She Can be Your Hero

Gentle Reader,

Ah, the internet. Where the hottest of hot takes thrive.

Came across this piece over the weekend. A sampling:

I do not blame Marvel for inserting the trending feminist agenda into its universe. Where else can this lucrative ideology — which contrasts so unapologetically with reality — go to be sustained, if not to an alternative universe? Verse after verse, story after story, fact after fact, study after study, example after example dispels the myth of sameness between the sexes. The alternative universe where an accident infuses the heroine with superhuman powers, however, seems to stand as a reasonable apologetic for the feminist agenda.

What?

I’m reminded of similar complaints about the character Rey in the new Star Wars movies. And the same complaints about Wonder Woman. Any time a woman steps into the hero’s role, someone feels offended. The radical feminist agenda! Look at Hollywood, working to tear the family apart! These man-hating liberals!

A woman performing heroic deeds does not, in any way, detract from or diminish a man performing heroic deeds. The desire to control and dominate the opposite sex is rooted in sin, and it’s something we need to battle. We aren’t in competition with each other. The flourishing of men and women alike is directly tied to us seeing each other as equal partners, bringing unique perspectives and skills into every situation.

This article highlights the problems of complementarianism. There is, of course, a spectrum of thought and practice here. I know that many who ascribe to this particular framework were annoyed by the piece, and expressed their annoyance. And I don’t for a second believe that everyone who thinks that a woman shouldn’t preach would turn around and advocate for the squashing or outright abuse of women. That is as ridiculous as those who accuse egalitarians like myself of being blind to differences between the sexes.

But.

When complementarianism becomes rigid, utterly focused on who is doing what and when and how, an article like this is the inevitable result. A woman must always be/do this, a man must always be/do that. And this, my friend, is harmful to everyone.

Am I nitpicking? It is a movie after all. I wish it were. Instead of engaging the movie’s ideology as mere fiction, a fun escape to another world, we have allowed it to bear deadly fruit on earth. Along with Disney, we abandon the traditional princess vibe, and seek to empower little girls everywhere to be strong like men. Cinderella trades her glass slipper for combat boots; Belle, her books for a bazooka. Does the insanity bother us anymore?

What is the “traditional princess vibe?”

Is it Elizabeth Tudor, locked in the Tower of London during the reign of her sister, Mary I? Confronted by Bishop Stephen Gardiner, Elizabeth denied any knowledge of Wyatt’s Rebellion, which sought to overthrow the Catholic Mary and place the Protestant princess of the throne. Day after day she answered questions, her quick thinking and ability to play politics keeping her head securely on her shoulders for another hour. When she ascended to the throne, her name would be splashed across an age of exploration and cultural revival, one of the highlights of which would be her speech to the troops at Tillbury:

I know I have the body of a weak, feeble woman; but I have the heart and stomach of a king, and of a king of England too, and think foul scorn that Parma or Spain, or any prince of Europe, should dare to invade the borders of my realm; to which rather than any dishonour shall grow by me, I myself will take up arms, I myself will be your general, judge, and rewarder of every one of your virtues in the field.

Or is it Mary Tudor, commonly called “bloody,” who was wrenched from the arms of her mother, Catherine of Aragon, when her father, Henry VIII, decided he was going to marry Anne Boelyn with or without the blessing of the church? Mary endured the indignity of having her royal rank stripped away, her household and income drastically slashed, and even served as her new half-sister’s lady-in-waiting for a time. She clung to the Catholic way of faith at risk of her life. When the reign of half-brother Edward VI ended, it was Mary herself who climbed into the saddle and rode toward London, gathering an army of supporters as she went, ready to take her place as the rightful queen.

Or is it Catherine of Aragon, schooled in the art of statecraft by her parents, Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain, the first monarchs to unite the country? She traveled to England to marry Arthur Tudor, who died just five months later. For eight years she existed in limbo, unable to return home but lacking any clear position in England itself. Then, in 1507, she was named her father’s ambassador, the first woman in European history to hold a diplomatic position. After marrying Henry VIII, Catherine served as regent for six months while he was away fighting a pointless war in France, during which the Battle of Flodden, the largest battle between England and Scotland, was fought, with England emerging as the victor. In the midst of all this, she found time to commission a book, The Education of a Christian Woman, written by Juan Luis Vives, which argues that women have the right to be educated just as men are.

Or is it Elizabeth of York, beautiful daughter of Edward V and Elizabeth Woodville, who stepped into marriage with a man she’d hardly spent any time with in order to bring the civil wars that had ravaged her country to an end?

Or is it Margaret Tudor, heiress to an enormous fortune, who bravely bore marriage to a man in his twenties and being shipped off to a castle in the Wales, where, at age 13, she gave birth to her son, Henry, an experience so traumatic and damaging that she was never able to have another child?

