Remembering and reflecting: where I've been

It's been quite a while since I blogged semi-regularly. It's been so long that Blogger has come up with all sorts of cool new features since I last did anything but a quick post. It's also been a long time since I was active in the world of blogs. There are a few I keep up with sporadically, but I rarely comment. I have no idea what new controversy has everyone's knickers in a twist in what used to be my corner of the blogosphere. I am utterly and completely out of the loop. For all I know, some new wacky teacher may have arisen and convinced the gullible that patriarchy -- true, Biblical patriarchy!!! -- requires living in tents or that the reason men don't have concubines today is all the result of some vast feminist conspiracy.

I miss some of the people in that world, but I don't miss that world. It feels good to be free of it.

A lot has happened in my life and in the life of my family since those days. Life and death stuff, or I should say, near-death stuff. Crises. Heartbreak the likes of which no one should ever have to suffer. Anguish. Dark nights of the soul. But also incredible joy in the midst of that sorrow.

In other words, real life. Real nitty, gritty life.

When life gets that in-your-face overwhelmingly real, despite all the chaos and confusion that might ensue for a season, some things become really clear. You re-examine a lot when you're treading through deep waters. You begin to realize what and whom -- and Whom -- you can grab onto for safety and what and whom will only pull you down further. You realize who you can go to with your burdens...those who will weep with you and rejoice with you...those who will hold your darkest secret heartaches as sacred trusts...those who will walk with you through the darkest valleys.

There aren't many of those sorts of people.

Years ago, back in the day, I remember an online discussion of homeschooling mothers during which one brave soul dared mention a minor issue she was having with her teenage daughter. This girl was no longer content to play "Little House on the Prairie" and read Elsie Dinsmore for the 20th time; she wanted more out of life; she longed to do something that made a difference and was exciting at the same time. A number of the other moms, who only had young children, tore into this mother and her daughter. You would have thought this girl had announced, "I want to be a harlot" and that the mother had answered, "Whatever you want, dear, is fine with me; let me buy you some harlot clothes" -- that's how these other moms carried on. They gave advice that this girl's "rebellious spirit" needed to be rebuked and punished, that the mother shouldn't listen to her nonsense, that both were in sin, etc., etc.

Needless to say, these are not the sort of people you turn to in a crisis.

A few years went by, but it was still back in the day, when the son of a homeschooling family died under unfortunate and disturbing circumstances. The parents decided to alert other families to what had happened, so that others might be spared their tragedy. I was horrified at the lack of empathy, at the other callousness, in which some in the online world responded. There was much holier-than-thou shooting of the wounded.

Needless to say, these are not the sort of people you turn to in a crisis.

More than one mother, way back in my days of writing about my concerns regarding the Ezzos' teachings, insisted that they had the whole parenting thing down and would never have to deal with any problems because their one-year-old was already "characterized by first-time obedience".

Needless to say, these are not the sort of people you turn to in a crisis.

Also, back in the day, there were certain online teachers, some of them leaders in their own churches, who thrived on controversy, who loved to declare their authority over anyone who commented on their blogs, who sounded convinced that they held a special corner on doctrinal correctness, and who loved to argue until they didn't have the upper hand, in which case they banned people from their blogs.

Needless to say, these are not the sort of people you turn to in a crisis.

In May of this year, I went to a retreat. It was my second year going. I wouldn't have missed it for the world. When my mother heard of my plans, she asked with some trepidation, "Is this the same retreat you went to last year? the one with the...troubled people?"

It's always after the fact that I think of what I should have said. In this case, I should have said, "Yes, that one...because I am one of those troubled people." 

Jesus said, "In this world, you will have trouble..." Some people are just more honest and open about their trouble than others. Some people know what it is like to be broken, wounded, and lost. Some people know what it means to find joy after sorrow. Some people aren't afraid of messes. Some people will let you grieve in ways that wouldn't look pretty in a movie, and they will sit with you in your pain, without condemnation. Some people know the joy of finding hope after despair, and they share it with you. Some people will walk with you as you try to find your way out of the darkness, out of the deep waters, and they will carry you when you are tired. Some people are like beacons in the night. Some people will give you permission to fall apart if need be. Some people will let you be real, as real as real can be, without any pretense, without any self-protection, and their complete and total loving acceptance of you will be like a healing balm to your soul. Some people will love you so much and so obviously that they earn the right to speak painful truth into your life, and they will do it with tears in their eyes. Some people will, with a hug and some whispered words, give you hope to sustain and encourage you for another year.

There aren't very many of those people, but I've been blessed beyond words to have found some.

Needless to say, those are the sort of people you turn to in a crisis.

