To Fellow Sinners, Saved by Grace

My Dearest Family,

We've lost some well-known Christians in the last couple of months, and these losses have left me thinking about not just death, but also about legacy. I've been thinking about what I hope to leave behind someday, specifically what I hope people will say once I'm gone. The revisionist veneration of one (denominationally prominent) Christian has left me very sad and frustrated. As I've seen this fallen human turned into a blameless saint, I've decided to pen some requests for my own funeral some day.

First and foremost: please don't take my sin out of the picture of God's grace.

I beg you: don't reduce me to a caricature of a "good Christian," wiping my sins from earthly record. Yes, God has indeed removed them from me as far as the east from the west (Psa 103:12); I am draped in Christ's righteousness and thus able to stand in his presence. Yet temporal effects remain until the day he returns and makes all things right; and my standing as co-heir with Christ does not erase my time as a slave to sin. And no, of course we don't sin as though we mortals could make grace abound more (Rom 6:1). Ου μη: May it never, ever be!

But those ways in which I've sinned are an important part of the gospel story in my life.

Please do talk about my temper (both before and after I received saving grace). Don't leave out stories of how the "old man" clung to me, even as the Holy Spirit brought change and growth, little by little. Talk about my arrogance, my struggles with pride; then talk about the ways in which Jesus' blood paid the penalty for those sins. Then, and only then, talk about the ways I loved, how God supplied all that I needed to do the good work to which he called me.

Please don't be afraid to share about the ways in which my theology was flawed. Last I checked, ain't nobody Jesus, but Jesus: of course I had some flaws in my theology, this earthly side of heaven. To presume otherwise is absurd; and more than mere bad theology: it's heresy. To preach such nonsense in my passing is slander against me; and worse yet, it's a slander to the gospel itself.

The worst type of heresy is to presume that we none of us have any.

So please, dear ones--preach the gospel at my funeral in its entirety. I must decrease and Christ must increase (Jn 3:30), a daily struggle for us all. Please don't take away from the progress the "new man" made by building me back up into something I wasn't. The gospel plus something is no gospel at all (Gal 1:7), so don't let modern-day Judaizers speak lies at my funeral. Let them in--by all means--I want them to hear the gospel proclaimed. But don't let them (and don't any of you dare be them) spread poisonous half-truths, claiming that my salvation came from my own fleshly works, my own foolish knowledge, or my own feeble faith. My salvation comes from the Lord.

Tell my true testimony--of the many times I sinned by my own volition, but then repented by the Holy Spirit's guidance and received forgiveness by the Lord's mercy--grace upon grace. Tell of how I changed over the years to look more like Jesus, but also to realize just how far from Jesus' holiness I was. Don't rewrite my story, painting me as a larger-than-life, holier-than-thou saint. Please tell God's story--of which I had the honor of being a small part--for the sake of the Kingdom.

Tell the truth in love (Eph 4:15), leaving out neither the enormity of my sin, nor the infinite grace which redeemed me.

In lieu of flowers, I remain,
A fellow sinner, saved by grace.

To My Fellow Robust Complementarians

Figure One: Some baggage. Not pictured are my copies of "So You're Thinking About Going to Seminary" and "How to Stay Christian in Seminary," because I think I might have burned those.

NOTE: I am really good at angering people on both sides of an issue. So let me get these caveats out there.

Egalitarian friends, this is post is obviously not for you. Feel free to eavesdrop, and possibly judge this post, but there are plenty of good egalitarian responses to Dr. Piper's latest dictum. I have read many of them, and some of them are truly helpful (even to a complementarian such as myself). But this post is not one of those. I am attempting something very different here.

Strict complementarian friends, this post isn't for you, either. While I'm glad that you're reading this, it's also a little weird that you're here. "Inconsistent," I believe your Pastor John would say. So feel free to read along, and maybe even weigh in, but if you agree that women shouldn't be seminary professors, then you and I have actually less in common on this issue than I have in common with our egalitarian siblings. And that should tell you something.

And friends from both camps--don't worry. By the time I'm done, I'll probably have angered plenty of the in-between folks I'm actually writing to, as well. I'm an equal opportunity offender, and I've come to accept that. But I am also an equal opportunity grieve-er, and that is much harder to bear. So pray for us all.



Dear Siblings who Live in the Complicated Grey Area,

I spent the past week in a flu-haze, so I only caught snippets of Dr. John Piper's missive regarding the dangers of women as seminary professors. A few texts and conversations here and there, asking what I thought. Mostly commiserating that once again, Piper gets to set the agenda, call the shots, and further entrench the idea that either you're a (wildly liberal) egalitarian or you're a (staunch, faithful) complementarian, with room for neither nuance nor nonsense.

It seems that there are a lot of us in "conservative" circles who don't agree with Pastor John. But there aren't many of us speaking that truth (that I can find, anyway) online. And pretty much only women writers, at that. Yes, there were a lot of good egalitarian responses, many of which pointed out the ways in which Dr. Piper's words are hurtful, random, and themselves inconsistent.

So I won't be directly rebutting Dr. Piper's post here. Perhaps that will come another day. Today, I want to assume that we're on the same page--that we both thought the podcast was unhelpful, inaccurate, and misrepresentative of where we live and what we believe. Today, I need to believe--despite the lack of representative blog posts and articles--that I am not alone in inhabiting this marginal space of non-Piper complementarianism. Today, I don't want so much to convince anyone to believe differently at either extreme, as to ask like-minded siblings to consider acting on these shared beliefs a little differently.

In my requests below, I've tried to be gracious. I've tried to be honest. And I've tried to be vulnerable. Rather than trying to point fingers, I'm trying to reach out trembling hands and ask for partnership, for help. Because we're in this together, right? I hope none of you feel too targeted or shamed by what I'm saying below. Forgive me (or at least let me know!) if you do. But I can't help but hope that some of these small steps could actually make a big difference.

So if you fit in this centrist, awkward space with me, would you please consider the following three ideas?


One. Given his latest unkindness, please stop quoting John Piper in your sermons, talks, Bible studies, books, social media posts, classes, etc. Yes, his positive contributions to Evangelicalism cannot be understated in the areas of world missions, "Christian Hedonism," and the like. But he wasn't the first to say those good things, and he hasn't been the last. As good as his stuff is, I promise that you can find another quote to use when you want to talk about the glory of God and our happiness.

I've pleaded before for you to no longer allow the Three Female Ghosts that Haunt the Church to preach your sermons. No longer quoting Dr. Piper is a very specific way you can go about this. Not convinced that using Piper quotes is really that damaging? An analogy: Southern Presbyterian friends who care deeply about racial reconciliation, you've learned to stop using Robert Lewis Dabney quotes, right? Dabney had a way with words and some truly beautiful things to say, especially in the areas of ecclesiology and soteriology. But most folks I know who do want to avoid being lumped in with his segregationist ideals (and hateful, dehumanizing rhetoric) have still decided to look elsewhere for sermon anecdotes and inspirational quotes. So yes--I'm drawing a line in the sand--but at least to me, a Piper quote is as hurtful as a Dabney quote. At best, it's tone deaf. At worst, it communicates alignment with someone who thinks I am in direct sin by doing campus ministry. John Piper thinks that women should never have direct, personal "guidance and influence" over a man, in any sphere, ever. He thinks that when I sit down with a male student or faculty member to encourage, challenge, and pray for them, I am "violating their sense of manhood." If that's not a direct indictment of who I am and what I've been called to do, I don't know what is. If you agree with Piper on this, then go in peace, friend (but didn't we already discuss that this post isn't for you?). If you disagree, then please see how much it grieves me when Dr. Piper is quoted on a variety of subject matters.

Don't hear what I'm not saying. I'm not saying don't read, appreciate, or seek a nuanced understanding of Dr. Piper. (I'm not even saying that about Dabney, actually.) I'm not saying burn all his books and reject his teaching entirely. I did--in a fit of pique, I'll admit--shove A Hunger for God and Let the Nations Be Glad to the back of the bookshelf. But I've kept them. By all means, dig into his prolific library when you want to better understand the importance of missions, or read his website if you want encouragement in areas of daily faith and practice. Just please, please, don't quote him. If you want to show support for myself and women like me, find somebody else to quote who hasn't so very clearly articulated such a toxic (and I believe, false!) view of complementarianism.


Two. Please stop letting John Piper define the entirety of complementarianism. I am begging you, be vocal about your positive views on women leading in appropriate and healthy ways, and be very clear that you disagree with Dr. Piper's stances on the matter. It is not enough to try to define our own "robust," "moderate," or "soft" complementarianism, where we articulate what we believe is a Biblical view of gender. We must also articulate what it isn't. Really, we need a new term, so as to distance ourselves completely from what John Piper says about gender roles. So if anybody's got that, I would be incredibly grateful.

