When I meet someone who has been damaged by Christians, I feel terrible for them for one simple reason: those damaged by Christians need the healing found among God and God’s people. It’s the paradox of community. Community can wound and heal us.

People in the church are both the sources of our problems and the conduit for solutions.

I’ll be the first to admit that I like to joke about the fundamentalism of my youth. Part of my tendency to tear fundamentalism down has a lot to do with a child who mocks the fictional monster he used to fear under his bed. I used to live in terror of an angry God, of falling into theological error, and of a bloody apocalypse. I stressed over Bible translations, music, dancing, relationships, and every other little minutiae that fundamentalism tried to control.

It felt good to break free of its control. It felt even better to mock it. If I could mock fundamentalism, then it could no longer control me.

As much as the conservative church gave me nightmares, insecurity, and fear, it also gave me salvation, women who prayed for me, men who welcomed me into their families, and friends who accept me as I am. For all of the times that the church worked me to the bone or force-fed some ridiculous bit of theology, it also provided times of rest and a table in the presence of God.

It’s maddening really. The church can be both disease and doctor. Oftentimes different people will be involved as either disease or doctor, but the point remains that Christian community is rarely ever all good or all bad. Those who have experienced more bad than good may have simply been in an unhealthy community.

Even in churches where I ran into the most problems, I also found refuge among some of amazing, nurturing people. Somehow God can take broken situations and even broken people and still use them to bring restoration that we can’t imagine to be possible.

When I tried to return to the church three years ago, I remember those conservative women who committed to praying for me. There were people like them scattered throughout churches, even the churches that sometimes infuriated or frustrated me. I held out hope that even in the midst of frustration, salt in old wounds, or even failure that God’s people could bring the healing and restoration I needed.

If the church has ever failed or wounded you, there are pastors, elders, deacons, and lay people who understand what you’re going through. They’ve either experienced the same things or have witnessed a friend go through something similar.

Healing will often come from different people than the sources of our wounds, but make no mistake: God uses his church to heal us. We’ll find healing and hope in the church. It’s there.

Sometimes you need to wait a bit.

Sometimes you need to search for it.

Healing is present among God’s people because Jesus is among them. They carry the same spirit and authority. That’s the hope really. There is hope because no matter how hard some people try to wreck the love and power of God, he always wins.

I returned to our cozy little neighborhood this afternoon with the relief and gratitude of someone who had just escaped a zombie apocalypse. I didn’t exactly escape a brush with death, but I did face the one thing that Americans hate almost as much missing American Idol: the inconvenience of the suburbs.

While my wife worked on her final papers for grad school, I took over shopping duties and ran about thirty seven errands in the suburban strip. I had to leave my comfortable little bubble in town, venturing to the edge of civilization where engine exhaust makes baby bunnies nested outside condos weep.

It didn’t take long to get angry at people.

There was the lady who didn’t look until after she almost backed her car into me. Some guy in a sporty SUV wouldn’t let me merge onto the highway and then tailed me before roaring around me close enough that I could have lit a cigarette for his passenger.

There was traffic jammed in the parking lots. Lines in every story. People who jumped in front of me in line. People who went back to for one more thing when they should have been paying!

The chicken in the cooler started to warm up. My car started to overheat. The freckle-faced kid at Rita’s told me they didn’t have root beer water ice. The world was out to get me. Inconvenience!!!

When I travel out to the suburbs for these rare shopping trips, it’s like I’ve gone to a different nation where I don’t fit in because my car is over 10 years old and has rust. The hustle and hurry grabs me and I dutifully go along with it, as if I don’t have a choice. As people become obstacles in my way or take risks that put me in danger, I begin to seethe at them. We’re SO different…

Shifting gears from suburban shopper to urban gardener when I returned home, I set to work with clumps of dirt, compost, garden borders, and a few blackberry bushes. When I had a chance to feel like myself, I began to ask, “What just happened to me?”

We could say a lot of things about the suburban shopping experience and what we each bring to it, but today I saw that I’d been looking for reasons to separate myself from people. It’s like I craved conflict. I wanted to be in the right, and in order to tap into that, I had to direct my aggression at the people who crossed me in any way.

