't have nor want spiritual psychobabble. I could see some of the group look at me with patronizing half grins.

It was Mark's turn. It was evident right away that he was the one they had picked. They smiled, shook their heads with approving nods, and said their amen's. When he was finished it was made clear and in no uncertain terms that I was to help him fulfill his calling. God placed me in my husband's life to pray, and that was a very much needed role. Mark was to be the minister.

His giftings were evident. As I write this I read it and see that this could have been a detriment to our relationship.

By the time we left this group of people Mark was asked to leave me at home and come alone. He was a good husband and came to my defense. They still weren't convinced. They really didn't see it working out for me to be on the apostolic team. I could pray but I would not be officially released. I sat there with the feeling of a bad storm in my chest. I felt the rain pummel me and thoughts from my childhood washed in again- You're an accident; you'll never amount to much; you don't fit in. I excused myself to the rest room where I gained my composure. I fought back tears of rejection. I should have represented myself better. But out there in the living room there were other spouses being told the same thing.

This wasn't about being a woman though it probably would have been easier if it had been. It was about who in the eyes of the leadership looked the part. Apparently, I had not sold myself properly.

I've always been a different thinker when it comes to the sacred and secular. I was never convinced that they were two separate entities. When you are in a group of people that draw defining lines between the two it's obvious that things will clash.
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I clashed with their idea of how we should do things and how that might look. I even pushed the lines when it came to what ministering to people should look like. As far as I was concerned it could mean skipping Sunday morning service to visit an elderly friend in a nursing home.

I look back on these events and am grateful that I'm not hurt or angry anymore. Maybe it's because I know these people really believed what they were doing was right. Maybe it's because I know that these ugly events were a necessary part of my journey. I did have a couple of opportunities to explain where I was coming from with the back up support of my husband.

Little did we know then that we were like-minded to the Emerging Church in thought and ideas. After finding affirming articles and reading blogs and living in community with some really great people, we've moved beyond this experience and have tried to learn from our mistakes - the mistake of thinking that to be legitimate we have to adhere to a set of religious rules, the mistake of allowing clergy to disqualify me because I didn't have the right verbiage, the mistake of thinking one person is more spiritual than another or that some giftings are elevated above others.

We've learned to bring a voice to this somewhat hidden treasure we call Emerging or Missional church.

This journey we call life was never intended to be so difficult and cumbersome. Let's keep it simple.

I Corinthians 1:17 For Christ didn't send me to baptize, but to preach the Good News-and not with clever speeches and high-sounding ideas, for fear that the cross of Christ would lose it's power.

Rhonda Mitchell lives in Janesville, WI and is married to her best friend. Together they're blessed with 3 wonderful sons. She is in the process of re-thinking church and faith and is learning to be content with having more questions than answers. You can reach her by e-mail at mitchell_rhonda at yahoo dot com or by visiting her blog, Rhonda's Blog.

The Mirror

2007-05-30T07:27:00.000-07:00

The Mirror
by Sonja Andrews

Once upon a time, beloved, there was a great large and wonderful Mirror with special miraculous powers. Anyone might consult it at any time. It would always reflect back to the consulter a full and complete image of the answer to the question put to it. The images were always beautiful and perfect; lovely to behold.

Everyone was happy, beloved, in the land of Happy Thoughtsanddeeds. They knew where to find their answers when they needed them. They talked with one another and they spoke to the Mirror too. Everyone got along. Nobody thought any less of themselves and nobody thought any more of themselves.

The time came when BadNewsDude slipped into this land of Happy Thoughtsanddeeds. He knew that of all the people in the land, there was only one whose ear would be open to hear his words. So BadNewsDude hid out for a while near the Mirror to see who should chance by. BadNewsDude was endlessly patient.

Finally, along came a young couple, Dave and Dawn. When BadNewsDude approached them they could see him and hear him. At last! Someone to hear his tale of woe and so he began to tell the long sad story of how he too, used to live in the land of Happy Thoughtsanddeeds. He told about how, through no fault of his own, he’d been unjustly accused of heinous crimes. His sentence was to spend his days slithering and crawling on his belly until someone could find it in their heart to forgive him. Dave and Dawn looked at each other, at BadNewsDude, then at each other again. They realized that BadNewsDude was asking something of them that they did not want to give. So they asked him to leave them alone while they talked to the Mirror. But BDN kept pestering them. He wanted to live in the land again. And he kept talking. He kept bothering them. He just would ... not ... shut ... up! Until finally he got on Dawn’s last nerve and... she threw a rock at him!