I've pleaded before, more obliquely, for leaders to be willing to graciously and publicly disagree with Piper's brand of strict complementarianism. After his podcast indicting the very idea of a female seminary professor, I'm willing to be more direct. I've heard some of you respectfully disagree with Dr. Piper on his views regarding mode and recipient of baptism. If you can lovingly say that you disagree with him about a sacrament, then I don't understand why you can't add his views on women to the list. If you're already saying, "I think my brother John is way off when he says that sprinkling infants is sinful," please, please, add "I think my brother John is way off when he says that women seminary professors are by nature sinful" to your repertoire. If you are already saying that women can be CEOs, can be seminary professors, can do campus ministry--and some of you have, and publicly--then please, please, also articulate that you respectfully disagree with Dr. Piper when he says that they can't. If you won't put two and two together to get four, then I start to wonder if you ever really did affirm me in my calling. I start to wonder if you meant it, or if you've changed your mind since then. And if you won't put two and two together to get four, please believe me when I tell you that too many of the men (and women) who are listening to you will put two and two together to make five. And that twisted math is devastating to me, women like me, and the church in general.  It's the very reason why we need--and again, if you are a "robust" complementarian, you have already admitted that you agree with this--women seminary professors in the first place. We need the complementary nature of men and women, partnering together, to help the church thrive. We who are women need to know that men (under whose leadership we willingly submit ourselves) are listening, learning, and lamenting the ways that we sin against each other. You who are men need to know that women (whom you have been entrusted to lead as servant-leaders in the sacrificial legacy of Christ) are actually wounded when Dr. Piper's words go unchecked. We all need to be reminded that the embodied King Jesus came to earth as a man (and that's beautiful and it matters) to love and save men and women alike.

Again, don't hear what I'm not saying. I'm not saying you have to be hateful, or pedantic, or even very splashy about how Dr. Piper's brand of complementarianism is not your own. Just be honest, clear, and consistent about it. If I understand correctly, you and I believe that the complementarianism we see in the Bible is neither toxic nor harmful. We believe that certain boundaries aren't limiting, but rather freeing. We believe the opposite of what society tells us about gender roles, but we also believe the opposite of what Pastor John tells us. There is a third way, and I am so weary of it getting lost in the middle of false unity. I, myself, siblings, am so weary of being lost in the middle of this false unity.


Three. Finally, please support, bankroll, pray, advocate, and fight for the women in seminary that you know. Whether they are students or professors, it is not an easy thing to be a woman in a traditionally male-dominated field. I can ultimately only speak for myself, but it is a daily death to be the only woman in your program, in class, on a faculty, at a conference, or on a panel, or in any number of situations.

I've pleaded before for folks to understand what it's like to be the only woman in a theological setting. It's exhausting. And now, as I prepare to begin my seventh. year. in. seminary. (!) still the only woman in my MDiv program (and usually the only woman in my classes), John Piper's words are especially hard to bear. For the Lord's own mysterious reasons (no doubt part of which is my own sanctification and being humbled), I am at a seminary with only one female professor (and she not in the MDiv program). We've had women teaching MDiv classes in the past (and the Homiletics course, no less!), and the majority of my professors are supportive of my endeavors. But if Dr. Piper's rhetoric is allowed to continue to grow and influence others, then myself and women like me will still have to deal with a lot of vitriol and disdain. Whether my seminary hires female professors or not, or whether other women will join me in the MDiv program or not (please, oh, please! COME!) is secondary to (though of course ultimately part of) what the climate will be like. When Dr. Piper is allowed to blithely say that oh, sure--women can be in seminary or whatever, but he is not held accountable to what women in seminary need in the way of support, it's still harmful. And when Dr. Piper is allowed to offer hollow, nominal support for women in seminary without being held accountable to the hurt that his words cause, the damage is compounded.

So don't hear what I'm not saying. I'm not trying to change the minds of egalitarians to a complementarian position. I'm not even trying to change the minds of Pastor John supporters to reject what he's preaching. Yes, I'd love for egalitarians to be less alienated by and suspicious of the true complementarian position. Indeed, I'd be grateful if more folks stopped agreeing with toxic complementarianism and chose instead that arduous middle path to which I feel called. But what I'm really asking for is those who are already with me in orthodoxy to join me in orthopraxy. If you were angered by Dr. Piper's podcast but are in the complementarian camp, please speak up. If you disagree with the idea that female seminary professors can't be part of a healthy complementarian seminary, please, pray for those of us in the seminary trenches. And if you want to put your money, time, and emotional energy where your mouth is, then, please--fund more women in all areas of seminary. I am grateful for the scholarships that I do receive, and am not above accepting more. And I would be over the moon for an endowed chair specifically for a woman professor in my program!

And know that regardless, myself and women like me will persevere, because that's what God has asked us to do.

Robustly yours,
A Fellow Awkward Centrist.

To Those Whose Speech is Vulgar

Dear Friends Who are Still Speaking to Me,

I've actually come up with a resolution this year, and I'd like to share it with you:

For 2018, I'm going to be more vulgar.

Wait (dammit), stay with me on this. For those who know me--or if my reputation has preceded me--you may be thinking a couple of different things.

"Is that actually possible? For Chandra to be more vulgar?"

and/or

"Is that such a good idea? For Chandra to be more vulgar?"

or even

"How is that a New Year's Resolution? For Chandra to be more vulgar?"

Well, hang on just a (damn) minute. "Vulgar" didn't always mean crude or offensive. It used to just mean "commonplace" or "of the masses." The Vulgate version of the Bible was written in Latin, a language of the masses (hence the word origin; EDIT: The Vulgate was the more commonly used Latin Bible, so that's why it entered the vernacular. Thanks, D. Hogue!). Latin is a "dead" language now, and most folks who can read the Bible in a Latin translation are fairly privileged/scholarly. But at one time, the language of the Vulgate would have been understandable to many (if not most) European folks. And though someone saying they know "Koine" Greek might sound impressive, using the modifier "Koine" is merely a way of distinguishing Classical Greek from the everyday Greek in which the New Testament was written. It too, just means "common."

So when I say my goal is to be more vulgar, I'm mostly just talking about this crazy endeavor I've undertaken to read the entire Protestant Bible in its original languages in one year. Yes, my goal is to read the Bible in those commonplace languages in which it was first written: Hebrew and (Koine) Greek.

I hesitated to announce this absurd plan to the masses (get it? har har har) because let's be honest: it's pretty much a brag. "Ooooooh, lookit meeeeee! I can read the Bible in the original languages! Oooooooh! I'm sooooooo impressive!" Brag, brag, brag.

I am not denying I am bad about bragging.

But in this case, I'm sharing for a few reasons, and you being impressed with me is not on the list. Okay, fine. It's at the bottom of the list. I admit it, okay? (dammit.)

Pretty high on the list is that I'd love prayer and encouragement. I'm in a really great Facebook group of like-minded individuals who have far more discipline, organizational skills, and vocabulary memorized than do I, so I've got great accountability. (And I am not fishing for complements--I know my strengths, and being disciplined, organized, or vocabulary-ized is none of them. I am [mostly] okay with that.) But I only know one or two of those folks personally, and from what I can tell, most of them are not "common" people. They are seminarians and scholars, not stay-at-home parents and engineers.

And that actually brings me to top of my list of what I'm hoping to accomplish here. I'd also love to pray for and encourage you: a loved one who is both commonplace and extraordinary. Because if I'm honest, most days I will read over the assigned passages in the original languages, puzzle through them as best I can, understand very little, and then read the passages again in English. Perhaps, by this time next year, the daily habit will have schooled me well in my Greek and Hebrew, and I'll understand more than ever. Maybe not. But I will have read some Bible passages, and (perhaps more importantly) will have had to ask for forgiveness and to forgive myself for every day that I didn't read. And even on those days I do accomplish the reading, I will also have to repent of the desire to brag about how smart I am. Each and every day, I will need to be forgiven of forgetting that being a seminarian does not make me special. Daily, I will need reminders that I am a common person who is loved by a transcendent God. Attempting this resolution means that each day of 2018 I will have had to bring myself--not just my vulgar tongue, but my truly vulgar heart--to the feet of the living word, coming away transformed.

And that's what I want for all of us. Those of us who claim Christ, I want us--his beloved bride--to know Jesus better. Those of you that I know and love who aren't Christ-followers, I want you to know him better, too, so that you can make truly informed decisions about who he says he is and what that means for you. And for most of the folks who read this, that probably won't mean reading the Bible in the original languages. But I hope you can find some "vulgar" way to listen to God daily. Maybe it will mean committing to daily reading of the written scriptures in your first language. Maybe it will look like regularly listening to a podcast with commonplace, sometimes vulgar folks talking about Jesus. Perhaps you'll listen to sermons online. Maybe you'll listen to music from artists who are considered vulgar because they have the audacity to talk about real life and how messy things can get when we seek to rely on the Holy Spirit. Maybe you'll talk with folks on social media who, like myself, could use a little taming of their tongues, but are desperate to keep their hearts aflame. Perhaps you'll even spend more time talking to (and about) Jesus like the Psalmist, the Apostle Paul, Solomon, and others did--passionately, "earthily," and honestly.

I hope so. Let's be vulgar this year, friends.

Let us, in our everyday lives, seek that extraordinary one who came to this commonplace earth, had rough, calloused hands, and lived his entire life without indoor plumbing or washing machines.