And they are also the sort of people you turn to during times of joy and laughter, because they will celebrate with you like no one else will. They totally get the "rejoice with those who rejoice" part because they already have the weeping part down.

When I grow up, I want to be that sort of person.


This post, along with my entire blog, is copyrighted. Please read and honor the copyright notice at the bottom of the sidebar. Thank you.

Keep me at thy sacred feet

Pray for me...

How oft, alas! this wretched heart
Has wandered from the Lord,
How oft my roving thoughts depart,
Forgetful of His Word.

Yet sovereign mercy calls, “Return”;
Dear Lord, and may I come?
My vile ingratitude I mourn;
O take the wanderer home.

And canst Thou, wilt Thou yet forgive,
And bid my crimes remove?
And shall a pardoned rebel live
To speak Thy wondrous love?

Almighty grace, thy healing power
How glorious, how divine!
That can to bliss and life restore
So vile a heart as mine.

Thy pardoning love, so free, so sweet,
Dear Savior, I adore;
O keep me at Thy sacred feet,
And let me rove no more.

-Anne Steele



-- Posted from my iPhone

Making all things new

Out with the old...in with the new...there are so many times that I've really longed for that in my life.

On Good Friday, we watched Mel Gibson's "The Passion". One of the things that struck my husband is when the character of Jesus tells his mother, "Behold, I make all things new." That statement is true on so many profound levels that one could spend a lifetime plumbing its theological depths.

But sometimes it is the simple things that touch the deepest. It's easy to get into a rut...to get bogged down with daily life...to be overcome by the cares of the world. That is our human condition. Sometimes it gets more serious than that. Tragedy hits. We experience unspeakable pain and suffering. Or we battle an ongoing affliction that is never-ending. People hurt us. Our deeply unbearable wounds overwhelm and cripple us, even those that should be long scarred over.

We try our hardest. Or we don't. Somehow we put one foot in front of the other, and life goes on. It's hard to maintain hope. Everything seems a bit bleak. Our hope is that maybe things will get better somehow...that conditions will change...that healing will come...or, if all else fails, we have Heaven to look forward to.

And then, God does something. Out of the blue. A simple thing. And then another. And another. And these simple things happen when we least expect them, and they turn into an amazing bunch of coincidences that all come together. We wonder if there is some sort of wonderful conspiracy, because it seems as if so many different people are in on it.

Simple, everyday stuff. A hug. A whisper of encouragement in my ear, urging me to stay the course. A text message with an urgent prayer request. A couple apps on my iPhone. A hymn. A prayer. A few verses in the Bible. Who knew how all that would come together?

He makes all things new. All things.

And it's springtime.


This post, along with my entire blog, is copyrighted. Please read and honor the copyright notice at the bottom of the sidebar. Thank you.

Easter in the Midst of Grief

I wrote this back in 1990, to be published in a church devotional booklet. I posted it here on my blog before, but felt the urge to repost it this year:

Easter...it has held a new, triumphant meaning for me since I discovered that you can't really celebrate the victory of Easter without being devastated by Good Friday; one is meaningless without the other. When I was 19 years old, my beloved Opa died, my mother's father, a man who had completely opened his heart to me and captured mine in the process. Even when he was a continent away, I felt his love.

A brutal, painful heart attack took his life not long after he had celebrated his fiftieth wedding anniversary. My mother, who had the privilege of being with him when he went home, told me his last words were a prayer of praise, ending, "Jesus is the victor! Hallelujah! Amen."

Grief is far more than emotional. It is a pain so intense that it is physical, devastating, exhausting, all consuming.

Easter came in the early days of our grieving. My mother and I stood together in church, singing the familiar Easter hymns, tears flowing down our faces. It was then that Easter became real to me--truly real--dynamic and immediate rather than historic. I was amazed that my heart could be simultaneously filled with such great joy and such aching sorrow.

Someday I too will be snatched out of this life. Someday I will stand before my Savior, along with all the saints who have gone before, and I will shout with my Opa, "Jesus is the victor! Hallelujah! Amen."

That is what I celebrate at Easter.



[This post, along with my entire blog, is copyrighted. Please read and honor the copyright notice on the bottom of this page. Thank you.]

-- Posted from my iPhone while on the road...oh, the marvels of modern technology!

Just a nobody from Texas

That's what he would call himself. When I met him online, he was pastoring a tiny little church in some little Texas town. But he was one of the smartest men I know, with a mind that would never forget anything.