What? A gasp went out through the whole land. Nothing of this sort had ever happened in the land. Whenever the people had a problem, they talked about it and came to agreements. But no one...ever...threw... a rock.

In the next minute, the Mirror cracked all the way up the middle. A great, long and jagged crack, with lots of little spider legs running off in all directions.

Dave and Dawn were frozen, side by side, looking at each other and looking at the Mirror.

The Elders came running up to see what had happened. They all consulted the Mirror to see how they should proceed. The Mirror held all three of them responsible for the damage that had been done in the land of Happy Thoughtsanddeeds.

As it happened, beloved, the women all stood with Dawn and the men all stood with Dave. So the women all saw a portion of the image that the Mirror was now able to show them. And the men all saw a portion. But the women could no longer see the men’s portion and the men could no longer see the women’s portion.

The Mirror spoke to them as it had in the past. But the message it gave was no longer clear. The people were now confused about how to relate to one another. They didn’t know how to go about settling their differences. They couldn’t hear from the Mirror and they could no longer see it’s beautiful images as whole, perfect pictures.

Early on, the Elders would gather when people attempted to consult the Mirror and help them with putting the pieces together. For a while life continued on as it always had in the land. Gradually, the people began to think they could consult the Mirror again on their own.

The Elders began to die. The new Elders were not as skilled in reading the broken Mirror. All these things happened and many others.

The biggest problem everyone faced, though, was that no one could see a perfect image anymore. The women all saw one part. The men all saw another. They tried diligently to describe their parts to one another, but each secretly thought that the other’s part wasn’t quite as important as their own. In the earlier days, this allowed everyone to hobble along. It wasn’t quite as wonderful as when the Mirror was whole. It wasn’t terrible either. It was still the Land of Happy Thoughtsanddeeds. But over time it came to pass that everyone expected the men would do the describing and women would do the listening.

This filled the men with self-importance, self-love, and self-loathing. For each of them knew both the great and horrible things they were capable of. Without the balance provided by the women’s portion of the image, they were in perpetual danger of committing horrible things. But no one was willing or able to hear or ask for the women’s portion of the image.

On the other hand this turn of events filled the women with self-importance, self-love and self-loathing. They knew the great and horrible things they were capable of. Without giving their voice to the men’s image they perpetuated the danger. They sat mute, filled with self-pity and refused to participate in the process. No one was willing or able to speak into the midst of the men’s voices.

More years passed. Men and women grew further apart, though in some small ways they grew closer together. But in the larger ways, they did not know how to talk to each other. The men knew how to describe the men’s image, but they did not know how to hear the women. The women knew how to hear the men’s image, but they did not know how to describe the women’s image for them. In every way they had lost the ability to reflect or communicate those perfect lovely images they had once seen in the Mirror.

People continued to attempt to live after the images that had been shown long ago. Many attempts were ragged and bitter. Ragged because the men, having lost their hearing, did not have a whole perfect image to use for a pattern. Bitter because the women, having lost their voices, could not use a whole perfect image to use for a pattern.

Which brings us to the end of our story, beloved. The men and women no longer live in the land of Happy Thoughtsanddeeds. They are struggling to find each other and their wonderful Mirror again. There are a few men who wonder if perhaps they have lost their hearing, and how they could get it back. There are a few women who are learning how to speak. The few men and the few women seem to understand that it will take both of them working together, describing their images to each other to find their way back to the Mirror. So while our story ends here, beloved, it may be that the people will someday find their land and their Mirror again. But it will take quite a long time indeed.

Sonja Andrews is a quilter, fiber artist, writer and homeschooling mother who lives in Virginia but her heart is in Montana. She has been exploring the Celtic way of faith for several years and enjoys story-telling as a learning tool. She blogs under the pseudonym aBhantiarna Solas at Calacirian and can be e-mailed at Sonja at paxunum dot org.

The Stained-Glass Ceiling

2007-05-30T07:25:00.000-07:00

The Stained-Glass Ceiling
by Kathy Escobar

I have pushed my head past the stained-glass ceiling. I look around and sometimes I can’t believe I’m here. I have to admit, the shards kind of hurt. I never set out to break through anything, but here I am, married with kids, just turned forty years old, co-pastoring a crazy church plant in North Denver, trying to live out what I really believe—that equality and diversity are sadly missing in the evangelical church and a different way is possible.