Or is it Margaret of Anjou, wife to the mentally ill and and politically deficient Henry VI, who, upon being driven from England, mounted an invasion force in order to restore her husband and ensure the rights of her son?

Or, even further back, is it Matilda, whose father Henry I made his courtiers swear an oath of loyalty to her and her successors, thus setting the stage for the first queen regnant in England? Who then had to fight her cousin, Stephen, after he stole her crown?

These are all examples from English history, particularly the time of the Tudors, because that story is endlessly fascinating to me. These women endured arranged marriages, the constant threat of death in childbirth, long hours spent in the saddle, and the unending pull of various factions vying for influence. They were not mere lovely ornaments, decorating the arms of their powerful husbands or living as meek servants to their family interests. They were movers and shakers in their own right. They had real power, real authority.

We could, of course, get into an even longer list, detailing the exploits of biblical lady heroes. Rahab. Jael. Ruth. Abigail. The unnamed woman in 2 Samuel 20. The woman praised in Proverbs 31. Esther. Mary, the mother of Jesus. Mary Magdalene. Martha. Priscilla. Lydia. Junia. Phoebe.

I have more thoughts about this article and topic, but we’ll end here for now: In the Kingdom of God, there is a completely different agenda and way of living. That agenda and way does not include obsessing over what women “should” do. The point is to follow Jesus as He leads, empowering and encouraging others in the freedom of the Gospel, wherever we go.

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Five Minute Friday: More

Gentle Reader,

I can’t tell you how much this little across-the-miles writing community means to me. Social media is a double-edged sword, to be sure, but when it’s good, it’s very good. The way God knits hearts together through the ether and the words…I am blessed.

Kate says:

Go.

“I say to you, my friends, don’t fear those who kill the body, and after that can do nothing more.”

– Luke 12:4 (CSB)

Jesus is something else, isn’t He? Always kind, always gentle, but not one to mince words – ever. He is constantly, through the words of Scripture and through the Spirit, teaching us the correct order of things. Teaching us how to be free. Teaching us how to walk through this life yielded to His direction.

Last night, I stood in line to receive an ashen cross on my forehead. A symbol of mortality. A reminder of what the Savior did for me. For us. For all of creation. Nothing magical or mystical about it. Simple elements that washed away with a bit of water. A transient mark upon my transient flesh.

I belong to God. People, they will come and go, just as I come and go. Some relationships last longer than others, of course, but ultimately, it’s me and Him. Acknowledging this doesn’t deny the reality or importance of the Body, the corporate aspect of Kingdom life. I am not a person alone, but surrounded by and part of a great group of witnesses.

And yet, the bottom line, the realest of real things – God.

He is more than I can imagine or dream. He provides more than I could want or need. He is the true treasure, the great reward. He is the source of my life and identity. He is my King.

When I pause and really think on this, everyone else takes their proper place.

Stop.

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By the Grace of God, Never Again

Gentle Reader,

Oh yes, You shaped me first inside, then out;
    You formed me in my mother’s womb.
I thank you, High God—you’re breathtaking!
    Body and soul, I am marvelously made!
    I worship in adoration—what a creation!
You know me inside and out,
    You know every bone in my body;
You know exactly how I was made, bit by bit,
    how I was sculpted from nothing into something.
Like an open book, You watched me grow from conception to birth;
    all the stages of my life were spread out before You,
The days of my life all prepared
    before I’d even lived one day.

We are born afresh in Christ, and born to do those good deeds which God planned for us to do.

If I were still trying to please people, I would not be a servant of Christ.


– Psalm 139:13-16, Ephesians 2:10, Galatians 1:10c (MSG, Phillips, CSB)

James tells us that not many should become teachers, for teachers will be held to a higher standard. Today I wonder if that doesn’t begin here and now, with the heaviness of the Spirit’s kind conviction, when you realize that there’s a part of you that still doesn’t believe. That still doubts.

I love to teach. I can’t help but teach. Maybe that’s why I feel such soaring joy when I’m around the teenagers; they have the most bizarre questions about the Bible and I love that. I love watching them begin to learn how to grapple with the text themselves. I love passing along the hermenutical skills I learned in college because that degree was dang expensive and needs to be put to use somehow. I love their steps of faith, large and small. I love encouraging them to live boldly, to be courageous in God and who He made them to be.

Ah, teacher. Teach yourself.

Born once, on a hot summer afternoon. A body that’s never quite worked properly. Living out John 9:3 long before I understood what that meant. Born again, on another afternoon when the sun burned so brightly through the bedroom window that my crayons melted a little. Right away in love with Jesus, content to sit on the swings at recess and talk to Him.

Flesh and spirit have wandered there and back again in the intervening years.

I read the words of the Psalmist and the Apostle and my heart twists. I know that it is the Holy Hand touching the tender place. I want to run, as I often do, but this time…this time I stay. I sit with the pain. Yes, Lord. I haven’t believed. I have declared Your goodness to others but have wondered if You are good to me. I have despised myself. Not the sin that You call me to hate, but the person, the woman You made. Father, forgive me. Help my unbelief.