The first few things I found out about him is that he loved Jesus, loved his family, loved teaching, had a special place in his heart for mothers and babies, and was hilarously funny. Eventually I found out he had put together a lengthy series of lessons from the Bible dealing with a certain topic in a way that infuriated me, scared me...and then set me free from a lifestyle and church that was sucking my soul -- and the souls of my family -- dry.

It sounds trite and corny, but this man changed my life. Sometimes I'd tease him that he ruined my life. I'd say, "Here I was, happily living a life of crushing rules and regulations that I kept failing at, until you came along and ruined my life with all your talk of grace, freedom, and joy."

I only met him once in person, but it was one of those unforgettable visits that our family still talks about, over a decade later. He and his wife became "Uncle Mike and Aunt Marilyn" to our family. We fell in love with their adorable baby boy. We spent a lot of time talking and laughing. They felt like long lost family.

Just a little bit ago I got the news: "Mike has been promoted to Heaven." I can't help but think that Jesus greeted him with the words, "Well done, my good and faithful servant. Enter now into the joy of your rest."


-- Posted from my iPhone

In sickness and in health

Last October, my husband came down with a bad sinus infection that he just couldn't seem to shake. Doctors prescribed antibiotics in increasing strength. We tried to figure out what was going on in my husband's body that had compromised his immune system to such a degree, and that was rendering him weaker and weaker by the days. He was gripped with extreme fatigue and only his willpower, determination, and incredible work ethic enabled him to drag himself to work. Evenings, he would come home and collapse on the couch or in bed.

We tried this treatment and that. Sought an assortment of specialists in and out of mainstream medicine.

To make a long story short, we now have a diagnosis: panhypopituitarism due to a pituitary adenoma. What this means is that a rather large benign tumor has squished my husband's pituitary gland to the point that it is pretty much failing to function...which means the endocrine system is following suit.

On April 9, a skilled neurosurgeon will remove the tumor. We'd like to hope that pituitary function will return, but he has told us that this is not likely.

Through this trial, I have grown to respect and admire my husband all the more. We have actually managed, despite his exhaustion and health problems, to enjoy each other's company. In many ways, we are closer than ever. We have even found lots of things to laugh about.

Our family has faced another trial as well. As a friend of mine used to say dramtically, "we have been passing through deep waters". We have not quite yet reached the shore. It may take a long, long while.

God is faithful. Amazingly so. In extremely tangible and practical ways, as well as in secret ways that only one's heart can know.

All that stuff about Jesus never leaving us nor forsaking us, about His being made strong through our weakness, about those who wait upon the Lord renewing their strength? It's all true. More than I could have ever hoped.

This post, along with my entire blog, is copyrighted. Please read and honor the copyright notice at the bottom of the sidebar. Thank you.

A broken & contrite heart

Sometimes it's easy to be transparent...up to a point. It's not that hard to 'fess up to things that others already know about us.

But the hidden stuff we don't want to admit even to ourselves? Not so easy. Everything inside balks at real confession. We are too afraid, too stubborn, too prideful, too selfish, too full of deceit to want to agree with God over the depth of our sinfulness.

To do so would break us. Utterly and completely. We fear that shattering, find it unnecessary, and prefer to minimize and rationalize our sin.

But we have the assurance that our God will not despise a broken and contrite heart. It is only through seemingly irrepairable brokenness and grief, and the lowliest humility that accompanies such despair, that we can ever become truly whole.

Only when we reach the utter end of ourselves will we be able to truly rejoice in the amazing scandal of grace.


-- Post From My iPhone

Long overdue update

Yes, it's been a long time since I've posted. Here's just a little of what's been going on:

1. I still drink coffee.

2. We've been going through some...er...interesting times in our family.

3. Jesus truly is Lord...and a faithful Friend like no other. He keeps His promise to never leave us nor forsake us.

4. My marriage is all the more precious to me during some current rough times, especially as my husband has had a season of ill health.

5. I still teach martial arts.

6. Mothering doesn't become easier when the children leave home. It's different, less hands on, but sometimes more heartbreaking.

7. Twitter can take up a lot of time, but it's also a great way to follow current events, trends, etc.

This post, along with my entire blog, is copyrighted. Please read and honor the copyright notice at the bottom of the sidebar. Thank you.

Good cop, bad cop

Back in the day, I worked--- mostly nights --- at a university hospital, as a ward clerk. As part of my job, I met quite a few security guards, of which a significant number were either in law enforcement, had been in law enforcement, or planned to be.

Around that same time, I read the LA Times...a lot...and there was a lot of bad news about the L.A. County Sheriff's Department. There was also bad news about the LAPD.