It seems so simple to me, ridiculous that people even argue about it, but the stained-glass ceiling is alive and well in the church. It’s hard to break through it. I have cuts to prove it.

I never thought I’d be a pastor. I wasn’t raised in a Christian family and didn’t know a thing about what good Christian women are supposed to be like. I was a liberal, an activist, always the one fighting for the underdog, but somewhere along the way I got suburbanized.

I married a military pilot, started having babies, began attending a conservative church with some friends, and the next thing I knew I got sucked into the typical role of a white, suburban evangelical Christian wife.

A few years into my marriage, though, I got mixed up with a group of women who started asking some tough questions about life and God. I got honest about my past, stopped pretending, and began to realize how submissive I had become in my relationships. Soon, we got into trouble at our conservative church; I guess we weren’t using the Bible enough. The more trouble we got in, the more my heart was coming alive. Jesus lit a fire in me to help set others free, too. I got sick and tired of all of the rules, the roles, the forbidden topics in the church, so I ignored the status quo and kept creating pockets of women who were hungry for authenticity, truth, freedom. During that season as a lay leader I didn’t worry about politics or status or organizational bullsh*t. I was just focused on whoever was in front of me who wanted to taste the real thing in their spiritual journey.

I went to seminary for a few years assuming that I’d keep helping women because that is what I loved to do. I feel so naïve now, limiting myself unintentionally, but no one was telling me otherwise. Then, in a wild and crazy twist, I got hired unexpectedly onto a mega-church staff as a care pastor. The interesting part was initially the title was Coordinator of Care. Hmm, but the guy in the job before was the Care Pastor. I spoke up—That’s not fair, I’m going to be doing the same thing as him. I won the battle not really knowing in that exact moment I had hit the stained-glass ceiling.

Over the next few years, I had a lot of influence in the recovery and healing community at our church. I realize now, in hindsight, that care and counseling is politically acceptable for a woman in church, kind of like all those vice presidents of human resources that are running around in corporate America. Still, I knew I was making an impact ministering to men and women, teaching, leading, and facilitating. But when the new, bright-eyed and bushy tailed teaching pastor (who was egalitarian) asked me to team teach with him all hell broke loose. It was the first time in the history of our supposedly progressive church that a woman had ever done anything but the announcements on stage. Before and afterward, some of the elders beliefs about women in leadership started seeping out. They liked me teaching to the addicts, but when it came to big church their theology didn’t allow it.

The fallout was brutal. It knocked the wind out of me. I easily could have stayed in the system, remained the token woman on the 9-member pastoral leadership team, and said the correct party line things to keep my job...and continue doing the announcements. But too much damage to my spirit had been done, the injustice had become too apparent. 100% of the time we never hear from 50% of the population kept ringing in my head.

There were many guest speakers who filled in at our church got to teach just because of their anatomy. I had more seminary training and graduate school than most pastors on our staff, but people still asked the business director with a finance degree to marry them before considering me. The list of injustices started to add up. The lights went on and boy were they bright.

There really was nowhere else for an evangelical leader like me to go. Thankfully, my friend the teaching pastor challenged me to do a new thing that I believe is the heartbeat of the church Jesus dreamed of—shared leadership, women and men serving alongside with different giftedness to bring to the table.

He asked me to co-pastor with him. I was terrified. I kept resisting but deep inside I felt Jesus whispering, It’s possible. Enough people kept encouraging me. My husband was my greatest cheerleader. This is a battle worth fighting. God has called you to be a pastor, you can’t get away from it. Lean into it. You can’t convince everyone so don’t even try.

So, we planted a new church called The Refuge. We are committed to equality, diversity, advocating for the marginalized and oppressed. And as the co-pastor, I am learning to use the voice He gave me, to shepherd, to boldly lead, and to love my neighbor.

A lot of conservative evangelicals think we’re out of God’s will, but in the emergent community I’m finding there are many who believe in what we are doing, who have this lovely and beautiful dream of the Kingdom here on earth... the one with no stained-glass ceiling.