Wretched companions, doubt and loathing. When we hold their hands, we are unable to grasp the scarred hand of our Savior. This doesn’t mean He’s left us – praise Him for His faithful patience! – but it does mean that we can’t move forward. Can’t live as He wants us to. Can’t keep our heads up and our eyes focused on what matters.

And me, I have to do that. I have to fix my gaze on Him.

Because teaching, the thing that He has called and gifted me to do, is not a fast-track to popularity. Or at least it’s not when the message that burns inside your chest isn’t one that people want to hear.

By the grace of God, never again. No more do I wish to walk around afraid of other people. It is impossible for me to serve the Lord wholeheartedly when I’m bound up in that. No more do I wish to apologize when no apology is needed. Just as there is room for you, dear reader, there is room for me. And no more will I reach for the “delete” button, consumed by terror and moved to compromise where no compromise should exist.

No more do I wish to be anyone other than who God made me to be.

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Burn Up the Memories

Gentle Reader,

When someone’s home is destroyed by a fire or flood or some other catastrophe, we hear that they are most devastated by the loss of cherished items like photographs and other mementos of special occasions. A television can be replaced. So can clothes, shoes, books. That picture of Auntie Sylvia and Uncle Ernie on their seventieth wedding anniversary? Gone.

A unique kind of pain.

One I realize I’ve inflicted on myself.

No, my house hasn’t burned down. Four walls and a roof, still here.

But my social media, that cloudy place that brings out the best and worst in all of us, that I’ve burned to the ground more than once. Deliberately lit the match. Watched years of thoughts and memories crumble into ash. Gone are the photos of an impromptu summer dance party in my dear friend’s backyard. Lost are the silly, pain-soaked words I shared from the hospital bed. Thoughtful discussions, memes, moments of growth and sharing – vanished.

There is no fear in love; instead, perfect love drives out fear, because fear involves punishment. So the one who fears is not complete in love.

– 1 John 4:18 (CSB)

The Beloved Apostle wrote these words to encourage Christians. We are not meant to quake in fear at the thought of meeting our Lord.

Absence of fear (boldness) derives not from a sense of self-sufficiency but from the relation of child to Father. Love and fear of punishment are incompatible. This does not imply flawless behavior on the part of the child; any claim to perfection at this level can result only in bigotry. Rather it is God’s full and free acceptance and the believer’s trust in His love that elicits a full confidence that excludes fear and uncertainty.

Asbury Bible Commentary (emphasis mine)

Love. Fear. Incompatible.

As I seek to dwell in truth this year, I see just how bound up in fear I’ve been. Perhaps a, “Well, yeah,” moment for someone who doesn’t know what it is to live without anxiety due to her misfiring brain, but because God is good and promises to complete His good work in us, there’s always a new layer waiting to be revealed, a new space in which He desires to move. And I can’t stop the tears from stinging as I realize just how deep the fear of people goes.

Fear of their anger. Of their rejection.

You see, when I walk into a room, I don’t assume that I’ll be embraced. There’s always this wall. This wariness. This wondering. The last few years have done little to move me to a new perspective. I’ll own what I need to own here; I haven’t always spoken in love, used the best words or chosen my moment wisely. And the reaction to that – lack of grace, lack of love, lack of seeking to understand…

Burn up the memories.

Don’t let them in, don’t let them see, be the good girl you’ve always had to be. Conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them know… (Thanks, Elsa).

It’s deeper than that, though. Because I’m human and, smart as we can be, we are profoundly stupid at times. I know that God is nothing like people. I know that He is love. I know that I am chosen, redeemed and accepted in Him.

But…

The unholy torture of the “but.”

What if God is like them? What if He isn’t that loving? What if I’ve gone too far this time?

Just goes to show how muddled our thinking can get. Fearing people, fearing God, full of doubt and shame. So, hit the “delete.” How I wish I hadn’t. Hadn’t given in to that fear. Hadn’t erased all those posts. Hadn’t been…frankly, a coward. We do that, you know. Justify acts of cowardice, frame them as self-preservation.

I have more to say, but, for now, I invite you to sit in this discomfort with me. Maybe you haven’t gone so far as to erase the online evidence of entire sections of your life. Maybe it’s something smaller than that. Something closer, that eats away at your joy. Whatever the source of your fear and doubt, I know it’s there, because, you and me, we’re the same. Different faces, different backgrounds, same drive for safety and acceptance. Where it counts, our minds spin in sync.

So park it next to me. Sigh as I do, amazed anew at both how quickly lost you can get and how much more quickly the Father comes running. Lay your head against His chest with me, allowing your hands to release their white-knuckled grip. Fear has no place here. We are loved.

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