Let us seek those vulgar ones who Christ came to save--the tax collectors, prostitutes, and sailors with whom he felt far more comfortable than the religious scholars of the day.

Let us be honest about our finite, needy condition, and find that God has come to dwell with us in mercy and in truth--not in spite of our vulgarity, but because of it.

From one sinner to another (damn!),
Chandra

To My Fellow Americans (Part 4)

From the cover of "Body Broken: Can Republicans and Democrats Sit in the Same Pew?"
by Charles D. Drew, New Growth Press, 2012; under US Copyright Fair Use Laws.
Cover design by Brandon Hill Design.

I know the issue is more than mere political divide, but it's not less than that, either. 

Dear Eighty-One Percent,

I've seen a lot of sympathy offered for those who were hurt in Charlottesville this weekend. Social media is full of calls for "loving thoughts" and prayer for #Charlottesville. Regular folks and celebrities alike are tweeting their condemnation of the violence, with hashtags like #BeKind and #Resist. It's definitely "trending."

There are also a lot of folks who are doing even more than engaging on social media. People of all skin tones and backgrounds are peacefully protesting across the country. Charities are providing the opportunity to help with the legal and medical needs of the victims. Wealthy folk are putting their money where their mouths are, tangible support to match their tweets.

And yet.

Remember the "Occupy Wall Street" protests? Folks also engaged in a variety of ways around that cause. "The One Percent" became synonymous with privilege and being out-of-touch. In the same way that the "1%" of Americans is made up of privileged folks, so too is the "81%" of Evangelicals who voted for Donald Trump. A privilege which, though not based solely in financial wealth, still affords the 81% the ability to ignore the reality behind Charlottesville. To rest in their privilege and stay out-of-touch. So many people are asking, "How can we help?" Will those of you who voted for President Trump actually listen to the answer?

During the election, Christian people of color and minority status said: "We are afraid. This man encourages xenophobia and exceptionalism. His violent message will lead to violent actions." Many of those who would later vote for Trump--the 81%--responded: "No, you're reading into it. Don't be so paranoid. Your fears are unfounded and unreasonable."

As the election progressed, Christian people of color and minority status pleaded: "We are afraid. This man is backed by hateful people in the alt-right, anti-semitic movement. His words and behavior toward the most vulnerable are predatory, disdainful, and dangerous. If he is president, many of us--our children and families--will suffer." Yet Christian folks replied: "Abortion is too big of an issue to let go of! Our next president will choose at least one Supreme Court Justice! The 'least of these' talked about by Jesus were the unborn, and that's it. Your fears are distracting us from the real battle for life."

When the electoral college turned fiction into fact, Christian people of color and minority status cried out: "We are afraid! How could this happen? How could 81% of our brothers and sisters in the church care so little for our well-being that they were willing to ignore the threat of Trump? How could they look the other way regarding his misogyny, racism, and lies? Where do we go when we feel unsafe in our own churches?" And the 81% lashed out: "Our hands were tied. We had an impossible choice. Hillary is evil, and we have to protect babies. It hurts us that you say you feel unsafe. Your well-being isn't threatened by Trump's presidency! Please stop being so divisive."

When President-Elect Trump named alt-right, white supremacists to his cabinet and other important positions, Christian people of color and minority status wept and raged. When Trump took oaths to defend and protect our country, yet policies against the vulnerable began to take shape, sometimes Christian people of color and minority status ran out of things to say. Because fears were being realized, and the damage was already done. If these traumatized brothers and sisters did speak up, far too many of the 81% didn't want to hear it: "Don't say you told us so. This is different than what you predicted. There's not proof these things are related. It's not our business--that's what we have elected officials for. You're still being so paranoid. Hasn't the election divided us enough already? Could we please stop talking about all this and get back to gospel issues?"

And now Charlottesville has happened. Now an act of terror upon American soil by radical dissidents has occurred, and Trump supporters are surprised, horrified, and want to help. Now the blood of the vulnerable has been shed--yet again--and Christian people of color and minority status will raise weary heads yet again, to ask: "We are afraid--will you hear us? Please don't make excuses. Just listen. Please don't vote for President Trump in four years. Please don't assume that we're paranoid and unreasonable. Please start writing and calling your elected officials (of all affiliations) to tell them that not only is this violence unacceptable, so is the rhetoric and permissiveness which has spawned it. Please, brothers and sisters, don't turn a blind eye and rest in your privilege. We don't need you to beat yourselves up for voting for Trump. We need you to listen to the Holy Spirit, repent, and get busy grieving, protesting, and figuring out what God would have you do differently."

So, dear siblings in the 81%, will you listen? Will you lament with us? Will you cling to grace more than a political party? Will you move forward in repentance and in hope at what God is doing amidst the chaos? Will you stop making excuses for the current administration, stop berating those who are afraid, and enter the messy world of vulnerable people where there are no easy answers? I hope so.

Afraid yet clinging to Jesus,
A wounded sister.

To Those with Influence

Dear Folks in Charge,

I could be writing this letter to many high-profile pastors and theologians. Asking those influential leaders to please reconsider, see reason, or think about how their bold statements affect those of us in the pew. But I'm not. I'm writing to you, Professor. I'm writing to you, Pastor. I'm writing to you, Elder; and you, Chairperson; and you, Dean. I'm writing to all the people that I actually know in some way, who seem to actually care about what I'm thinking. I'm writing to the leaders--in all my spheres of life--who have some measure of influence on these outspoken "rock star" Christians. I'm writing to those folks who seem to still be willing to listen to the average person, as opposed to those whose arrogance seems to be blinding them to listening to anyone other than those they see as equals.

I know that's a brassy thing to say, to classify them as arrogant. I know that it doesn't necessarily lessen the blow to say that you--leaders that I do know in some way--are not as arrogant. I should clarify. We're all arrogant. I'm arrogant. (I think we're all well aware of that.) But I think the lack of humility and God-centeredness (which all humans struggle with) shows itself in different ways. It manifests itself differently in different folks, and it looms large in the lives of leaders whose opinions go unchallenged and unchecked. I know these fellow leaders are your friends, and hearing them or their ideas maligned isn't easy. I know they are, in some ways, also my leaders, and as such deserve respect according to their office. But your friendship with them is precisely why I am writing you, friends. Because someone's got to be willing to say something to them in a public sphere, and that sure isn't me. For several reasons.

Let me be clear. I am not asking you to disown these fellow servants, to throw them under the proverbial bus, or to make a spectacle of them. I know there are some conversations--some of which you are no doubt having--that are best left private for both Biblical and human reasons. But there are two reasons why I am entreating you to openly speak to your fellow leaders--for our sake, and for theirs.

For the sake of the church, we need to speak out against evil rhetoric. You know this. You are very good at doing this in many ways. You speak out against the evils of misogyny, racism, and violence against the helpless. This is, in part, why I so joyfully submit myself to your leadership. I believe in you. You give beautiful, passionate sermons and lectures about pursuing holiness, about the work of God in bringing his shalom and justice. You make it clear what you stand for, and I am grateful. And yet.

And yet you align yourself--in a way that makes it seem wholeheartedly--with those who do not stand against those evils. It seems to me that there is a prevailing thought in leadership that if you just ignore the troubling rhetoric of your siblings, they will cease and desist. I think it's time to speak this truth: they are not stopping. They have not stopped. And until they are called--graciously and lovingly--to account for their theology and how they have caused pain, I do not believe they will stop.

Let me give an example of what I would love to hear. I think we've already agreed that I'm being brazen here, so I'll not hem and haw around what I am asking you to do, dear leaders. If you were to say--publicly (on a blog, in an article, a tweet, a sermon message, a podcast, etc.) and not just privately--"I love this dear brother x. His heart for x ministries is evident. He has been a powerful force used by the Lord for x. For this I am grateful. But his views on women, and what he presents as complementarianism, is not what I stand for. It is not what this organization/school/platform stands for. We believe in the robust support of men and women, in various spheres of influence, as leaders in their fields. Though we support a complementarian view which holds men and women as inherently different and with different, God-ordained roles in the home and the church, this does not play out in a 1950's 'secretaries, teachers, wives, and mothers only' way. Women can be CEOs. Women can be lay leaders in the church. Women can teach, they can engineer, they can innovate, they can minister, they can write, they can speak, they can lead. We support this."

I know there are several responses to what I just wrote. To my egalitarian friends, I apologize. I know there doesn't seem to be a distinction here, between different brands of complementarianism. I can only say that I am sorry for the pain this causes you, and beg you to continue to dialogue with me on this, trusting what you know of me and other robust complementarians to help the conversation along.

On the flip side, to folks who agree with hyper-complementarianism's restrictions and think that I am theologically way off-base here, I'm curious to know why you're reading this blog and allowing me to have influence in your thinking--especially if you're male. I would love to dialogue about this, too. I will say that the bold statement above is only a paraphrasing of what I have heard many leaders say in response to the question of women's roles and what robust complementarianism looks like. These are not radical statements that I made up. What is radical is someone actually calling for these statements to be held over against statements which do not affirm women as any sort of leaders or having any influence over men, ever.

