Hit the Ground Crawling

And just like that, “Sacred Days” are over (well, sort of… we still have a couple of days until Epiphany, but some of us have to go back to work), and I found myself flailing wildly, searching for my cell phone in a near panic when my previously mentioned legitimate alarm clock went off at 5am, and I neglected to remember my new plan to turn off electronic devices and pack them away until after the daily office, every morning…

I never do anything halfway, and a phrase I have come to embrace in recent years is, “hit the ground running.” 

However, I feel like, “hit the ground crawling,” might better describe me as of late.

It’s day four of a new year, and… decidedly… I still don’t have it all together.  You would think I’d wake up one of these days finding that this had changed, right?  Here’s a new favorite quote:

“Courage doesn’t always roar, sometimes it’s the quiet voice at the end of the day whispering, ‘I will try again tomorrow.’” –Mary Anne Radmacher

Just a few weeks ago, during the short Advent season which seemed longer than ever, I read about, wrote about, and spoke about peace.  And here we are again:

Psalm 85:8, “Let me hear what God the Lord will speak, for he will speak peace to his people…” (NRSV).

If you’re sitting on the floor, today, wondering how to win the race when you can’t even get out of the blocks; you might pause to remember… It’s not a sprint.  It’s not even a marathon.  Peace is better than chaos, and it begins with us.  Peace is not about being the best but about being who you were meant to be, which most often includes sacrificing everything you thought you wanted for the sake of others.

Did you ever notice how the priests who carried the ark of the covenant across the Jordan river, “stood in the middle of the Jordan, until the entire nation finished crossing over…” (Joshua 3:17) or how we’re called to, “live in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us…” (Ephesians 5:2) or how even Jesus did some really weird stuff, seemingly not the kind of things you would expect from Messiah, like spitting on the ground and granting sight through the use of a mud mask (see John 9)? 

Just in case we’re still unclear (and by we, I almost always mean me); it’s not a glamorous life, this following—literally following—to the point of being last… this servanthood that sometimes requires spitting and getting our hands dirty… this crawling around on the floor, knowing that running would be faster but would not incite peace… this sitting in silence, listening to the voice of God…

L.

The Weirdest Marriage Arrangement, Maybe Ever

If you want to read a story about a dysfunctional family, Genesis is your book… and Jacob is your guy.

Over the course of several weeks, we’ve been following the odd beginnings of Jacob’s life, from his birth moment, when he grasped his brother’s foot on the way out, to the stealing of birthright and blessing.  There are places in his narrative where we celebrate and other places where we stop to question, “Jacob, what in the world are you doing?”  When you take cultural context into consideration, I guess it’s not substantially different than the ups and downs that all of humanity experiences in everyday life. 

But when it comes to Jacob’s marriage, things get more bizarre than they already were.  Welcome to Sacramental Saturday! 

For some time now, I have been claiming that the grace imparted in sacramental, covenantal marriage must surely be the grace that allows us to live an entire lifetime with one person without killing him or her.  Sounds harsh, but I’ve been married for almost 20 years.  Believe me when I say there are moments when we need that kind of grace.

Ironically, Jacob (who has been something of a master deceiver his entire life) meets his match when he finds the woman of his dreams.  That should be a funny pun, but it’s not, because his match is his future father-in-law… times two…

Here’s the short backstory:

Jacob works for Laban for seven years in order to marry Rachel (Laban’s youngest daughter), whom Jacob loves.  After Jacob consummates his marriage, he finds out it is Leah (Laban’s oldest daughter) in his bed.  I struggle with this detail.  Really, Jacob?  How did you not know this?  But whatever.  I guess it was dark.

Most people preach this passage with a “poor, poor Jacob” mentality.  A few people might also exclaim, “poor, poor Rachel.”  Several years ago, I finally heard someone lament for Leah.  The daily office picks up with the justifiable reason why, today, beginning with Genesis 29:31 that reads, in part, “Leah was not loved…” 

Leah gives birth to four sons.  The first three times, she believes this will cause Jacob to love her.  The fourth time, she praises God, and then she stops having children.  Never, in any of this, is there any indication that Jacob loves this woman.  Marriage used to be something different than we make it now, but I have to think the whole situation here kind of stunk for everyone involved.