One night in the emergency room, a sheriff tried to impress me with the fact that he had beaten up some guy in the course of arresting him. The sheriff looked completely unruffled. The young man he'd arrested was extremely bloodied and had a couple broken bones. I was not impressed. In fact, I was sickened and disgusted.

Of course, I don't know the story of this man's arrest. But, a few years later, I was an eyewitness, more than once, to what I can only describe as unprovoked police brutality.

There were some other dealings with police over the years. Some good, some bad. But I grew cynical about the sort of person that was attracted to police work, and about what police work eventually did to even the best of people.

And then I met two police officers who made me toss out all those stereotypes and prejudices. One morning, after a long night shift, these two men, practically strangers to us, cheerfully helped us move, joking and laughing as they easily carried our heavy bookcases upstairs, actually seeming to enjoy the hard work, and apologizing that they couldn't stay all day, but had to get some sleep before their next shift.

One of those men was Mark Riddering. We barely knew him when he helped us move, but that didn't stop him from eagerly volunteering to help. As we got to know him...well, I have to admit that he sometimes made me feel like I did when I was a little girl and hero-worshiped a heroic policeman.

Mark Riddering was a good cop. He was a true hero.

He was also one of the sweetest, kindest men I've ever met. I loved watching him interact with his kids, loved watching how he looked at them, how he played with them, how he so obviously cherished them and his wife. He enjoyed life...enjoyed his family...enjoyed his many, many friends. I don't think I'll ever forget his smile or his laugh.

We knew Mark during the time when he began noticing troubling symptoms, and when he received the diagnosis of ALS. He was an important part of the weekly Bible study that first met in his home and later in ours. We all watched him walk through this time of uncertainty. If he felt sorry for himself, we never knew it --- his concern was always for his family...and that he would be found faithful in God's eyes. Over the months and years, we watched his big strong body deteriorate. Never once did we hear him complain. Instead, we still heard him laugh and still enjoyed his smiles, his loving concern for our family, and his sense of humor. He encouraged others over and over again.

As his body weakened, it was as if Mark grew even stronger. The last few times I visited him, I felt as if I were standing on holy ground. Jesus shown that brightly through Mark. It sounds cliche...but it was true.

One local news story reported that Mark Riddering "lost his battle with Lou Gehrig's disease". That doesn't seem accurate. From what I know, and what I've heard from his family and friends, Mark finished the race, the long tiring marathon of the last 15 years, and he finished it well. He fought the good fight. He kept the faith. He persevered to the end. The prize is now his. He didn't lose; he won.

Tomorrow I have the awesome yet sad privilege of attending the funeral of a true hero of the faith. Mark Riddering has left behind an awesome legacy. I cannot help but think that Jesus greeted him with the words, "Well done, my good and faithful servant."

Read more about Mark Riddering

Edited for readability.

This post, along with my entire blog, is copyrighted. Please read and honor the copyright notice at the bottom of the sidebar. Thank you.

One thing I know

As I was posting my last blog entry, I caught sight on what I'd written in my sidebar:

One thing I know...

In the end, the very end, Jesus wins.

He's the Victor.

And His grip on me is way, way stronger and more sure than my grip on Him.

In the end, He wins. And His victory will be final and everlasting and good and righteous and just and merciful. My hope is that, because of His grace and His grace alone, I will be there to celebrate that final victory. That is real hope. And, on that glorious day, we will all be changed...in the twinkling of an eye.

And I...even I...shall be utterly and forever transformed by His presence.

May Jesus, tonight and at this very moment, work His transforming power in my life. May my hope rest in Him and in Him alone. May what breaks His heart break mine.

To share in His sufferings...even though the thought frightens me...

To be found in Him...

To be like Him...

To be obedient, even unto death...

Thank God that His grip on me is so much stronger than my weak and feeble grip on Him.

This post, along with my entire blog, is copyrighted. Please read and honor the copyright notice at the bottom of the sidebar. Thank you.

Let's be honest...and humble...

Edited to add this introduction to my post:

Yes, this is my response --- as a conservative, Christian mother --- to the announcement that the single, teenage daughter of Governor Palin (McCain's choice for vice president) is currently pregnant and planning to marry the father of her child.

I am open to suggestions that a Christian response should be something different...and Biblical reasons as to why.

I'd also like to hear from those, especially conservative Christian mothers, who either agree or disagree with the substance of my "confession". Do you relate? Why or why not?

I am freely confessing the following to my half-a-dozen or so readers, and urging that other mothers join me in being both honest and humble. Let us not rush to judgment. Let us not hold other mothers to impossible standards. Let us realize how much we all need Jesus, how much we all benefit from His grace.