And to the leaders whom I have paraphrased above, who have said these affirming, life-giving things about the roles and leadership of women, you may not see the point. Because yes, you are already saying these important things. You are standing up for those who have no voice in a fallen world. And for that I am really and truly grateful. But I think we are on the same page when I say that we want to see these things changed by the power of the gospel. We want to see less sexism, less dismissive mistrust of women. We are working together to see fewer women grieved by ignorance, abuses, and bad theology in the church. We believe that God is doing these things.

Why then the letter? you ask. Why not just keep doing the good work, fighting the good fight? Well, in addition to the fact that the schtick of my blog is writing letters, I'll answer that the advancement of the cause requires more. It requires more than just two ships passing in the night. Rather than two competing views of women's roles, there needs to be an actual dialogue. And sometimes, an actual conflict. I am asking you, leaders, to say hard things to these other leaders. To say "No, friend. You and I do not agree on this, and I must speak out here, even though I may risk our friendship. I do this because I will stand on my theological convictions with integrity and the understanding that what I say matters to the men and women in our classrooms, our churches, our businesses and our organizations. You and I may even have to agree to disagree, but I will not, by my silence, give the impression that I am ambivalent about this." That is the kind of support I am asking for.

I get called an instigator a lot. Sometimes the accusations are true, and I need to repent. Sometimes, they are wholly untrue, and others need to step back and evaluate themselves. Most often, it is a muddy mix of the two, where I am in need of good leadership to help me listen, rethink, and repent where my attitude is bad. Most often, there is something good to be said in there, mixed in with my anger and heartache and passionate stubbornness. So lead, dear ones. Lead by being willing to speak whenever anyone in your sphere of influence needs guidance. This includes me, but it also includes these other leaders. It must include both, if we are to be as impartial as Paul exhorted us in James 2.

There is room to both affirm the views you agree with, and respectfully speak out against the views with which you do not hold. And there is a way to do that which does not denigrate the person. You know that. You've taught me that. And when it comes to speaking out for the sake of these leaders--no matter the subject--I beg of you, show us some of the "iron sharpening iron" that is such an integral part of the Body of Christ. Hold them accountable, and by doing so bless them with your speaking the truth in love, and us with your advocacy and clarifications. Help those of us in the pew learn how to actually engage one another on hard topics, not how to just "get along."

This really could be about any issue--missions, race, money, anger, etc. I have just chosen one that is especially painful right now. Basically, I'm asking you to stand up for what you already believe in. I do believe you are already working out these issues privately, which is wise and gracious of you. And I'm not asking you to shame your fellow leaders. But please also have some of these conversations publicly, for the benefit of the church. And if you believe that I have sinned in penning this, then I trust that you will tell me, graciously and firmly. I trust that you will make your position clear, both in private and in public. I ask for no less for your fellow leaders.

Gratefully,
A fellow follower of Jesus, and one entrusted to your care.

To my Brothers in our Denomination

NOTE: Well, here we are again. My denomination's online presence is in an uproar. Friends of other denominations, I hope this doesn't grieve you too badly. Thank you for your patience. Egalitarian friends, I know this will grieve you, and for that I can only say I'm sorry. That, and thank you for loving myself and other flawed siblings, anyway. Thank you for listening with the same grace as when I wrote this blog post.

Today, I will write to my denominational brothers, some of whom have acted very harshly. I will try to write to my denominational sisters soon.


Dear Brothers in the Lord,

I have been incredibly saddened as I've read ungracious responses to this podcast at Truth's Table. This is not just as a theological debate, it is discourse that affects actual people in our churches. When Christina, Ekemini, and Michelle spoke strongly about the painful experiences of women in reformed circles--the feeling of "Gender Apartheid"--it struck a chord in me. I wept to know that I wasn't alone in my experiences of being belittled and dismissed.  When I saw the responses of some to the podcast--not merely negative, but condemning and hateful--I wept again.

To those of you who are in quite an uproar right now about the ideas from the podcast--by all means, engage it. Critique it. Give Biblical reasons for what you see as error. These wonderful women welcome discussion. They desire to see iron sharpen iron. But express your concerns Biblically. That means without hatred and without vitriol. It means with passion that is restrained by patience and a desire for reconciliation and growth, for the peace and purity of the church.

To those of you who were blessed by it--please speak up. Some of you are in the discussion already. Some of you are blissfully ignorant about all the hullabaloo. Well, brothers, it's time. It's time to take a stand. Not a stand saying, "I completely agree" or a stand saying "I completely disagree." No, a stand saying,

"I completely reject human beings denigrating the image of God in other human beings."
That kind of a stand.

The kind of a stand which might even disagree with some of the exegesis on the topic at hand, but holds oneself and others to a higher standard while discussing disagreements.

Or the kind of a stand which might fully agree with everything said in the podcast, but still refuses to be arrogant and is determined to be open to loving correction.

The kind of a stand that Jesus made.

Because Jesus preached truth. Bold, earth-shaking (literally!) truth. But the truth he preached brought healthy conviction, an invitation to "sin no more," and the freedom that his sacrifice brings. He was hardest on the religious establishment of the day. He was most patient with the marginalized. And he got angriest when he saw people oppressing, misleading, and demeaning others.

So, brothers who disagreed strongly with the podcast--let's talk about why. I wish I had actually had more time to reflect on what I did and didn't agree with in the podcast. But "the gauntlet" was thrown, harsh words were spoken, and suddenly I couldn't just focus on the mistreatment of women as a theoretical idea as referenced in the podcast. Instead, I was seeing it played out before me, in living color and for God and everyone to see.

I won't mention specific names, because at this point, I'm not really concerned with the individual actions of some men. I'm concerned about the reformed movement as a whole. We all need to learn more about our inherently sinful attitudes toward women, many of which have been taught and reinforced and upheld in reformed circles. But I have references if you want them.

Brothers, It is disrespectful (1 Peter 2:17) to dismissively say that the podcast was "mostly [just] the women pontificating," especially when it's obvious that you disagree with what the sisters said. Disrespect for women's voices is evident here.

Brothers, it is hurtful and unhelpful (Matthew 12: 34-37) to show such disgust for other human beings, by saying "If you want your ears to bleed, just listen to the podcast..." When you call it "horrible" and "nonsense," you have made it clear that you do not merely disagree with their opinions, but you also don't respect their intelligence. Did the use of the word "penis" really make you feel "so dirty" that you "determined to take a bath"? Do you not see how hurtful and shameful it is for someone to be told that her speech is "utterly repugnant and a dishonor to the cause of Christ"? Did you really comment about another sister in Christ that she "speaks with the tongue of the serpent"... and think that's acceptable or honoring to the Lord?

Brothers, it is poor reasoning (Romans 12:1-2) to say that because you are "unaware of any church that doesn't let women greet at the door, share their testimonies (not disguised sermons, mind you), and play an active role in ministry," that means those churches and rules don't exist. When you are dismissive of our experiences and the inequalities in the church, you are dismissive of us. And you are teaching the next generation to be dismissive and uncaring, as well.

Brothers, it is unkind and unwise (James 3:13-18) to say that if we "simply celebrated the contributions that women made in ministry in the church already this whole debate on gender roles would go away, because it would be clear that we staunch defenders of gender roles love and celebrate women while refusing to budge on biblical practice." I wonder if the Truth's Table ladies feel loved and celebrated by the harshness of your critiques? I certainly don't always feel that way in reformed circles... unless I'm willing to adhere to cultural, extra-Biblical standards. And to imply that the debate would just go away if you cheered us on shows just how much of the depth of pain expressed has been lost on you.

Brothers, it is dismissive (Ezekiel 34:15-16) to say that someone is "just another pagan" although she has been vetted by her pastor, session, and seminary professors. Even if her statement was problematic, such a flippant response shows not only an absence of love toward a sibling, but also a heartbreaking disregard for those who are lost.

Brothers, it is demeaning (Ephesians 4:31-32) to treat a grown woman like a child, to interrogate her as though she were stupid, and to demand information from her as though she is an enemy and a spy. I simply cannot think that a statement like "... do your elders know you are hosting a podcast? Are they aware of it? Do they listen? What church? Email of your stated clerk please" is anything other than rudeness both to her and her elders.

And brothers, it is unloving and embarrassingly childish (1 Corinthians 13:8-12) to call anyone--let alone a woman--"Holier than thou [last name]" and reply in all caps (the internet equivalent of shouting). As a dear ordained brother said, "It's like this whole discussion validates the need for the podcast."

I could go on, but I won't. But if any sibling who is reading this wondered if these brothers really were being hateful and divisive, I hope this answers your question.

And... brothers who agree with all or some of the podcast--please speak up/keep speaking up. We need you now, more than ever. The brothers above need to know that you are in solidarity with us--the marginalized and disrespected, even if you agree with some of the critiques. Those brothers need to know that their opinions are not infallible, nor are they necessarily the majority opinion. And they need to know that there are consequences to real women (and men) from their actions. They need to know that you see them, and disagree with their behavior, even if you agree with their theological stances. Those brothers need to know that hateful attitudes will be called out just as quickly as will other "troubling" theological ideas. We all need to know that.