And then it gets worse…

Rachel, who has been unable to have children to this point, gets so upset that she threatens Jacob, “Give me children, or I’ll die!” (Gen. 30:1).  Taking a page from Sarah’s book… you know… the page about Hagar and Ishmael… Rachel provides Jacob with one of her servants and takes the two children she bears as her own.  Then Leah also provides a servant and takes a couple of her sons.

And then it gets worse… or maybe it just stays horrible, because at this point it is difficult to rate the degree of awful this whole thing has become…

Leah’s oldest son finds some mandrake plants one day, and Rachel wants them.  Leah says, “No!  You can’t have my kid's plants.  You already took my husband.”  Somehow I find this at least slightly humorous, but you have to remember that this family is serious about their meals (Esau… birthright… bowl of soup), and Rachel really wants those mandrakes. 

So… she trades them for one night of sex with Jacob. 

I’m honestly not quite sure how she gets away with this.  In the patriarchal culture of which they are a part, it seems backwards.  This is the only situation in Scripture that I can recall in which a man is sold into sexual slavery, by his wife… to his other wife…  I have no idea how the deal holds up, but Rachel gets her plants and Leah gets another baby, which she sees as a reward from God for offering up her servant to Jacob.

Leah subsequently gives birth to son number six and returns to her longing to be loved.  Maybe six sons will do what five could not.  And then there’s a daughter.

After all of this, “God remembered Rachel” (Gen 30:22), and she conceived a son of her own. 

End daily office reading for today…

What???

In the coming weeks, I am looking forward to doing some interviews with couples who have been married for various amounts of time.  I feel confident that no one will share a story quite like this one, but I also think there is much to be learned about expectations and the reality of marriage based on the experiences of others.  Stay tuned…

 
L.

Rules of Engagement

I haven’t always been a raging feminist.  OK, let’s be real.  I’m probably still not exactly a raging feminist, although I do talk pretty big.  I spent a large part of my early adulthood proclaiming that I would be completely happy if I was barefoot and pregnant for the rest of my life, and then I actually brought five people into the world to prove it.  And I stayed home with them.  And I homeschooled them.  And I bake awesome desserts and make 21 cheese mac & cheese and homemade pizza and fried chicken from scratch.  I like to scrapbook.  Crafts are fun.  Go ahead left leaning friends, shame me if you have to.  But you might want to read the rest of this, first.

When God called me to the traditionally male dominated vocational field of theology, I was actually a little bit blown away.  In addition to my earlier tendency to fit neatly into conventionally female roles, this is probably the part where I should admit that I had to drop out of my high school speech class, because it literally made me sick, and I took my general ed. speech requirement for my undergraduate degree online. 

So let me get this straight, God… you want me to preach… and speak… and teach?  You want me to spend the rest of my life standing up in front of groups of people and making words come out of my mouth?  OK, whatever.  Who am I to say no?  Bring it on…

Oh, friends… never say that.  The whole, “bring it on,” thing…  It sounds so cool and tough and strong, but it’s overrated.   You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into!  I promise.

Some time back, I wrote a post about some of the unique challenges with which I think female theologians come into contact.  It can be found here.  At the time, I thought I had solved the awkward problem surrounding the Billy Graham Rule.  You’re going to have male colleagues and friends, I said.  You’re going to have lots of male colleagues and friends, I said.  Be cautious, but don’t worry about it too much, I said, because surely everybody ‘gets’ this.  We’re all adults.  In the world of theology, I would hope that at least most of us are adults who are trying our very best to serve Jesus and live holy lives.  We can be friends.  It will be OK.

I recently ran across a couple of articles that I thought were excellent examples supporting this line of thinking.  They can be found here:

How I Learned to Stop Worrying about the Billy Graham Rule and Love like Jesus

Ladies Who Lunch – With Men

I also recently attended a conference that was specifically geared toward women in ministry leadership.  While it was incredibly refreshing to sit around a table with other female pastors, it was also something of a relief to hear them talk about the male colleagues, friends, and mentors in their lives.  No fear was expressed.  Not one person said something like, “I am so afraid of meeting alone with a male colleague, because I might be tempted.”  Not… one…

I started to think to myself, “Maybe we have finally turned the corner,” but I wasn’t certain.  Not yet.  I like research, so I thought to myself, “Maybe I should just take an informal survey.”  In hindsight, perhaps I should have left well enough alone and gone on living in my happy little bubble where men and women both recognize the value of friendship and do not worry about the drastic consequences a cup of coffee might bring.

