“What do you do,” her voice strained, “when everything inside of you feels like you are supposed to do this thing, serve God in this particular way, and then someone comes and completely delegitimizes that desire?” I was struck, as she sat there, red-eyed and silent, by the complexity of it all. Here was a woman who could have chosen any career path, but, for any number of reasons, decided to sacrifice untold time and resources in order to serve the church — the church that so desperately needs leaders. Even the most gentle word of disagreement (and I am certain that the word which was spoken to her that day was anything but), I realized, runs the risk of completely wrecking a person in such a situation. “There are a few of us,” another friend told me years later over lunch, rattling off a couple of names we both knew. While by no means unbearable, the sense of alienation and belittlement I knew he felt was troubling him. Depending on what sort of circles you find yourself in, admitting that you believe women should not be allowed to serve as pastors or elders may put you in a scrutinized minority. Here was one of the most sensitive, intelligent people I know — a man who deeply loves the church and treats women with incredible respect — left completely disheartened in the wake of an exchange in which he was, on account of his position, presented as little more than a close-minded bigot. The power of these accounts, of course, is their pathos, the sense in which they serve as reminders that theological arguments such as this one exist as something more than abstract discussions about Scripture, interpretation and culture. They are exchanges in which the identity, sense of calling, and spiritual buoyancy of actual people are at stake. If you’ve been in either of those places, you already know exactly what I mean, because you’ve felt it. The conflict, as the reader has no doubt gathered, is in regards to the question of women in ministry. The struggle, which at its most basic level is primarily about interpretation, has resulted in some of the most painful and confusing chapters in recent church history. Throughout the New Testament, a number of prohibitions and guidelines are given in regards to the place of women in the life of the church. In his correspondence with a number of early churches and young leaders, Paul explains, for example, that he “does not permit a woman to teach or assume authority over a man” (1 Timothy 2:12). Readers can either take these texts as universally applicable imperatives (and fall into a camp commonly referred to as “complementarianism”) or understand them as historically specific to the particular first century communities that are described in the New Testament text (a position often described as “egalitarianism”). I’ve heard the arguments, worked through the texts, and, if you ask me, I will certainly tell you where I stand on the issue. What I am more concerned with at this point, however, is the question of how we debate. I’ve seen this issue cause people to say some of the most brutally offensive things and completely tear communities apart. Whatever the debate happens to be about — political affiliation, abortion, military involvement, gay rights — is it possible to take seriously the claims of Scripture while committing to a posture of radical humility and a vision of the image of God and need for grace that we all share? For egalitarians, that may mean remembering that the folks who believe the pulpit is reserved for men generally didn’t get to that place because they are culturally-regressive misogynists. They (and I know quite a few women for whom this is also the case) have seriously and prayerfully wrestled with the texts, and while part of them perhaps wishes it were not the case, have moved forward in the conviction that this is how it ought to inform the shared practice of their communities. Likewise, individuals in support of a complementarian, or male-exclusive vision of pastoral ministry, perhaps need to keep in mind that those who support the ordination of women have not necessarily abandoned all sense of scriptural authority in order to align themselves with shifting cultural norms. I am not talking about everyone getting along, or suggesting that important convictions about Christian faith and practice ought to be abandoned for the sake of some sort of false sense of unity. What I hope and long for instead is a restored sense of dignity when it comes to dialogue, something that has proven increasingly difficult in an era of mediated discourse in which knee-jerk reactions are hammered out digitally in seconds. Conversations like these cannot be avoided, nor can one avoid committing to a position when it comes to the issue (this is clearly a debate in which the two options cannot both be true). It may bring a number of wounds, and it may bring a measure of division, but as we wrestle with the texts and discern how they ought to inform our faith and practice, we ought to do so in a way that is marked by love. Flickr photo by potamos.photography