We all need to know that Jesus has not gone silent in his Church.

We need to be reminded, again and again, that his Church will prevail, not because she's glorified yet, nor even very sanctified currently, but because God is faithful when we are faithless. We need to know that valuing the imago dei and valuing strong theology are not mutually exclusive; but rather essential to each other. We need to know, and be reminded, how to love each other well.

Striving to serve Jesus with you,
A Sister in the Lord

To a Princely King, a Self-proclaimed King, and the King of All Kings

"Movement to Overcome," Michael Pavlovsky, Memphis Civil Rights Museum

NOTE: This was supposed to be published for MLK Day. Clearly, it wasn't. I hope it's still an encouragement. I believe it's still timely. I believe discussion of Dr. King's legacy will remain timely for many, many years to come.

Dear Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.,

I was first asked to write this piece for The Well. I had it all planned out, especially after reading Michael Eric Dyson's beautifully controversial book about you. In some ways, you were the best of brothers. You fought hard for justice. You spoke for those who had been robbed of their God-given voice. You sacrificed much--most notably your life--for the cause of equality among human beings. You fought for all Christians--black and white--to see each other as brothers and sisters. A dear brother, and much missed.

But in some ways, you were not a good brother.

In I May Not Get There With You, Dr. Dyson talks about why it is important to see your entire story and not overlook who you truly were, the good and the bad. As I read it, I thought, "Yes! What a great word. I'll talk about what a good brother MLK was, then about how he wasn't perfect, and how women in the academy and professions can partner with good, but humanly flawed brothers, as we pursue the best of brothers--Jesus!" It was a great concept, and I was excited to write it.

I researched. I outlined. I drafted. I enjoyed the process. And then two things happened.

First, Trump won the election. And as it came to my attention that MLK Day 2017 would fall just four days before the Inauguration, I began to struggle with writing. Suddenly my neat categories were blown apart. As the time went on from November until the present, the lines between yourself and President (then Elect) Trump were in some ways clearer, but in some ways blurrier. And most of those "blurred lines" (yes, I'm quoting from that horrible song, because sadly, it's applicable here) were in the treatment of women. This did not help my writer's block any.

Secondly, I overcommitted myself to a number of projects, I missed the draft deadline, and I started to not just struggle with what to write, but to actually doubt if I could write it. Procrastination, fear, shame, and exhaustion all combined to make the work of writing about you just too hard. I knew you were flawed, and I could forgive you for those flaws. Until your flaws lined up too eerily with Mr. Trump's flaws, and then I had to re-think everything.

Ironically, it was that wrestling with your flaws that brought me back to writing, and purpose, and ultimately, back to thinking about Jesus--which is where I had wanted this piece to lead all along. Because I realized that you, too, dealt with procrastination, fear, shame, and exhaustion. You, too, made promises you did not keep, and you, too, had to rely on the saving grace of the gospel of Jesus Christ to make sense of things and keep going in faith.

So what do I want to say to you?  It seems a bit grandiose to say "I forgive you" when I never met you, never was affected by your infidelity or your crudeness. And yet, as a woman, aren't I? As a woman living in a culture where women are thought of as lesser, where women are debased, dehumanized, and objectified, don't I bear the burden of every one who has ever (myself included) allowed coarse talk about women? Who has allowed the sanctity of marriage to be cast aside to the idols of convenience and lust? Isn't the point of Dr. Dyson's book that if we are to properly celebrate the legacy of your life, we must do it whole-heartedly, without reserve, and without skimming over the uncomfortable parts?

Many amazing women of the 1960's Civil Rights Era put up with a lot of nonsense from men, including yourself. They persevered. They still do. And God used you to accomplish much for both men and women. God did that, and you and I can (and will, someday!) join our voices in praise of his work.

So I forgive you, Dr. King. I am incredibly grateful to your legacy. Because unlike some other leaders, you did point to Jesus. Unlike some other sinners, you wrestled with your sin, and depended desperately on the forgiveness of God. And that is what it looks like to partner with good brothers, such as yourself, who are also fallen, sinful men. We wrestle with our sin, and we depend desperately on the forgiveness of God.

With incalculable gratitude,
A sister and fellow activist.


Dear President Trump,

I really wrestled with whether to include you in this post or not. When I asked my dear husband, who is one of the most respectful men (of women, and of people in general) I know, he thought I shouldn't even mention you. Shouldn't sully the legacy of Dr. King by in any way putting you alongside him. On the one hand, I agree with this. In the same way that I will not waste my time (or my typing) mentioning the name of the Charleston shooter who took the lives of Rev. Sen. Clementa Pinckney and eight other beautiful souls, I don't want to waste this special time of reflecting on the work of Dr. King by entertaining hateful, non-peaceful, anti-gospel work.

But as I studied the life (and times) of Dr. King, the similarities to how you treat and think of women became too much to ignore.

Many would argue that you are far beyond Dr. King in your empowering of women. In fact, you have women in roles of leadership, where Dr. King honestly didn't. That still does not score you a point, sir. Because despite his infidelity, despite his rough talk, and ignorant attitude toward women leaders, Dr. King still exhibited restraint. Whereas you dismissed your crude comments about women as being mere "locker room talk," and therefore tried to justify your attitude, Dr. King had at least some sense of reason, of shame. Though he was both culpable and a product of his times, he was foremost a professing Christian. He was a man who knew he wasn't perfect and who had much to repent for.

Because in the end, what set Dr. King apart from you was the fact that he knew he was a sinner. He knew he needed Jesus. He knew he wasn't Jesus. Your words--where you say that you've never asked for forgiveness, because you don't need it--show that you are not a believer. Just on the level of basic beliefs, you have disqualified yourself. And that doesn't mean there isn't common grace at work in your life. No, far from it. Because I respect God as the ultimate authority, I will respect you. I will respect you as president, because I respect the office and the system that has produced it. Even if I feel like you yourself are not respecting the office nor our country, I will fight to stay respectful in my disagreements. Even as I point out what I believe are facts about your misogyny, even as I protest what I believe are violent statements against the most vulnerable, even as I disagree vehemently with your hateful speech about immigrants, I will do so properly, with gratitude for the privilege of being in this country. Not because I at all agree with you or your tactics, but because Dr. King showed a better way. Dr. King followed the way of Jesus.

Praying for you,
A (fellow) citizen.


Dear King Jesus,

I'm tired, dear elder brother. Worn out from being mad, sad, and everything in-between. I need your rest, for I am weary. I need your sanctifying work, for I am sinful. I need your affirming presence, for I am shamed and belittled. And I need your guidance, brother. I need your perfect example, your gracious welcome, your comforting and radical proclamation as the first fruit of the redemption that is to come. I need you. We need you--your church the world over. Heal us, Emmanuel. Heal our country in a way in which it has never really been. It's been yours all along--all things are--but we ask for hearts to be changed, Lord. We ask for your kingdom to come, on earth as it is in heaven. We ask for you to be exalted, for governments and institutions to cease, for the blessing to come of basking in your light alone. We don't ask for you to fill the presidency, Lord. We ask for you to fulfill the scriptures and magnify yourself. Come, Lord Jesus. We desperately need you.

Gratefully,
Your little sister.

To A Cold Front

photo credit Erin Kennedy White

Dear Wintry Weather,

Well, you've finally arrived, even here in Mississippi. I like the idea of cold weather, just not the actuality. I love the idea of snow and blustery snowball fights and icicles hanging from the eaves. Unfortunately, that doesn't really happen around here. No snow; no crisp, glittery mornings; no brittle, clear, frosty nights. Just cold. And rain. And more cold. 

I know Northerners think we're hilarious. Anything above freezing is no big deal in the North. But here in the South, 50 degrees Fahrenheit is about where we start whimpering, and when it gets below freezing--especially if it's rainy--we feel it in our bones. We've got thin blood; we're just not built for cold weather. 

I don't love wearing bulky coats, even though a trenchcoat with a pair of Chucks always makes me feel a little like the dashing Tenth Doctor. We are notorious in our house for losing mittens, scarves, hats, etc. We have to bundle up the baby, take her outside, then strip off her coat so that we can actually snap her in her carseat. Winter apparel, especially when there's no snow, feels like more trouble than it's worth. 

I'll tell you what else I don't like about you, wintry weather. It's hard to forget the poor when it gets cold outside. Each night, sitting around our table, eating warm food with people I love, I have a hard time not feeling guilty about those that don't have a table, or warm food, or a family. I am keenly aware, as I tuck my babies into their snuggly, safe beds, that there are mamas out there who aren't able to provide that safety and warmth for their babies. 

It's easier during warm weather to forget these hard things. To forget that there are still those that are thirsty, overheated, and dangerously unprotected from the elements in summer. Hot weather can be just as deadly as cold weather, but somehow it's easier to ignore the plight that others face, when it's hot outside. In summer, there's a certain solidarity where we all melt, and pant, and wilt away in the heat. In winter, when my loved ones are safe within our home's walls, I feel the exclusion of it all--the fact that there are "haves," and there are "have-nots." Summer feels like camaraderie, like warmth, like light. Winter feels like alienation, like a chill that won't go away, like darkness. 

