Last weekend I went to church with my mom. She’s going through some hard things and I knew it would be good for her to be with her people. It was. Somehow I knew that I was at a place of strength in my own life that would allow me to go there and let love rule the day. It felt as if I was in a bubble of grace because even though I encountered many things that in the past would have thrown me under the bus, I was fine. Actually more than fine. 

As we walked inside I was greeted by the husband of a woman I had known years ago when she was in her teens. He asked about my dad and as we shared his about his physical decline, the man said he was sorry to hear it but that he’d been recently thinking about looking forward to “the new body”. His intention was to encourage my mom with the Christian promise, that when Christ returns those who know him will receive perfect new bodies. Dad will get a new one someday. This exchange happened, like so many do in an Evangelical conversation. It’s done with the reinforcement of dopamine’s feel good chemical interaction at the thought of no more pain. Once spoken, we moved on. 

An encounter like this would usually send me into an emotional tailspin because these eternal promises entirely bypass real, present experiences and minimize personal suffering. The person sharing it is allowed to leave the conversation without ever encountering the present, the pain of it, the questions we are all dealing with or any of the actual real struggle of it. It’s all okay because we know Jesus but it’s not anything close to okay in real life. I utterly hate these encounters. But because I grew to experience Jesus as the one who got things, like the woman at the well being assaulted by overly righteous men ready to stone her. Jesus seemed to push through his religions arrogance and forced people around him deal with real life. In this encounter, my friend’s husband bypassed any hint of my parent’s actual pain and instead self soothed with the whole “new body” stuff at my mom’s expense. She decided to be encouraged too and didn’t even notice. 

As we sat down and sang songs about “our” God, I chose to sing too. It was at times a stretch and as I hit lines declaring that “He” is greater…I skipped that and hummed. In my mind I went to the natural world where the streams, rocks and flowers are. There, where I feel the pulse of life’s presence, I sit in God’s too. It was a short worship time and I got through it. Parts I even enjoyed. 

The sermon. Then there was that. I was ready to run…to the bathroom. I never did. I listened as the pastor described a God of love who wanted to bless the sinful,naughty disobedient people. I imagined the prophets warnings as he read them and in my mind’s eye saw the people turning from that and going back to God. The promise of blessing for doing the right thing, for centering life in God…and felt the pastor’s sincerity. I knew he believed it and there’s something healthy about accepting the other who is sincere. I was just fine sitting there with my mom because I was there for her. As she said her “amen”s over and over I didn’t feel the bother I once did. She was soothed by his voice and the message was going to be right whatever he said. 

I greeted many old friends before leaving and enjoyed a few human moments catching up with them. It was good for me. It was just good to be me and experience the humanity of others in their world. 

Later that night as I was drifting off to sleep I realized something about my experience that day. The whole event from getting out of the car and back into it was male. The encounters with others, the worship lyrics, the sermon and the Bible. All male. 

In the 90’s the Southern Baptist Convention went to great lengths to return their church governance to a male headship structure. They took female missionaries off the field. They removed seminary trained female pastors from pulpits all over the US. Dr. Dobson and others praised them for their obedience. It struck me head on that all of what I’d encountered that morning was the result of this decision. It was so clear that the convention has been reshaped and is now male centered. 

The pastor was male. 

The ushers were male. 

The worship leader was male. 

The sermon? 

The words were read exclusively from male prophets. (the Bible has no record of the words female prophets would have spoken)

The promises for God’s people to be blessed were from a male God to a body of men. 

The future, for those possessed by the male savior, would be one ruled by Jesus (male) as monarch. 

Just one female was mentioned the entire service. The one and only woman spoken of was when the pastor sought to expound on God’s grace in forgiving the man who seduced her and then murdered her husband. She was invisible. 

Not one woman in the church spoke. 

Not one. 

I realized that for this body of Christians the Bible itself is male. There is one female. The Bride of Christ living in submission to the man. 

Needless to say, a Southern Baptist or Evangelical Christian, I cannot be.