When asked about the Billy Graham Rule, and interactions with male colleagues, these are some things I heard from women (whose names are being kept confidential):

“It would make it nearly impossible for me to do my job if I had to follow this rule.”

“I believe my voice in the workplace was limited by not being involved in these ‘unofficial’ meetings.”

“If I couldn't have those interactions there is no way I could be anywhere near as successful in my job/workforce.”

“The wife of one of my male colleagues made a comment after a few weeks that (my colleague) and I were a very asexual sort of team.”

“It's almost like they don't see me as a woman and it makes it easier to be successful.”

“What does it say about my character, my Christian witness, that I can't be trusted to have an appropriate conversation/interaction with a man whether I am alone or in public? I have found myself in conversations alone with women that are more uncomfortable than 95% of those I've had with men.”

“I was the victim of abuse in ministry settings and blamed myself… I felt that the rule protected men from me.”

Holy… Cow… 

I almost threw in the towel on this piece after all of that, and maybe I should have.  But I didn’t.

Interestingly, not one single woman I spoke to took someone with her when meeting with a man, because she felt unsafe.  I might come back to that.

When asked about the Billy Graham Rule, and interactions with female colleagues, these are some things I heard from men (whose names are also being kept confidential):

“I saw the rules largely as a way of being ‘above reproach.’"

“Men fall into that trap much more often than women.” 

“It kept us from being in situations where people could speculate about what might be happening behind closed doors.”

“It’s OK to break the rule in a crisis.”

“I don’t want to be emotionally intimate with anyone other than my wife.”

“I'm not sure this is a hill I want to die on these days, but I don't necessarily disagree with this approach.”

In everyone’s defense, I’m pretty sure we have a serious communication problem.

My assessment here is that we see men sharing concern over temptation, general public perception, and the potential for immoral behavior.  Even though some of the conversations were frustrating (admittedly, I had to step away on a couple of occasions, because it was making me pretty hot—and not in a tempting kind of way), I can see why they don’t want to die on that hill.

Unfortunately, women are dying on the hill, because we’re looking at this from a completely different perspective.  We’re not even considering temptation and moral failure (although I am going to say something more about that in a second, here)!  The vast majority of us are just considering how we can best do our jobs and maybe… maybe… crack the glass ceiling!  Realistically, I think most women who work in male dominated fields want to be able to have the same conversations with their male colleagues that they would have with female colleagues, and they want their male colleagues to have the same level of friendship/attachment with them that male colleagues have with one another (not to be confused with the same level of intimacy they have with their wives or girlfriends or whatever).  That sounds fine to me, completely appropriate, but the problem comes in when people don't seem to understand the principles of mixed gender, platonic relationships.  And that’s a real thing, friends.  True story.

Now, let’s touch on temptation for a moment.

I was actually really disturbed by the one quote, “Men fall into that trap much more often than women.”

I feel very certain of a couple of things.  First, men do not fall into that trap much more often than women, because most of the time there must be a woman involved for a man to fall into that trap (and vice versa)!  Infidelity is not generally happening without the involvement of (at least) two people.  This brings me to the second thing of which I am sure.  I did not interview any rapists for this piece.  What naturally follows is that in order to have a problem, at all, we have to have two willing parties.  The chances of this are infinitesimally low.

There are a lot of reasons for this, and without aiming to destroy anyone’s self esteem here, I think if everyone took just a moment to be slightly self-deprecating, we would realize that most of us are not attractive enough to be home wreckers!

I’ll go first.  I am in my mid-thirties (OK, pushing late thirties, but humor me), the mother of five children (totally takes a toll on the body and mind), overweight, Type A, suffering from adult onset acne, avid reader of YA fiction, and an introvert.  The majority of you are not going to be able to come up with a description that is that great, because I am, quite possibly, the safest woman in the world with whom someone else’s husband could have coffee… or even lunch…  but I’ll bet some of you can get close.