By dividing myself from others, I was trying to build myself up or to give myself fulfillment in some twisted way.

Conflict can be a good thing that drives a story forward. However, the right kind of conflict brings liberation and fulfillment—as in that moment at church today when our prayer ministers prayed for those going through tough times. Conflict can be misused to tear people down and it leaves neither us nor anyone else better off. All we get is a conflict buzz from fighting someone a little bit.

The Gospel restores and heals relationships. It accepts that lady in the parking lot who was careless for a moment but who may be the most caring person in her family. That guy in the SUV who almost hit me may live in fear of stopping or of facing who he truly is. So he drives a sporty SUV as fast as legally possible and never stops to ask why he’s taking sleeping pills to fall asleep each night.

The Gospel welcomes these people and many more into our Christian communities—even into my own where I secretly hope aggressive and negligent drivers aren’t allowed. There’s no place for these frivolous divisions in God’s Kingdom.

Even more so, the Gospel welcomes big government liberals and small government conservatives. The Gospel reaches people who like country, alternative rock, and maybe even jazz (does anyone “like” jazz for real?). The Gospel belongs to the hip, the straight-laced, the disheveled.

If it works right, the Gospel should ruin our neat little divisions we create, trashing every us vs. them narrative. Even my suburban angst narrative needs to go.

Rather than permitting me to perpetuate my little farce where I’m the hero who overcomes conflict to get what I want, the Gospel turns God into the hero who wants everyone and who is even willing to overcome conflict with a grumpy urban gardener to reach the people he loves.

I’m taking a day off from the Belonging series to share a contribution to Prodigal Magazine’s Living a Good Story series. We’ll pick up tomorrow with our regularly scheduled programming.

While taking a walk two years ago, I began to think in tweets.

That’s when I knew I had a problem.

Twitter has been great for sharing my writing , meeting colleagues, and sharing what I enjoy, but I began to live my life according to what was tweetable. And if I wasn’t consciously trying to do something tweetable, my first response to a funny scene, clever idea, or even bad pun was, “I wish I could tweet that right now.”

Twitter has elevated the mundane to the loftiest of heights. It kills our imaginations, our thinking, and our hope of becoming people who can deeply concentrate on one topic for a sustained period of time in order to understand it. For all of the times that I’ve found great ideas and links on Twitter, there are four times when I’ve read something trite or useless that merely distracted.

Think about the madness of this for a moment:

Someone stopped creating, thinking, drinking, eating, or doing something just to type something like, “Mmmm, nachos are gud!” or “Waiting in line again!” or “Awesome movie last night.”

It would seem to me that the first step in living a good story is to stop telling everyone about the mundane details of life and to focus on real life.

I hate to write this, but I had a “Twitter stream of conscious” tendency in my brain. I want to be clever. I want more people to follow me. So I began to serve Twitter with my life, hoping I could think of something clever to tweet.

More than all of those things, I want to become a better writer who is capable of writing four or five pages in his journal every day. I want to write punchy and perceptive blog posts. I want to tap into the most pressing issues of my generation and write books that help people.

Twitter is not the ticket to do any of those things.

In fact, Twitter will not help us with anything that requires deep thought, discipline, or perception.

Make no mistake, Twitter is great for quickly spreading a good idea. I use it every day. It’s the Big Bird of networking tools.

However, Twitter is a lousy living tool. In fact, Twitter can become a distracting obstacle to deep thought, art, or relationships.

I have a little mantra that I use to fight off my urge to tweet bad puns or the random things people say in the café around me. Here it is:

“Are you creating something?”

Twitter is the bullhorn you use on the corner to proclaim the creation or existence of something. A bullhorn won’t write in a journal or swipe a bit of paint on a canvas.

I guard my walks because they provide the solitude I need in order to write. My mind is free and clear from the clutter of a feed. I can return to my computer with those ideas and write something because I’ve lived something and thought it through.

If it’s good enough, I may even tweet about it.