So, on to the confessions:

1. I am not a better parent than God. Beginning with Adam and Eve, all of His children have sinned. Every single one, except for Jesus. So have mine. While at times I wish we didn't have free choice and sinful natures, I am so thankful for the remedy for sin that God provided through His Son Jesus. I stand in desperate need of that remedy. So do my children.

2. Like every mother of many who has neither been born to privilege, nor been able to afford household help, nor has had a husband who enjoyed paternity leave, nor has had the luxury of extended family/church members with no other responsibilities, I have had to return to work fairly soon after the births of my babies. Meals needed preparing, children needed tending, raising, and feeding, babies and toddlers needed changing, the house needed cleaning, and my host of responsibilities to my husband and children didn't abruptly end just because I had a newborn. That's life, especially for the middle-class and working class. Sitting in an office doing paperwork and answering phones, with my baby in a sling, would have seemed like a welcome break on many days. But envy should not make me attack a mother who ventures to her office, just like it should not make me attack mothers whose husbands are able to wait on them hand and foot for six weeks post-partum. God chose my path for me. It's one I don't regret.

3. I have ignored doctors' advice and even direct orders. I willingly, no eagerly, got pregnant with my first child. I have refused pre-natal testing. I have had more than two children. I have breastfed my children. I have given birth in my late 30's. I have not hired a nanny. Etc., etc. While many viewed me reckless and irresponsible for these choices, they were made after much prayerful research. I don't regret any of them. In fact, they all turned out to be, even more so in hindsight, the best choices in our particular situation.

4. I have sinned. Yes, even today. Without the grace of God, I am ruined. Utterly without hope. Not only am I a sinner but, even when I mean well, I am not all wise. I don't have perfect understanding. I make mistakes. I fail. I fall down. But...God still loves me. Someday, when I get to Heaven, it will not be because my theology was correct, or because I wasn't a feminist, or because I stayed home with my babies. It will not be because of my own efforts. It will not be because I meant well or was sincere. It will not be because my good deeds outweighed my bad. It will not be because I am basically a good person, because I'm really not. It will be only because of Jesus.

5. And the few good things about me? The few good things I may accomplish along the way? Jesus deserves all the credit for that as well. I am weak; He is strong. The right things I do are only through Him Who strengthens me.

What about you?

This post, along with my entire blog, is copyrighted. Please read and honor the copyright notice at the bottom of the sidebar. Thank you.

A picture of the Saviour's love

When we literally can't put one foot in front of the other, He carries us. In fact, it is always Him. It is all grace. I'm not the one who runs the race, the one who fights the good fight. When I get to Heaven, completely by His grace, any crown I may receive will be His.

This video is such a wonderful reminder of that truth. A son who cannot run or swim or bicycle finishes the toughest triathlon, the Ironman, because of his father's love.




Updated to add:

If you want to know more about the amazing "Team Hoyt", here's a video that gives some additional background.



This post, along with my entire blog, is copyrighted. Please read and honor the copyright notice at the bottom of the sidebar. Thank you.

If you are a woman...

...and you never read another thing, read this:

God's View of a Woman

It was like a healing balm to my soul, touching me in my deepest places. Truly, my Savior does really love me. He doesn't love me any less for my gender. I am not "less than" in His eyes:

But beyond all these wonderful things that the Lord did in showing us how beautiful women are in His eyes, He did something else. He chose you--a woman to depict that which He came to earth to die for--His very Bride. And He is not ashamed.

And...

Sisters, you are fellow heirs in the Kingdom of God. You are fellow priests in the church of God. You are honored. You are cherished. You are valuable. You are needed.

You are His friends, His followers, His daughters, yea, His own kin.

Updated to clarify:

Someone said the equivalent of, "Well, duh! This is news to you? It took that article to convince you that God loves you?"

Well, no, not really. But given the many clamoring voices today that claim that women are not created in the image of God, that only males can be fully Christ-like, that most of the Bible was written to men only, and other equally disturbing messages --- well, it's hard not to feel beaten down at times, and full of doubts. My head may know one thing, but it is good to have the glorious message of God's unqualified love for women penetrate into the deep recesses of my heart as well.

This post, along with my entire blog, is copyrighted. Please read and honor the copyright notice at the bottom of the sidebar. Thank you.

God is good

It sounds like a Christian cliché, and it's often used that way. But that doesn't diminish the meaning or make it any less powerfully true.

God is good.

Even when things go terribly wrong...when all hell seems to have literally broken loose. And He is not only good, but faithful, merciful, and gracious.

The hymn that TulipGirl posted this morning is so wonderfully appropriate when circumstances overwhelm us and we don't know what to do next. Christ is the Solid Rock upon which we stand.