So I don't like you, cold weather. I want to enjoy God's good gifts, to be grateful for what God has provided. But there's something about cold weather that makes that hard to do. And because of my selfishness, wintry weather doesn't necessarily make me more generous, more prayerful, or more active to help those in need. It just makes me feel guiltier. In a season which is full of busyness and family and travel and so many things--good and bad--to be praying about, I selfishly want to avoid feelings that I can't control, can't sculpt, can't hang lights on and make pretty. 

I guess I can't use a cold front as a scapegoat any longer. Really, I should be addressing God. And addressing the poor. But how? How does one thank God for all that I have and then cry out in anger for those who don't, all in the same breath? How does one see the inherent humanity in those outside? How does one not reduce the poor to a monolithic, faceless group of people that is so easy to dismiss?

Well, God, I guess I'll look to your Word and ask these questions. So I cry out to you, "How long?" I join the Psalmist in asking for justice and your mercy on your people (Psa. 79:5).

I ask for your shalom to come--which necessitates your justice--and I join with the prophet Jeremiah in speaking your words that we, God's people, must seek the good of our cities (Jer. 29:7). 

Along with the tax collector, I beg for your mercy on me, a sinner (Lk. 18:13), and ask you to change my heart, to make me see with your eyes, to break my heart for those in any type of need. I join with Jesus as he looked out over Jerusalem and wept at the misery of his people (Lk. 19:41).

As a drowning person among other drowning people, I ask that you bring me forward in conviction, O Lord, to do your will. To join you in making things right. I cast my guilt away as a scheme of the devil, and desire only to serve you, Lord. I listen to the pangs of hunger that others are feeling, I shiver in the cold that others must constantly live with, and I weep with the loneliness that image-bearers feel, especially during the cold and the holidays. 

And what can I say to you, the hungry, the cold, the homeless, the destitute and the grieving? I will say, I see you. I see your needs, and I want to help meet them. But I also see your imago dei--your status as deserving of respect and dignity because God made you. I see your uniqueness--I will not yield to easy stereotypes nor blame-shifting which abdicates me of all responsibility in your plight. I see you, and I will not look away in shame for either of us. 

And to my family and fellow believers, I say, let us join together in doing God's work. We must pray, and then listen, and then act. We will do good, not to get rid of uncomfortable realizations and guilt, but to be in solidarity with fellow human beings. We will do good, not in a position of power, but recognizing our own desperate, needy state. We will do good because we realize that without God we have nothing and can do nothing. We will do good because God has given us resources to grow his kingdom, and "there, but for the grace of God, go we." Because we recognize that what separates us from those outside in the cold has nothing to do with us or our supposed goodness. And we recognize our frailty, and even that sometimes, we too, are lonely, even in our warm, glowing homes. 

The question we must ask ourselves is not, "Will we invite the sojourner, the stranger, and the needy to our dinner table?" The proper question is "How? How do you want us to serve, God?" Some of us are called to host international students, or others without family nearby. Some of us are called to scale back our food budget, so as to be able to give more to our churches and worthy charities. Some of us are called to foster or adopt. Some of us are called to serve at soup kitchens, children's homes, or homeless shelters. There are as many ways to serve as there are believers to do the serving, if only we'll listen to God's call. Some of us are called to bring people to our table and some to bring the table to those in need, but all are asked to pray. We all must sit with the painful reality that he sends rain on the just and the unjust (Matt. 5:45), especially when it's freezing rain. We all must confront the truth that some have shelter from those cold rains, but others do not. We all must be willing--even as we embrace our families and thank God for all he has done for us--to lament the injustices of the world and continue to ask God to use us to love our fellow humans. 

Shivering, but grateful,

A Fellow Human Being.

To Those Who Want to Learn More

Dear Friends,

Many of my majority culture friends (and yes, I share majority culture privilege in some ways, too, but I also have some minority experiences) are asking, in the aftermath of the election, “How do I help?” I hear your hearts. I see your earnestness. And I believe you can help, can be a force for change. I believe you can do it.

But you might not like the answer as to how.

The election has revealed what’s been there all along: we have a race problem. I’ll say it again: We. Have. A. Race. Problem.

If that sentence makes you uncomfortable, good. This is not an easy topic. If that sentence makes you mad, use it. Ask Jesus--Immanuel--God With Us--to cleanse that anger of sin, and then use it for change. For the changing of your heart foremost. 

And if that sentence makes you say, “No, we don’t have a race problem!” then this post is not for you. This post is for brothers and sisters who are willing to speak this fundamental truth—that our country was founded on the sin of oppressing the vulnerable, and that those practices continue today. At every level, from individual to structural, vulnerable people are oppressed, marginalized, and hurt. If you disagree with that statement, then let us disagree graciously with one another and remain friends. 

But if you are starting to see the vulnerable around you, if you are becoming aware of the oppressed, the marginalized, the hurt and the invisible in our society, if you are becoming aware of your majority culture privilege, welcome. God is at work in you. Because he’s seen those folks--those human beings--all along. And now you that you see the brokenness, there’s no way back to blissful ignorance. There’s no way provided in the gospel for ignoring the hard truths and going backwards.

But does it seem impossible to move forward? Does it seem that as soon as you realize that we have a race problem, then you realize you’re part of that problem, and then when you try to solve that problem, you can't? That’s frustrating. That's disheartening. That's exhausting. And it's especially hard when it is the very people you'd like to serve that are telling you "no."

Would you like to know why you’re being told no? 

Yes, you'd like to know? 

Are you sure?

"No" is so often the answer for several reasons. Some of them are good reasons, some of them are bad, and some just are. But there are real reasons behind why your well-meaning efforts may not be helpful, may be met with resistance, and may drive wedges further.

Because the "yes" that God is asking of you now might be the worst kind of (in)action imaginable in our dominant culture: listening and lamenting.

I'll say it again. Listening and lamenting. 

“No,” you say, “You don’t get it. I want to DO something. Take action. Take a stand. Stop injustice in its tracks.” I say, "Wonderful! Good for you, but YOU don’t get it." I mean this literally. You do not get "it," that "it" being the depth and the complexity of the problem. If you aren’t willing to listen and lament, you truly cannot understand the minority experience and what needs to change. 

Yes, there is a time for action. Yes, that time is now. But no, brown folk don’t need a “white savior.” No, women don’t need a man to explain how we can work together to fix the problem. No, oppressed minority groups do not need the majority to lead them to victory as though the only way to win is through majority culture leadership. You, dear friend, you who are so passionately asking, “How do I help?” by your truly humble question, prove that you want to learn. You also prove that you shouldn’t be arguing with people when they answer you. Because you don't know. When you are told to listen and lament, then, do it. Do. It.

I told you the answer might not be something you wanted to hear. And yes, there are actions to be done, stands to be made, and truth to be shared. But until you can understand the helplessness that a minority of any kind feels, day in and day out, you won’t know how to help. Until you can listen and lament, your actions will be unhelpful, your stands will be awkward, and your truth will be biased.

Actually, even after you listen, you’re still going to mess it up sometimes. That’s the message of the gospel—that we’re all broken people who need a savior to restore and reconcile us to himself and one another. But the odds are much better for your actions to succeed if you educate yourself first. The chances will be much better that your stand will make a difference, and that your truth will be heard and taken to heart by others.

Still mad? Good. Still uncomfortable? Excellent. Still frustrated? Fantastic. Now sit with that. Sit in it. Ask God about it. Cry out to him about it, like the Psalmist did. Not just because it’s good for you (though it certainly is), but also because in this work of listening and lamenting, you are joining the work that is already being done by brothers and sisters around the country. You are joining the cries of kidnapped men, women, and children that were in horrific conditions during the Middle Passage and in chattel slavery. You are weeping along with immigrants who have paid life savings and risked drowning, starvation, suffocation, and being shamed, all to leave behind everything familiar. When you scream aloud with women who have been sexually harassed, abused, objectified and debased, you are joining the Holy Spirit and even the entire earth in groaning and pleading for the coming justice of the King. When you are willing to not just stand with others, but actually helplessly lie down in the street with those who are most vulnerable, then you are emulating Jesus and the sacrifices he made to dwell among us. Then you will receive greater understanding.

Because if you don’t understand at all the misery, vulnerability, and plight of human beings that I just described above, if you think it’s really not that bad, that the stories are inaccurate and biased, and if you feel the need to say “yeah, but—” then you are not ready for action. And nobody wants to hear that. I know, I don't want to hear that. I don't want to sit and wait on the Lord. But we all have to do it at one time or another, so why not now? Enter into this Advent season willing to listen and lament. Willing to wait on Jesus to arrive in unexpected and unheralded ways. 