Today’s guest post is by Jaimie Bowman:

This Mother’s Day I was asked to preach at my church, and the night before I realized that I was quite nervous. My mind rushed back to the first time I ever preached on a Sunday morning, which was when I was 22 years old.

The service was set to begin but we could not find the pastor anywhere.  The worship team was missing two members, a husband and wife, and it was glaringly obvious that they were somewhere with the pastor and that something was wrong.

After about 15 minutes, they rushed to the stage, faces beet red.  Something in my gut told me that it was about me, but I pushed those insecurities aside and preached for my life.  The fire that had been shut up in my bones for the past few years came out, and I felt empowered like never before.  I found out later there had been a heated confrontation about me preaching that morning.  Immediately after worship was finished, the husband and wife left the service and soon after decided to leave the church.

That wasn’t the first time my "womanhood" caused an issue.  When I was 15 years old, I announced to my parents that I felt called to the ministry. My dad, being a pastor of a conservative church that did not support women in ministry, did not feel the need to change his position on account of his daughter.  When I was 21, I was almost afraid to tell them I was becoming a Licensed Minister, but I did and we have never really spoken about it since.

Over the years, these kinds of obstacles did not seem to fade.  It seemed like wherever I went, minding my own business, other people felt like it was their business too.  People tried to "set me straight," discipline me, and put me back into the cocoon that I had just emerged from. I didn’t understand why they were so mad, taking up so much of their time trying to fix me.

The hardest part of the situations that I faced was that I was just trying to obey God.   Whenever I preached, I sensed the anointing of God like never before. The words came easy, like honey from my mouth, and my own gender just….never occurred to me.  I was too busy preparing for messages to notice what everyone else saw as the elephant in the room.  I wasn’t trying to usurp anyone’s authority, or demand my rights, or kick down any doors – I was just trying to be obedient.

Thankfully I had many wonderful people pour life into me during my early ministry years since I went to a Christian university that fully supported women in ministry.  Yet, outside of that safety net, I found the church to be a dangerous place.  I became one of those women who asked God, “Why did you make me a woman?” and pleaded with Him to take this calling away from me if it wasn’t from Him. 

Yet the burden only became stronger.

What surprised me the most was that the majority of the objections came from the women, not the men. It was the men who had spoken life into me, who had urged me to use my gifts, who had prayed for God to open the doors for me. The women often were the ones who seemed most upset and more intent on setting me straight.

I have learned that women can either be each other’s biggest supporters or biggest enemies.  Today it is my aim to help other women feel supported and encouraged in their calling.  I recently started the South Bay Network for Women in Ministry, inviting women from our area to come together for a time of fellowship and prayer.  Nine women joined together at my church, and there was such an excitement in the air.  Most of us had never met before, but we became fast friends. 

I heard story after story of women passionate about serving their God, yet their greatest obstacle seemed to be the church itself – the church they so desperately wanted to serve.  Some of these women were broken, feeling discouraged, overlooked, and underpaid. However, there was a silent hope in the room – a hope that, as we all come together, we can be the support one another’s needs, even when we cannot find it in our own churches.  

As women in ministry find one another, there is renewed hope.  We have a hope that as we are faithful to use our gifts and not give up, that God will be pleased.  We are not here to fight. We are not here to take over anyone’s positions. We are simply here to serve God with our gifts. 

Instead of pouring my energy into proving people wrong, I just want to pour my energy into encouraging other women in ministry, to let them know that they are not alone.

And that Mother’s Day sermon that I was so worried about?  One older gentleman came up to me and said, "Well, I have to tell you, I didn’t think it would be that good coming from a woman, but I was wrong."  I smiled.

Today’s Guest Blogger

Jaimie Bowman is a minister to whomever needs ministering to.  Married to her husband-pastor for 13 years, together they have two cute boys, ages 5 and 7.  As a speaker and writer, Jaimie longs to connect with and encourage other leaders.  Although she lives in Southern California, she does not have a tan and does not go to the beach for fun.  You can often find her drinking coffee and writing about leadership at www.jaimiebowman.com, or about motherhood at her personal blog The Wonder Years.  Jaimie is a Licensed Minister and holds a Master’s Degree in Church Leadership.