And when we're too weak to stand? He carries us.

This post, along with my entire blog, is copyrighted. Please read and honor the copyright notice at the bottom of the sidebar. Thank you.

The masculinization of the church, part 5

For background, see Part 1, and the other posts in the series.

According to organizations like "Church for Men" and "GodMen", and a growing number of men who like to flatter themselves by claiming that they are "Biblical partriarchs" instead of just ordinary Christian guys, the big problem with the church in America is that it is feminized. Frankly, their arguments have never made much logical sense to me. For the most part, it is a lot of hysteria, a lot of whining, and a lot of childish silliness with some paranoia mixed in. A man can't simply say he doesn't like pews, or that church pews have outlived their usefulness, or even that church pews were a bad idea to begin with --- if he is one of the hysterical or whiny "blame it all on the women" types, he has to insist that church pews are a sign of the feminization of the church!

Back in the 50's and 60's, conspiracy theorists loved to shout that the communists were taking over everything. Today, in a growing number of evangelical fringe groups, they love to shout that the feminists are taking over everything. (I actually happen to know some real feminists --- as in, they self-describe themselves as such and are very well read on the subject --- and they think these guys are hilariously misinformed. But that's for another series of posts --- and another writer.)

Certainly it is true that many churches are no longer as extremely male-dominated as they were a generation ago in our our country. Today, in a number of churches, women are not confined to children's Sunday School, the kitchen and the "missionary circle" as the only way of being involved in church "ministry". A growing number of male church leaders are willing to act on the belief that women, as well as men, are capable of receiving the Holy Spirit, and that spiritual giftings for women can include more than mercy and helps.

It is also true that many churches in American are filled with more women than men. But, then again, there were more women followers of Jesus who were there at the Cross, and His women followers were the first ones there at the Tomb after He arose...

It is also true that there are churches that have fallen into heresy and that some --- but certainly not all or even most --- of these heresies involve expressions of feminist spirituality.

But all that being true hardly means that we need to run around like Chicken Little and scream shrilly that the feminists are taking over the church. Unless, of course, we are those men who operate with a very simple paradigm:

Feminine = bad
Masculine = good

That is what is really behind all of this hysteria about the church being too feminized. No one is arguing that the church was too male-dominated, too masculinized, and that this feminization is providing a healthy balance. No one is arguing that the church should reflect all of its members, male and female. Instead, those who believe that the church is becoming feminized see this as a bad thing, an extremely bad thing.

The problem with the church, they say, is that it is not masculine enough. Because, of course, being masculine is good. Being feminine isn't. It is as if men need less redeeming than women, as if their masculine natures are either less fallen or more easily redeemed. And one cannot help but wonder if, in their worldview, women are ever truly redeemed. Being feminine is seen as somehow more fallen, less able to be be an image bearer of God, less able to be led by the Holy Spirit, less able to be empowered by Him for His glory.

What is good about our culture and about the church is therefore seen as being masculine. What is bad and weak about our culture and the church is seen as being feminine.

Of course, this means that the proponents of the "church should be masculine" view sometimes have to make some great leaps of logic. As a commenter on this blog pointed out, referring to an article on the Bayly's blog, "I was especially amused to read the phrase, speaking of the Bride of Christ, 'she has been emasculated.'"

Yes, it is amusing.

But it is also sad. To say nothing of the fact that this view demeans the very image of God.

And it misses the point.

The problem with the church in America is not that there are too many women in church. It is not that the male leadership is not masculine enough. It is not that, to quote one disgusting article, there are "girly-men in the pulpit". The problem is not a lack of testosterone.

It's a lack of Jesus.

So, yes, I don't really believe that the problem with the church is that it is too masculine. I think the problem with the church is that it reflects its human self-proclaimed leaders (who are usually male) more than it reflects its Head. I was using a certain amount of irony to make some important points.

But I am also quite convinced of a truly radical notion that I have: that women are called to be --- and can be --- just as Christlike as men. Even more wild and crazy, I believe that when God declared His creation of male and female as good, He meant that even femininity was good. Call me a heretical simpleton for taking Scripture so literally, but there you have it.

And the solution to the problem with the church in American? Ah...well, that's the subject of a whole 'nuther series...

This post, along with my entire blog, is copyrighted. Please read and honor the copyright notice on the bottom of this page. Thank you.

Sad anniversary

Recently I heard something on the radio about Terry Schiavo; apparently it was the anniversary of her death. I had written quite a bit about the controversy back in the beginning days of my blog. The post I'd like to most remember her by is this one.