You may need to have some concrete steps to learning how to listen and lament, and I get it. I'm that way, too. So read Prophetic Lament by Soong-Chan Rah. Heck, just read the book of Lamentations in the Bible. Read The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness by Michelle Alexander. Read this brother's blog post (with an open mind) on Ferguson: Why "Hands Up, Don't Shoot" Still Matters. Visit the National African-American Museum at the Smithsonian, or the Civil Rights museums in cities like Memphis, Birmingham, Atlanta. Watch Do The Right Thing, 12 Years a Slave, or A Time to Kill. And if you want to know more about the immigrant experience, the LGBT experience, women's experience, or any of a number of minority experiences, stories aren't hard to find. As my good friend Jemar would say, "Google it. Google. It." People are willing to share, but let them do so on their own terms. 

We are all created in the image of God, and what a painful, wonderful blessing it is to listen to each others' stories, lament with one another, and wait on the Lord. 

Moving into God's presence,

A Fellow Image-Bearer

To My Fellow Americans (Part 3)

Dear Fellow Citizens,

Well, here I am once again, with delusions of presidential grandeur. I figure if some of the current candidates can fancy themselves worthy of the presidency, why can't I? Ah ha ha ha ha! *whimper*

If you know me at all, you're pretty aware that I'm no fan of Trump, nor am I a big Hillary fan. (I miss Bernie. Hell, I miss McCain as the Republican nominee, at this point.) But the reasons I did or didn't vote for him or her might not be what you'd think:

I didn't vote for him or her because of his or her personality.

Please appreciate my syntax here. That can be read both ways. It could be "the reason for my negative vote is the horribleness of said candidate." And there's something to that, especially with rhetoric that I believe defies ideals that the United States (at its best) stands for: acceptance, community, respect, and inclusion.

But syntactically, it could also be "I voted for him or her, but not because of his or her personality." Because at the end of the day, personality is only part of what does (or doesn't) qualify a candidate for office. Do I want a bombastic, hateful, unrepentant person in the White House? No. Do I think we've had those before? Actually, yes. But I think they could do their jobs because they knew how to lead, and how to inspire, and how to negotiate. Please note that all these descriptors, depending on how one defines them (good and bad), could apply equally well to either of the two main candidates, and probably to Gary Johnson, as well. (I only know this because I'm from New Mexico, and I fondly/embarrassedly remember him as governor.).

Lots of previous presidents have had terrible personalities. And discussions of social media, globalization, and a digital age aside, we were more shielded from those personalities. Those personalities sometimes got in the way, and sometimes didn't. But we're not voting for a pastor, people. We're not proposing to a future spouse. At the end of the day, it would be nice if our president were honest, gracious, and well-spoken. But some of our best past-presidents have been adulterers, thieves, liars, and awkward as hell. Yet they could still do their damn job. So that's who I voted for. I voted for the person I thought could best do the job, based on experience, credibility, reliability, etc. Not being an asshat is part of the job, but honestly, I'm willing to go with someone who can fumble through it and fake it a little. Is that cynical and defeatist? Maybe. Is that wasteful and hypocritical? Possibly. Is that enough reason to not vote? For me, no. If you didn't vote because you despise both major party candidates, I hear you. And I'm not judging you really, just looking at you a little sadly. Which really is far worse, right? Ha ha ha sorry.

So I did vote for him or her because of his or her abilities, or at least what I think they are. And I voted. Because I'm a citizen of heaven who trusts in the Kingship of Christ but has been sent into temporary exile in this world to love God and humans who are created in his image. My ultimate, heavenly citizenship doesn't mean I blow off caring about this world, it means I try to do it as Christ did. I want to engage people well. I want to remember to keep my eyes on heaven, part of which means seeing the people and needs around me. I want to engage people with passionate kindness and kind passion. (Ooh! That's a good one. Lawyer friends, please help me trademark that phrase.)

So who did I vote for? Not Jesus Christ (ugh), because he doesn't need my vote and he's in charge of everything, anyway. I voted for [SENTENCE REDACTED FOR PRIVACY AND NATIONAL SECURITY ISSUES]. We'll see how it goes.

Hopefully, Respectfully, and Patriotically Yours,
Chandra Crane, write-in candidate, Opinionist Party

To a Sweet Baby Girl

Dear Sadie Margaret,

I'm angry right now. Not at you, little one. At life, and circumstances, and death, and--if I'm honest--at God. Because this isn't supposed to be how it turns out. You're supposed to go home to your brothers and sister. You're supposed to keep growing big and strong, and we're supposed to get to keep you in the church nursery, and take vows along with the entire church family at your baptism. To say that we will help your family as they guide, love, and even discipline you a little. We're supposed to get to watch you grow into toddlerhood, commiserate with your Mama and Daddy at how fast time is flying by. There are supposed to be funny stories to be heard over dinner and proud moments to celebrate together, like with your siblings and our kiddos.

But there aren't, and maybe there won't be, and I'm just angry. I know that if you leave us, you'll be going where there's no more pain. I know you'll get to, as your Mama said, "look at Jesus face-to-face with those big, brown eyes." I know you'll look up at our heavenly father, and say, "Daddy, I want a pony." And he'll say, "Here, sweetheart. Have five ponies."

And I know that it's better to be with Jesus, and that I'm terribly selfish to want you to stay, and that the Holy Spirit is convicting me even now. But I am just so angry, and sad, and helpless. And I think that God agrees that death and pain are something to be angry about. And I think that someday that all of us who love you will get to a point where we aren't so angry at God anymore, but I'm sure not there right now.

I'm angry for your family. I'm angry for the thousands of people around the world who have been praying for you and cheering you on. I'm angry for all the little girls and boys who have been praying their sweet, earnest prayers: "Dear God, please help Sadie Margaret get better. Please heal her."

And I'm trying to focus on that ultimate healing that all God's children are ultimately headed toward. I'm trying to rejoice that maybe you'll never really know sin or depression or even anger. That what fear and pain your little body and soul have gone through will be replaced with a peace and joy and life that I can't even really imagine.

But did I mention that I'm so angry?

Perhaps focusing on being grateful for you will help. And I am so very grateful. How many saints have been driven to their knees in prayer over these past months? How many of us have been strengthened by seeing God's incredible sustaining of your family? How many people, that we may never even know in this life, has the Holy Spirit spoken to while they watch your Mama and Daddy celebrate what a little fighter you are?

Your Daddy shared a sweet thought: that even if you leave us soon--someday, how long the line will be in heaven to see you. So many of us, even as we joyously greet our own lost children and other loved ones, will run to see you and join you in basking in the light of the glory of our God on his throne! And we'll say, "Sadie Margaret--you're healed!" And you'll say, "Of course, dear one. Welcome home."

Striving to choose gratitude,
a Loving Aunty

To Those Who Want to Do More

Dear Friends,

I've been asked to compile a series of tweets I recently did about how a majority culture person can, once they've started to feel some of the pain of minority folks' stories, move past inevitable shame into making a difference. Because my heart breaks for my friends who have started to see their own racism and now feel so helpless, like their majority status keeps them continually complicit in injustices, and that they can't help but be oppressors. I do not believe that is so. Quite the opposite. I believe that majority culture folks can be powerful advocates for the Other, leveraging their privilege for the good of others, to the glory of God and the growth of the Kingdom.

When Jesus says, "to whom much is given, of him much will be required," he didn't mean that privileged people will be required to feel much shame and paralyzing guilt. That's not the gospel. The gospel is repenting of sins--personal, corporate, cultural--and then acting on those convictions, following the Holy Spirit in the work he is doing in people's lives and the systems of the world. Shame just wraps us up in ourselves and satan's schemes.

So let me first off all say, thank you, King Jesus. None of us, without common grace, without the touch of the Holy Spirit on sinful minds, realize any of our sins and wrong attitudes, much less do anything to change them. This is Jesus' work. That truth is simultaneously a huge challenge, because God is so very perfect and holy, and also a huge relief. Because dredging change up in ourselves is not what the Holy Spirit is about. He's about showing himself mighty in the feeble work of his children.

Second, let me make it clear that I, too, am racist. I have blogged about this before. I was raised by a black man, but I still find myself shying away from unfamiliar black men in most circumstances. I am working on this. The Holy Spirit is working on this in me. I am seeking to have the lies of the media/culture be replaced by the truths of God. I am repenting and actively trying to change the way I look at others. I am not writing this post (nor was I writing those tweets) to people who aren't interested in racial reconciliation. This isn't supposed to be a post guilting you into confessing racism and changing everything. It's supposed to be a post to encourage already like-minded folks who desire racial reconciliation but don't know where to start. So if those tweets or this post grieve you, I apologize, and hope you can bear with me.

Thirdly, there is something important to being willing to sit in feelings of shame and helplessness. That is actually part of the journey in identifying with the minority. "Triumphalism" of which the majority culture church is often guilty means wanting to move past the bad things without lingering. To merely slap a "Come Lord Jesus" on things as a band-aid, as if we're not in the here-and-not-yet, as if God himself doesn't weep and mourn and lament and understand what it means to be truly ashamed and helpless. Cry out "How Long, O Lord?" like the Psalmists did. Please don't jump past the grief, the wrestling, the muck and mire of the weight of what sinful people can do to each other because of what we think about each other. I know it sounds terrifying, but trust that if God leads you in sinking down into the grief, he will meet you at the bottom, where he has condescended to dwell with us helpless creatures.