About the Women in Ministry Series

The Women in Ministry Series is a collection of guest posts that aims to:

• Provide an alternative to the women in ministry debates by telling the stories of women in ministry.
• Encourage women to explore their God-given callings.

Contributions Welcome: Contact Ed to pitch your post idea in 2-4 sentences.

You can stay updated on the latest post each week by signing up for the weekly e-mail list. (You also get a free E-book!)

Comment Policy: Everyone is welcome to leave a comment. However, this series takes for granted that women are called by God into every facet of ministry. This is not the place to debate that point and such comments will be removed.Women have been told “no” in far too many places. This is one place that is committed to saying “yes.” For more about the comment policy or submitting your own story, read here.

Next Week’s Blogger: Tammy Nischan

I used to hide my theology books and guitar upstairs. I didn’t want people I met to know I’d been to seminary or lead worship.

Writing that now sounds a bit strange. It made so much sense at the time. I’d connected serving in the church with being over-worked and exploited. For years belonging in church had been associated with “getting involved.” Sometimes “getting involved” became a higher priority for some than simply learning my name.

“Did you say your name is Fred? Hey Fred, you should join our men’s group. They’re going to set up a huge church event next Saturday. You should serve with them!”

I know many have had conversations like this. If these people had learned I had a seminary degree, they would have handcuffed me to the pulpit.

“You can preach and lead worship and we don’t have to pay you???”

I’d grown so weary of those types of conversations where desperate volunteers just tried to plug another body into a struggling church ministry. There were so many things that needed to be discussed, but I wasn’t the guy to bring it all up. When I started to return to church, I just wanted to be left alone for a season. I wanted to maintain a happy anonymity while I sorted out my place.

Since those days of hiding books and musical instruments, I’ve stopped defining myself and my place in the church by what I do in my community. I belong based on my relationships, and I serve because those relationships define my place in my church communities.

I used to feel a lot of pressure to get involved in church. If I didn’t serve, I was just a lazy drain on the church. I didn’t want to be a “consumer Christian.”

My pastor often speaks of seasons in life. We go through seasons in our communities, in our families, and in our personal lives. I passed through a season of healing and reorienting to church community. During that season, it would have been foolish for me to serve. I didn’t need to just get involved. I needed to be healed and to learn how to thrive in the church again without becoming a critical voice.

Now that I have that perspective, I feel better able to get involved and to manage my church involvement. I don’t need to serve just like everyone else. We may be in different seasons.

In two months we’ll have a baby. That’s going to change a lot of stuff for a season. My wife being in graduate school has already changed how we think of our time for this season. My helter skelter writing life imposes limits on us for a season as well.

I want to always give something to my community, but sometimes the push to get involved in a bunch of stuff just wears us out. The guilt can be crushing. And that’s the hard part about belonging to a community. We’re sometimes trapped in between two overcorrections.

We’re either consumer Christians or we base our sense of community on how much we serve.

Sometimes we need to stop all of the work just to get the basics right. If a church can’t accept us as a family, then there’s something terribly wrong. If our church doesn’t treat us like a family, they’ll fail us at one time or in one way or another. That’s not a pleasant thing to write, but it’s true.

If your family is only based on whether you pitch in and help, you’re going to have a lot of hurt former family members. Think of teenagers who just want to slump and play video games or text or whatever teenagers do these days. They may check out from family activities for a season, but they are still members of the family.

When you can belong to a church family without conditions or strings, then you can serve with that family free from guilt or obligation. You will be free to serve others with a joy that can weather the bleakest of storms. Joyfully serving others happens when you know you belong.

When I started attending church, it served as a  lifeline for me. I found friends. I met people who believed the same things I’d been processing from the Bible. It didn’t take long for me to start showing up to volunteer.

I didn’t need much convincing. Church was where I made all of my friends, so if they were doing something at the church, I’d show up there as well. Along the way, I made a crucial mistake. I began to equate work in the church building with serving God.

I’ve served just about everywhere in the church, and it’s clear to me that a building does not make something holy.

That’s such a no brainer in so many ways, but it’s an easy trap to fall into. I want to believe that I’m doing something big and significant, and oftentimes I look to the church to provide that big, significant thing.