This post, along with my entire blog, is copyrighted. Please read and honor the copyright notice on the bottom of this page. Thank you.

How to serve God

How are we supposed to serve God? What best glorifies Him and advances His Kingdom? Is it dropping Easter Eggs out of airplanes in some mad frenzy or is it this?

Somehow I don't think that a man who refuses to repudiate his faith in the face of 150 people urging him strongly to do so, who goes door to door sharing the gospel in a hostile environment and sees 45 come to faith that first day, would ever utter the words, "What we received was a strong slap of the Heavenly pimp hand", but maybe that's just my own silly opinion. Apparently I'm just a hypocrite for thinking it might be a bit unseemly to refer to our great and wonderful God as a pimp. Either that, or I'm way behind the times. Obviously so, since I'm not a big fan of over-the-top egg drops either.

Read both links and let me know what you think.

This post, along with my entire blog, is copyrighted. Please read and honor the copyright notice on the bottom of this page. Thank you.

The masculinization of the church, part 2

For background, see Part 1.

As a woman, when I read the Bible, I tend to see it describe the church as a family, where we are all brothers and sisters in Christ, where we are to treat one another as family members. I also see the church as the Body of Christ, and I am in awe of the deep mystery of that. As a woman, I am especially moved by the idea of the church being the Bride of Christ.

Too many men, however, want to structure the church as a business and this has been, in my opinion, one of the most serious problems with the masculinization of the church in American today. (See my first post on this topic.)

Another way in which the church has been dangerously masculinized, at least in my opinion, is the way in which politics have invaded the church. Too many decisions are not made prayerfully. Even worse, too many men see offices in the church as being something akin to political offices, to be pursued much in the same way that one pursues political gain out in the world.

This first became obvious to me back when I was early in my pregnancy with Child #3 and our church was considering calling a man to be our new pastor. My husband and I had some concerns about this man. We feared that he was rather liberal in his interpretation of Scripture. But worse --- especially to me as an admittedly emotional pregnant woman --- was that he was still proud of the fact that he had worked hard to help make abortion legal in the state of New York years ago.

It was hard for me not to take it quite personally when he told me to my face that he could not be sure that life had really begun for the child I was carrying in my womb.

A number of people in the church knew that my husband (who was a deacon/elder at the time) and I would obviously not be in favor of this man pastoring our church. So the campaigning, mostly via numerous phone calls to our home, began. Finally it all escalated until, only an hour or so before the congregational vote was supposed to take place, one of the church staff members drew me aside and told me, quite sternly, that I was not to vote "no" for this man. If I couldn't vote "yes" --- which was my duty to preserve the unity of the church --- then I would have to abstain from voting. But he forbid me to vote "no". I looked him in the eye, completely unmoved by his intimidation tactics, and said quietly but firmly, "Do not tell me how to vote. I hope you are not doing this to other people. Stop."

In the churchy equivalent of ballot box stuffing, those who supported this new candidate for pastor had been busily calling everyone who was still on the active membership rolls but hadn't been to the church in months, if not about a year, to show up and vote "yes". The church was packed. Rousing political speeches were made. The new pastor was voted in, over my husband's publicly voiced concerns. Many of the speeches said that what our church really needed was an "administrator". His theology and his pro-abortion stance weren't so important; after all, he was "teachable". (I didn't see why it was our responsibility to "teach" a pastor in his 50's --- weren't we calling him to teach us?)

Since then, in other churches, I've seen men wage political campaigns for the offices of elder and deacon. I've heard pastors defend putting men on leadership boards out of political expediency, even though these men were unqualified to hold church office. I've seen grasping for power.

Politics have invaded the church. Actually, it has not been an invasion. It has been yet another example of men wanting to recreate the church into something that is more in their image. It is yet another example of the masculinization of the church.

This post, along with my entire blog, is copyrighted. Please read and honor the copyright notice on the bottom of this page. Thank you.

The masculinization of the church, part 1

This may become an on-again, off-again series...but then again, it may not.

In some circles, men are practically gnashing their teeth over what they term the "feminization" of the church. These men, of course, view this as a bad thing because, in general, they have a low view of femininity. Frankly, I've never quite bought into their argument about the church in American being "too feminine" and this supposedly being the root of all its ills.

Recently I was discussing this with someone, who pointed out, "But the real problem is that the church has become far too masculinized --- men are treating it as a business, rather than as a family or as the Body of Christ!"

That was, for me, one of those, "well, duh...!" moments. Yes, of course, I thought. That explains it.