Kathy Escobar co-pastors The Refuge, a church plant in north Denver committed to the messy, the hurting, the marginalized. she co-authored 'Come With Me: An Invitation to Break Through the Walls Between You and God', published by Discovery House Press, she also co-authored some new material coming out July 2007 called 'Refresh: Sharing Stories, Building Faith'; it's in a magazine format and published by New Hope. She can be found at The Refuge, The Refuge Blog, or you can email her at kathy at therefugeonline dot org.

Book Review : The Lost Apostle

2007-05-30T07:20:00.001-07:00

The Lost Apostle: Searching For The Truth About Junia
by Rena Pederson

A book review by Donna Van Horn

Junia, who was Junia? I don’t know about you, but I tend to skim fast over names in the bible. Junia or Junias, depending on the translation, was just another strange name to be overlooked.

Then someone mentioned Junia was a female name….whoa, wait a minute, Paul was talking about apostles (Romans 16:7). Could he have been ministering along side with a woman?

Thankfully Rena Pederson, an award-winning and Pulitzer Prize nominated journalist, asked the same questions.

In her book, The Lost Apostle, she goes to great lengths to satisfy her journalistic curiosity. Spending time with theologians and biblical scholars, as well as trekking around the world, readers might expect a dry, boring history book. Instead, with a style reminiscent of Anne Lamott, the author brings life to an old mystery.

In the process of trying to find Junia, Pederson delves into the world and life of the early church. Those who are interested in how women influenced the church in it’s infancy and want to see what leadership roles women had will enjoy this book.

Donna Van Horn has always been a voracious reader, and any subject was fair game - from religion to history to sports. She lives in Vancouver, Wa and has been married to Chuck, who has patiently and lovingly supported her 'book habit', for 19 years. Her other interests include nature photography and anything else that gets her out of the house! You can find her at her blog Adventures in Washington and her Myspace page.

Women Christian Leaders: The Wisest Wager

2007-05-30T07:20:00.000-07:00

Women Christian Leaders: The Wisest Wager
by Helen Mildenhall

Are you familiar with Pascal’s Wager? Pascal likened how we choose to live to placing a bet. He said, bet on God: if you’re right you gain everything. If you’re wrong you lose nothing. Whereas if you bet against God and you’re wrong, you lose everything.

What if we approached the issue of women Christian leaders this way?

People who bet on Christian women leaders are betting that God wants both men and women to lead at all levels.They are betting that it is not wrong, per se, for a woman to hold a senior leadership position. This was always his plan, they bet, but human sin got in the way. Women who believe they’ve been called by God into senior leadership have indeed heard the voice of God...so, the Bible either affirms that God wants this or else it does not address what he wants in our time.

People who bet against women Christian leaders are betting that God wants men exclusively in senior leadership positions, and that it is God’s created order that puts men over women rather than sin. Women who believe themselves called by God into senior leadership are simply mistaken.

Historically the church has bet against Christian women leaders. If they are right the benefit is that they’re pleasing God by doing his will.

More recently there have been some Christians have dared to bet the other way. If they’re right they gain more than the first group. In addition to pleasing God by doing his will they’re blessing women by honoring the call of God on their lives. They’re bringing a new richness to leadership by allowing women to participate as fully as God intended. They’re allowing the church to catch up with the world outside which increasingly recognizes the value and giftedness of women.

If the historic position of the church is wrong, people who continue to bet that women are rightly excluded from Christian leadership are displeasing God in an age when society is allowing them less excuses to do so. They’re also being unkind to women and dishonoring women (and God) by saying “You cannot have heard God’s voice”. They may be mislabeling a sense of discomfort over the idea of Christian women leaders as “God saying no” when in fact it’s caused by fears of change and the unknown. They’re making the easy choice to stick with tradition rather than to challenge it.

If, on the other hand, people betting for women Christian leaders are wrong, they must be displeasing God and standing in direct opposition to him. But I see many things he might give them credit for anyway: They’re being kind to women; they’re honoring what might have been a real call of God to women; male Christian leaders are giving up their own power so women might have more, and they’re showing courage by making the hard choice to break tradition in spite of their fears of change and the unknown and of relinquishing power and control.

Betting on women Christian leaders is clearly the best choice, whether or not the bet is won or lost. As long as I’m right in betting that God highly values courage and kindness.

Helen Mildenhall lives in Illinois with her husband and two children. She hosts the blog Conversation at the Edge and is blog manager for Off The Map, an organization promoting otherliness, the spirituality of serving others.