Sometimes I tried to slap a churchy veneer onto stuff I was doing at church and label it as a “ministry.” In reality, I was just feeding the internal church system, solidifying my place in my community.

The problem with serving the church system is that it’s not necessarily the same as serving other people or God’s Kingdom. That’s what’s so maddening about this thing called ministry. It’s confusing to the point that we can hardly be sure we’re talking about the same thing sometimes.

So far as I can tell, ministry is all about drawing from God’s love and power in our lives in order to serve others—becoming the incarnation of Jesus in our churches and wider communities. There were plenty of times when I just took on “tasks” at the church and tried to use them as my badges for belonging.

Just as we can treat church membership as a kind of employment, we can also use our “ministries” as our measures for belonging to a community. If you have a “job,” then you belong.

It only gets more maddening to talk about ministry because we can also fill our schedules with “ministry” that is all focused on doing stuff inside of our church buildings. While most of these ministries are good things, we face a struggle to balance the good with the best.

I’ve noticed over the years that serving primarily within the church creates these fiefdoms where different folks become really possessive—like employees at a job. The tables have to be put back a certain way. The kitchen needs to be put into a particular order. The chairs in the sanctuary have to be angled properly. The pastor preached too long. The song list didn’t have enough hymns. The list goes on.

I list many of these items because I’ve thought or said some of them at one point or another. The best thing for me was to give away my time to people outside of the church, to stop consuming my ministry time with “in-reach.”

I could be wrong, but the more I served in the church, the more control I wanted to exercise over the church system and programs. There are healthy ways to serve inside of the church, but the thing about serving others outside of the church is that it takes your focus away from all of the minutiae of the church organization. It’s a job relocation program.

Serving those outside of the church is also healthy because Christians are “sent” people. Jesus wanted us to go out. If our churches are imploding over factions and fights over the service format, sports leagues, bake sales, Sunday school classes, or whatever else, perhaps it’s time to ask how much time we’re investing in the people outside of our churches.

I’ve heard stories about families that show up early to set up chairs for church. They pray over the chairs as they set them up. That is a ministry.

I’ve also become very busy and consumed with all that I have to do in the church, failing to think twice about whether I was serving God, serving others, or just trying to fit in.

When we talk about getting involved in a ministry at church, motivations are a murky territory. When we belong to a Christian community, it’s natural to pitch in and serve others. However, before jumping at a ministry opening, I suggest asking a few questions first:

1. Am I basing my belonging on having a job?

2. Do I sense a calling to use my God-given gifts in this way?

3. Is God calling me to serve others outside of the church?

I hope and pray that our churches will have all of the help they need to thrive internally and as groups of sent believers. We need both. When all we have is a church organization to work in and to “protect,” community can crumble. The more time we spend working together to both support one another and to help those outside of our community, I suspect we’ll enjoy a lot more health.

I hope that I’ll never again fight for control of a church ministry or system. There’s too much to do in our community. There are too many people in my church who need help.

Before I invest in a “task,” I hope I can first commit to the people who I’ll be serving. A task is a lonely thing to serve. When I serve people, I find the life of God.

“I know what your problem is,” a pastor from my seminary said. A barely perceptible smirk crept across his face. He knew he had me pegged, but I tried to hide behind my plate of hash browns and lukewarm coffee. I didn’t have a problem.

“You’re church damaged,” he said, unaware of my internal dialogue.

That struck me as ridiculous. I may have been church frustrated, but I didn’t see how I could be church damaged. From my perspective back then, the church was just screwed up, burning out pastors and people for the sake of programs.

Who had the damage? Not me pal. The church was the one with the problems.

Looking back on that conversation, I can see that I confused “damage” with something negative, a flaw in my personality. Damage itself wasn’t wrong. Damage just happens.

Damage can lead to conflict and alienation from one another.

Damage is behind those moments when we lash out at others or rant about church on our blogs.

Damage can even obscure our need for healing, as we focus on the pain and the past without considering there can be a future where that pain is healed.