Someone else told me, also very recently, about a special meeting called at his church. It seems that his church had reached a crisis point of no longer being able to sustain itself financially due to dwindling attendance. The meeting was spent exploring solutions: marketing strategies, campaigns, special events, etc. It sounded to me just like...well, like a business meeting of a secular organization. It also sounded all too familiar. I've been to those sorts of meetings. In fact, in more recent years, I've been to way too many of them.

Once, I sat through a church meeting that was supposedly about the "new church vision". Most of the meeting, however, was taken up by showing us samples of the types of advertising and marketing the church leadership was considering. The pastor was proposing that tens of thousands of dollars be spent, by a small church, on mailings, DVDs (not of sermons but of clever "commercials" for the church) and gimmicky gifts such as bibs, pens, hats, etc. featuring the name and clever new logo of the church.

I've heard about pastors --- and actually met one --- who prefer to call themselves by a more business-oriented title, such as CEO or administrator or lead teacher. Anything but pastor...

I've read books and articles about church leadership that sounded just like the sort of stuff I used to read when I was part of the corporate world.

In fact, the business model of church growth and management is rampant in American today.

Call me hopelessly feminine, but I think it's wrong. I think it is more than wrong --- I think it is dangerously misguided. It is, in my opinion, the most serious symptom of the grave problem of the masculinization of the church.

It is, of course, entirely understandable that men would want to change the church into something that is familiar and comfortable to them. It is also understandable that they would want to take control, that they would want to remake the church into their own image --- as if it was their creation and their body --- and would want to define and take credit for its "growth".

But it's wrong.

The church belongs to Jesus Christ. It is His Body. It's not a commercial enterprise or a business entity. The Bible never describes it as such. We are family, we are united as members of His Body. We are not officers, managers, and employees of a business.

Jesus is the one who builds His Church.

He did not tell us to wage great marketing campaigns for Him. He told us to make disciples. Clever advertising and church growth strategies are not the way to fulfill the Great Commission.

Missing in all of this --- at least to my feminine way of thinking --- is prayer and a reliance on the Holy Spirit to do His work. My admittedly feminine approach to dwindling church numbers would be to open God's Word and ask, "How did He add to the church back in the beginning, when there were so few of them?" And then we would get on our knees, on our very faces, before Him. First we would come in repentance for all that we've done personally to get in the way of His work, the many ways we had brought shame to him and caused strife within His Body. We'd repent of our lack of love for each other and for those outside of His Body. We'd plead with Him to change us. Then we would pray on behalf of His church. We would plead with Him for revival, first in our hearts and then in the hearts of others. We would ask Him to make us bold in sharing the gospel. We would ask Him to build His church. We would ask Him to equip us for every good work, and to send us out into the harvest. We'd plead with Him to guide and direct us.

And we'd keep doing that.

In the meantime, we'd look to His Word to see what else the church is supposed to be doing. We would love one another. We would tend to the widows and orphans. We would feed and clothe the hungry, visit the prisoners, care for the sick, pray for one another, preach the gospel in season and out of season, teach our children, and make disciples. Most of all, we would worship God in spirit and in truth. We would love Him with all that we had, and we would pray for the ability to love Him more.

Yes, I know. Way too feminine. Unrealistic. Behind the times. I know. I know.

This post, along with my entire blog, is copyrighted. Please read and honor the copyright notice on the bottom of this page. Thank you.

Easter in the Midst of Grief

I wrote this back in 1990, to be published in a church devotional booklet.

Easter...it has held a new, triumphant meaning for me since I discovered that you can't really celebrate the victory of Easter without being devastated by Good Friday; one is meaningless without the other. When I was 19 years old, my beloved Opa died, my mother's father, a man who had completely opened his heart to me and captured mine in the process. Even when he was a continent away, I felt his love.

A brutal, painful heart attack took his life not long after he had celebrated his fiftieth wedding anniversary. My mother, who had the privilege of being with him when he went home, told me his last words were a prayer of praise, ending, "Jesus is the victor! Hallelujah! Amen."

Grief is far more than emotional. It is a pain so intense that it is physical, devastating, exhausting, all consuming.

Easter came in the early days of our grieving. My mother and I stood together in church, singing the familiar Easter hymns, tears flowing down our faces. It was then that Easter became real to me--truly real--dynamic and immediate rather than historic. I was amazed that my heart could be simultaneously filled with such great joy and such aching sorrow.

Someday I too will be snatched out of this life. Someday I will stand before my Savior, along with all the saints who have gone before, and I will shout with my Opa, "Jesus is the victor! Hallelujah! Amen."

That is what I celebrate at Easter.

This post, along with my entire blog, is copyrighted. Please read and honor the copyright notice on the bottom of this page. Thank you.