A friend of mine recently made a correlation between temptation and chocolate saying, “I don't keep bags of chocolate in the house because I know I'll be too tempted to eat the whole thing. I like to pretend I have that kind of self-control, but I don't. So I just don't put myself in a situation where I'll eat a whole bag.”

The sentiment is honorable, but friends… we’re not chocolate.  I was going to insert something in here about also not being potato chips and the “Betcha can’t eat just one,” slogan, because I thought that was for Ruffles, but it wasn’t, so never mind…  The point is, at this stage we’re more like carrot sticks or maybe even boxes of raisins.  I’m not saying we should throw caution to the wind.  I’m not saying we should meet behind closed doors with complete strangers.  I understand the reality in which we live where an accusation can be just as devastating as a conviction.  Believe me.  I get it. 

But coffee?  In a public place?  With a colleague?  Talking about church policy or sacraments or even your family vacation, complete with pictures of the kids?  Nothing about that screams, “Let’s have sex!”  And thinking it does simply does not give anyone the credit they deserve. 

L.

We Don't Talk Enough

Psalm 32:3-5, "When I kept silent, my bones wasted away through my groaning all day long.  For day and night your hand was heavy on me; my strength was sapped as in the heat of summer.   Then I acknowledged my sin to you and did not cover up my iniquity.  I said, 'I will confess my transgressions to the Lord.'  And you forgave the guilt of my sin" (NIV).

Sometimes life is ridiculously confusing.

I just wrote about talking too much.  And here I am reading about the importance of breaking the silence.  Maybe it's not so much that we speak excessively.  Maybe it's that we don't say the right things...

I have never been very good at adapting to rising temperatures.  Sure, I whine and complain about the feet upon feet of Michigan snowfall during the winter, but let's be real - it's mostly because I hate shoes.  In my ideal world, it would be about 65 degrees every single day, but the truth is, I will always take a good blizzard over sweltering, oppressive heat.  Always. 

And it's been hot lately.

When I read that line, "My strength was sapped as in the heat of summer," it resonated. 

I am exhausted.

But this has caused me to wonder, am I feeling this way because the hand of the Lord is heavy on me?  I wouldn't have phrased it this way until this morning.  To be fair, I think my life, right now, could be described as an extenuating circumstance.  Quite seriously.  The whole thing.  I do, indeed, thrive in fast paced, multitasking, arduous conditions that are marked by planning and deadlines and maybe an adrenaline spike here and there.  It's just who I am. 

But there was this moment, a few days ago, when I realized that I need to be in Ohio next Friday... and Illinois next Saturday... and Indiana next Sunday.  In my original plan, I was then going to drive across the country to the Pacific Ocean only to return to Michigan just in time to drop off my two youngest children with Grandma and Grandpa before turning around and driving to Oklahoma for a week, followed by 10 days off, a conference, a week of vocational training, family camp, a second week of training, 12 days off, a weekend trip with the extended family, and the start of my final term for this degree.

I cancelled the road trip west, but the truth is, friends; I'm still trying to make it work, in my head.  As I read over the preceding paragraph, I honestly thought to myself, "There are 22 days on which I have nothing scheduled.  Maybe I can make this happen, after all."

And I think I could, if I didn't also hope to earn As in my two summer classes (which is seriously questionable at this point) and learn German... and French... and maybe Greek or Hebrew... and write a 20 page research paper for the purposes of applying for a doctoral program... and purchase and begin renovations on the building we've been looking at for Via Illuminate.

What am I not saying? 

Apparently way too much, because this is the summer schedule of someone who is hiding... ignoring... chasing... something.

I'd like to say I've worn myself thin, but I think I'm actually wearing myself out.

I know exactly what lies at the root of this, for me.

I am struggling... quite deeply... again... with a "not good enough" complex.  You have no idea how much I wish I could just cut the crap and kick it forever.  I honestly have no idea what that's going to take.

Confession?  Hey, God, is that your hand?  Because this heat?  I'm sapped...

 
L.