I wasn’t ready to listen to that pastor who diagnosed me with church damage, but he was ready to listen to me. That made all of the difference. He didn’t really care about what I had to say.

He cared about me and my healing. If he cared about what I said, he would have heard another angry 20-something who is frustrated by the church, and he would have defended the church. When he used my words to understand where I was coming from, he could see the deeper story behind my frustrations.

This pastor helped me take my first step back into Christian community. He helped me recognize that my problem wasn’t “the church” per se. My problem was the damage that church had caused in me.

I couldn’t necessarily change the systems that had used me up, let me down, and left me feeling lost. However, I could bring the damage of my past to God and let him heal me. I could become a repaired person who no longer damages others.

My hash browns and coffee failed to guard me from that pastor’s penetrating stare. He looked right through me, but he wasn’t acting arrogant. He had the confidence of a doctor who knew his trade.

For that season, I remained the patient who didn’t trust doctors, though I couldn’t shake the power of his diagnosis in the months that followed. Sometimes it’s hard to believe that you can find healing in the previous source of your pain.

There are some stories that leave you hungry for more because you know there’s so much that simply can’t fit into a blog post—they need to be told at length on a front porch in order to capture their breadth and depth. Better yet, some stories are still being written, and the next chapter promises to be great. Harriet Congdon’s guest post has both of those elements.

I grew up within a U.S. military community in Japan. My civilian father traveled almost 8,000 miles, met my mother when she offered to launder his clothes, married her and started a family. It was my father who literally raised my sister and me since my Japanese mother was a silent presence in the home as a deaf-mute who could not read or write.

I got used to grunting Marines sharing our Christmas meal. All through school, I gravitated toward boys and preferred their conversations. I didn’t care that I was the only girl in electronics class and wood shop. I excelled in math and science. And my father instilled in me a belief that I was equal to men and could do anything I wanted with my life.

This is what I believed…until I became a Christian.

After graduating from Bible college, I observed the exclusion of women from certain church roles, heard the biblical arguments and submitted unhappily. After giving birth to three sons in three years and probably suffering from severe postpartum depression, I wondered if there was life after mommyhood and wanted out. I spiraled downward until I hit bottom where my faith shattered into pieces. But God in His mercy brought a woman into my life who mentored me back to health and hope.

As my pursuit of God reignited, I was surprised by a growing desire to serve in our church. However, there were two problems. First, since the church was very conservative, the only available place to explore my gifts was within a women’s ministry. But I didn’t relate well to other women and I resented God for making me one. Second, our church didn’t have a women’s ministry.

Sensing that God wasn’t impressed with my excuses, I took a deep breath and started one. The women’s ministry experience became a significant step toward discovering God’s call. The changing seasons of life brought new female friendships and young women who asked me to mentor them. Eventually I realized something significant. I loved women. And I loved being a woman! However, I also realized that I did not want to be confined to a women’s only ministry.

Feeling inadequate when other ministry opportunities opened, I enrolled in seminary. As one of very few women in the MDiv program studying Hebrew and Old Testament, I was inspired by several incredibly gifted and intelligent women who were called to ministry.

After graduating at the age of 50, I was asked to be the first woman to teach a Bible course at the conservative college. Later the even more conservative seminary asked me to teach a Hebrew class. Eventually the seminary hired a female OT professor. I enjoyed the academia, but after two years I was longing to serve in the church with all my gifts, education and experience.

Looking back I see patterns that have shaped my call. Both men and women have been significant forces in my own formation so that my passion is to further mutual dependence, respect and partnership in the Kingdom. Also my marriage has informed my hope for reconciliation between women and men, a marriage where I have been spared patriarchal patronizing and have been treated as an equal partner.

Lord willing, I believe the best years of my ministry lie ahead. But the path is not entirely clear. For the last six years God has placed me in a hierarchical church learning the challenges of how to be a reconciling voice. I have been a catalyst for some change.

However, I believe it is time for me to move on, to find a church where women are equal at every level of leadership and Christian brothers welcome women into their hearts and into partnership, to find space in a church where all my gifts can be used, my voice is valued, and I am truly free.