Having said that, finally, let me say that it is true that we who believe in Jesus do not weep as those without hope. We know Jesus will make all things right someday. We know he's at work even now. And the crazy, absurd miracle is that we get to be part of that. We get to fight to see the imago dei in each person as we have our eyes recalibrated to see as Jesus sees. We get to do the good work of reconciliation between humans because God has done the great work of reconciliation between humanity and himself.

So here are some ideas to move past shame. Some ideas for little next steps that just might a big difference. And please, have grace for yourself, friends. You will mess up. We all do. You will say awkward things and hurt people. I think it's better to do that in good faith, and to learn, and grow, then to say nothing at all. Find friends who can help you understand. Other bridge builders. Minorities who aren't so exhausted just by existing in a majority culture that they can't explain things kindly and patiently (and over and over again). Let humility and grace guide you, not thinking about what you think is "right" or about your "rights." Believe that God is big enough to guard the truth in your heart. Remember that it's not about our rights, it's about the rights that Jesus laid down for us, so that we could be made right with him and each other. We're all in need of repentance and we're all in need of renewal. Praise God that he's willing to help us walk through both.

Don't traffic in stereotypes, but you can find good ones (or generalizations about what is hurtful/helpful) and learn more about where they come from. Find people who defy those stereotypes from all walks of life, and learn more about their stories. And you can also apply this to Native Americans, to women, to whatever minority it is that God is drawing you toward.

So here are the tweets, with a little more explanation in parenthesis. Some of the explanations are long. Yeah, there's a reason that tweets are limited to 140 characters...


Idea to move past shame: say thanks to black folks in service professions, w/ respect like for white servers. See sacrifice & imago dei.
(Sometimes we have to work harder to be nice to people who aren't like us. It's a fact of life. If you aren't kind to any folks who bring your food, take your trash, and watch your kids, then that's another discussion!)


Idea to move past shame: listen to black musicians-not w/cultural appropriation but w/joy, as w/ white musicians. See gifts & imago dei.
(I was raised on Motown. It's hard not to appreciate and understand some of the issues that a culture experiences when you're listening to music being made by folks in that culture.)


Idea to move past shame: admire black sisters--fab. hair texture (DON'T PET), leadership, etc. as w/ white women. See beauty & imago dei.
(But seriously. DO. NOT. PET.)


Idea to move past shame: sit next to a black person in a drs' waiting room. Don't assume he/she wants to mug you. See needs & imago dei.
(Okay. This one caused some controversy on FB. Yes, I truly apologize for the snark. Perhaps what would have been better would have been to say, "Prove that you don't assume he/she wants to mug you. Break stereotypes on both sides.")


Idea to move past shame: cheer black folks & don't act surprised at successes--celebrate like w/ white folks. See contributions & imago dei.
(It's the "don't act surprised" that keeps this from becoming a microaggression--from becoming awkward and hurtful. What's surprising is when a person of color defeats all kinda crazy odds to get the recognition that his or her accomplishments deserve. But it is not surprising that a POC is actually smart, or talented in something other than sports, or is articulate, or funny, or hardworking. That's God's work in each of us, and we should be looking for it in others.)


Idea to move past shame: buy black art. Explore diff. textures, colors, styles. Display like you would white art. See beauty & imago dei.
(Again, not as cultural appropriation, but as fair representation. There are some amazing black artists out there, who just don't get as much exposure/don't have as great a network as do their majority culture peers.)


Idea to move past shame: find black leaders to place yourself under. Respect/serve as you would white leaders. See strength & imago dei.
(Anybody remember the #DearWhitePastor hashtag from awhile back? POC sharing what they wish white head pastors would know/do? This was my response. Don't just hire a token black person on your staff. Find a way to make them a leader. Maybe even the new head pastor...)


Idea to move past shame: give black dolls/action figures/books to your kids. Play w/ as you would white toys. See reality & imago dei.
(I was the only kid in small-town New Mexico with an Orange Blossom doll [Strawberry Shortcake's black sidekick]. But it was important that my toys reflected reality--that not everyone is white. What with characters like Doc McStuffins, Tiana [The Frog Prince], and Keena Ford [books], along with a spate of new black superheroes, you don't even have to settle for the sidekick anymore.)


Idea to move past shame: invite black friends to meal, calmly & winsomely. Welcome as you would white friends. See uniqueness & imago dei.
(I said "calmly and winsomely" because there is nothing a minority loves more than being fawned over and lovingly harassed by well-meaning people who are SO FLIPPING EXCITED TO SEE A MINORITY THAT THEY CAN BE FRIENDS WITH and maybe also one of the first minorities they've seen in awhile. So don't make a big deal out of it. See their unique cultural needs, but perhaps more importantly, their unique personal needs. Try to know that specific person and how he or she communicates, what he or she feels welcomed by, etc. Which is different for different people, not even just different types of people. And if you got weird and overly clingy, apologize, and keep trying. I know that's a lot to ask, but it's also a lot to ask of someone else to come with you for a meal when you're obviously crazy. :) I think we're all just hoping we are each other's kind of crazy, and that true, deep friendship can come out of that.)


Idea to move past shame: support black campus ministers. Ask about ministry as you would white campus minister. See passion & imago dei.
(Or black non-profits, if that's more your speed. I'm speaking to a mostly Christian audience here, but the point is to get excited about what a person of color is doing, to find out what they are passionate about and hop on board.)


Idea to move past shame: tell black girl she's beautiful & mean it. Celebrate her value as you would white girl. See mind & imago dei.
(Black girls need to hear they are beautiful, inside and out. Because I'm not even tryna deny that they get fed a lot of lies both from the majority and minority cultures--especially hardcore rap. So would you tell a white girl she looked lovely in a similar situation? Then tell that mocha beauty, too. Would you praise a white girl for her grades? Then please do say something to a sista. Would you complement white parents about the way their daughter acted? Then don't be weird about it, but let the black family know, too.)


Idea to move past shame: sit next to black colleagues; showcase ideas. Partner with as you would white colleagues. See talents & imago dei.
(It really is good stewardship when you, as a majority culture person, have the listening ear of colleagues and can point out other coworkers who might get lost in the shuffle. It really is a work of the Holy Spirit to foster humility for us to be able to intentionally partner with folks who may not get the attention or resources we might have. Don't feel guilty that you got that promotion. Use it to raise up other leaders. Don't feel ashamed that you had better educational opportunities growing up. Utilize your higher income to make a difference in a child's life. Grieve the uneven playing field, repent if you weren't aware it existed, and then do something about it.)


Idea to move past shame: hold door for elderly black folks. Defer as you would for white elderly folks. See wisdom & imago dei.
(I know this is partly cultural, and may seem like a no-brainer, but I have two thoughts: 1) I truly believe we are programmed by society to not see those we value less. So we don't pay attention to the elderly like we should, and we don't respect folks with dark skin like they deserve. 2) It's triply-sad when you factor in that in the South, at least, many elderly black men with grey hair are old enough to have been called "boy" by white children and many elderly black women with grey hair remember a time when the rape of a black woman was rather standard and overlooked. So go out of your way, friends. Show a fellow human being some kindness, where a little will go an especially long way.)


Idea to move past shame: appreciate black history makers. Study as you would white history makers. See valuable contributions & imago dei.
(Our history books are incredibly biased, which is a shame not only for race relations, but just for amazing stories about amazing people which don't get told in the majority culture. Take advantage of Black History Month or new books which feature POC history-makers. Dive in.)


Idea to move past shame: make eye contact with young black man, nod/say hi. Engage as you would young white man. See dreams & imago dei.
(I know this is hard. But chances are, anyone you meet around town is not a "thug," or if they are, they don't really care what you're up to. If it's a majority culture public area in the middle of the day, you're probably safe. Try to remember that they are just tryna get where they're going, too. And you breaking that stereotype--proving you're not afraid or disdainful--could mean a lot to that young black man. Your nod/hello could actually speak to the fact that you believe his life matters. If nothing else, being polite is a reasonable thing to do.)


Idea to move past shame: read black poetry with an open mind. Engage as you would white poetry. See heart cries & imago dei of authors.
(Especially if art isn't your thing, poetry---and this includes rap lyrics--can really open your eyes to another person's perspective. Read this poem. Try some Lecrae lyrics. My go-to is Langston Hughes, every time. Maya Angelou, all day long.)


Idea to move past shame: see little black boy playing & don't shy away in fear. Engage as you would little white boy. See joy & imago dei.
(The little boy in the "Dinosaurs in the Hood" poem above? The one playing with plastic dinosaurs and dreaming big dreams? He exists. And his life matters because he was made in the image of God. And so he is beautiful, even though he may seem older than he really is, or more aggressive because of our cultural lenses. I want to really see him, and to see him thrive.) 

And an idea to move past shame, which I didn't tweet before but probably should have, is to see your own imago dei, and rejoice in how every little move towards Jesus lets your light shine through a little more clearly. Be kind to yourself as you're trying to be kind to others. See your heart transformed by Jesus, the ultimate imager of God.

Moving past shame,
A Fellow Image-Bearer.