While in this “school of reconciliation,” God, in His mercy and sense of humor, has opened the door to China, a country where there are no gender roles thanks to communism. Without pastors or governing boards, thousands of urban churches are led by young women and men who call themselves “coworkers” to avoid any sense of hierarchy. For me, ministry in China is a reprieve from grief and from feeling suppressed. How ironic to be more FREE to minister in China than America!

Challenges remain, but I trust God for the next step, knowing that each obstacle uniquely contours my path, shaping my passions, my gifts and my dreams. And by continuing to hope and dream, I do my part to subvert the traditions of men and to tell God’s story of reconciliation.

About Today’s Guest Blogger

Harriet Congdon is a wife, mother, and grandmother with an MDiv who loves talking theology and teaching Old Testament. She is exploring writing at her blog, Story in the Middle, where she wrestles with making sense of life between competing worlds, whether theological, racial, or gendered. In Portland, Oregon, she is loving life with her husband of 33 years, a retired educator, who has promised to go wherever God leads her.

About the Women in Ministry Series

The Women in Ministry Series is a collection of guest posts that aims to:

• Provide an alternative to the women in ministry debates by telling the stories of women in ministry.
• Encourage women to explore their God-given callings.

Contributions Welcome: Contact Ed to pitch your post idea in 2-4 sentences.

You can stay updated on the latest post each week by signing up for the weekly e-mail list. (You also get a free E-book!)

Comment Policy: Everyone is welcome to leave a comment. However, this series takes for granted that women are called by God into every facet of ministry. This is not the place to debate that point and such comments will be removed.Women have been told “no” in far too many places. This is one place that is committed to saying “yes.” For more about the comment policy or submitting your own story, read here.

Next Week’s Blogger: Jaimie Bowman

Mother’s Day, it seems, has become a sacred festival. Not many churches across our country fail at least to mention mothers on “their day”, which is this Sunday. Many churches have mothers and motherhood as the theme of worship and the sermon.

Odes to Mom are shared. Special music is played, often accompanying a slide show of pictures that make everyone cry. And Proverbs 31 is read – at least verses 28-29 that mention a mother’s children and husband praising her.

I wonder how many churches honor our Mother who gave life to us all – Christ?

One of the most beautiful theologies of what happened on the cross was given to the world by Julian of Norwich. At the age of 31 and a half (ca. 1373), she suffered from a potentially life-ending illness. As she neared death, Julian experienced sixteen intense revelations, or “showings”, as she named them, of Jesus.

Upon recovering, Julian wrote a narration of the visions. This recording, along with a theological expansion of each showing written about 20-30 years later became Revelations of Divine Love. Julian’s work is believed to be the first book written in the English language by a woman.

Unique to Julian’s theology is the motherhood of God. Beyond giving us life via creation, God lovingly took a greater step in bearing us to eternal life. Christ revealed himself to Julian as mother, the mother who gave all of humanity new life through the labor pains of the cross.

[Our] great God, the most sovereign wisdom of all … dressed himself in our poor flesh to do the service and duties of motherhood in every way. The mother’s service is the closest, the most helpful and the most sure, for it is the most faithful. No one ever might, nor could, nor has performed this service fully but he alone. We know that our mothers only bring us into the world to suffer and die, but our true mother, Jesus, he who is all love, bears us into joy and eternal life; blessed may he be! So he sustains us within himself in love and was in labor for the full time until he suffered the sharpest pangs and the most grievous sufferings that ever were or shall be, and at the last he died. And when it was finished and he had borne us into bliss, even this could not fully satisfy his marvelous love, and that he showed in these high surpassing words of love, ‘If I could suffer more, I would suffer more.’[1]

Look at the meaning of the cross in this atonement theory: God is not angry. God is not demanding recompense for sin or a perfect blood sacrifice. God is displaying love, love and more love.

The cross is God’s way of showing humanity the extravagant extents God will go to help us understand how deeply, widely and completely we are loved.

Not only does Christ our mother suffer out of amazing love to bring us to eternal life, he nourishes us by feeding us himself – his body and blood that are our Sacrament. He also nurses us “through his sweet open side”. And as we nurse, Christ looks up on us, his children and rejoices: “Look how I love you.”

Human mothers blow it. All of us who were born of mothers and raised by them (or not) could tell our own tales. Those of us who are mothers could list a myriad of ways that we fear we’ve messed up our kids for life. No human mother is perfect.

A perfect Mother does exist, though – the one who will not let us down, abandon us, embarrass us, bully us, abuse us, nor ever stop loving us. Jesus labored and gave us life so that we might live, and have life abundantly.

Hug or remember your Mama this weekend. Then give praise, glory and honor to your Christ your Mother. Great things he hath done.

[1] Julian of Norwich, Revelations of Divine Love, trans. Elizabeth Spearing (New York: Penguin Books, 1998), 141.

About Today’s Guest Post

Angie Mabry-Nauta is a theologian, freelance writer and speaker in Plano, TX.  She is an ordained Minister of Word and Sacrament in the Reformed Church in America (RCA), and served in congregational ministry for six years.  She blogs regularly at her own website, "Woman in Progress…" and for the RCA at the Church Herald Blogs. Follow her on Twitter @Godstuffwriter.

If I wanted to tell the story of how God led me into my writing ministry, I may need to work on being completely honest, but I certainly wouldn’t need to be all that brave. My story is my own to share, and at least in the Christian community, I should have nothing to fear—nothing that should require bravery.

Ah, but once we talk about a woman’s ministry story, that is another matter altogether.

When I started the Women in Ministry Series, I wanted to create a safe place for women to share their stories. So far, it has worked. Women have filled every day since the start of January 2012, and we’re booked just about through October.

Women want to talk about how God has called them into ministry.

I receive e-mails every week about this series and see many tweets about it. Over the past four months, a certain word has started to really bother me: brave. People say that women are brave to tell their stories and that I’m brave to share them. While I don’t disagree that these women are brave, I’m bothered that they must be brave in this particular circumstance.

Why must women be brave just to talk about God’s call for their lives if they’re just telling the truth?

Why do women fear telling the truth about the ways the church has treated them?

I saw a few of those reasons last week when a female minister wrote a guest post on a top blog about some of the ways she’d like to see the church change in its approach to women. So far as I could tell, she didn’t suggest anything all that radical, but a few of the commenters resorted to slander, name-calling, and other mean-spirited tactics.

These are the kinds of comments that I work really hard to avoid at the Women in Ministry Series. They’re the reason why I have a very clear comment policy that aims to keep away from endless debates, let alone name-calling and personal attacks.

I know that many women hold their breath before posting anything that suggests that perhaps the church may be wrong about a few things or that perhaps women have an equal calling with men. They don’t necessarily fear disagreement. They fear the attacks. They fear the bullies.

The bullies are the reason why women need to be brave in order to simply tell their stories.

I’m not out to defend someone who writes an angry or critical story. There are poor ways to tell the truth. However, in the case of the Women in Ministry Series, women are really just trying to tell the truth, and sometimes the truth paints certain men in a bad light. Telling the truth does that sometimes.

One of the main tactics used by a bully is to blame the women for taking offense. Just by telling the truth they are immediately placed in the wrong because they are trying to change the status quo—and bullies like to retain control of the status quo. In the bully’s mind, there is no “right” way for a woman to tell her story. She just needs to ask God to forgive her for not seeing things the same way as the bully.

The world of online conversation is a murky one where there are few rules, but I’d like to suggest a few.

For one, a woman who desires to respectfully tell her story with integrity should have nothing to fear. She shouldn’t have to muster up her courage to talk about a ministry calling or anything else, much like I don’t have to worry about the consequences of my own ministry stories calling down condemnation and name-calling from fellow Christians. Disagreements will come, and we should not fear them. I’m talking about the vitriol, name-calling, and anger that comes from bullies.

As to another step, I’d like to suggest that we stand up to bullies. I have three suggestions for doing this:

Bullies need grace too.

Hope for the best and tell the bullies how their remarks are being perceived. Offer them a chance to back peddle and to apologize. I’ve done this a few times and have been amazed on several occasions at how an online bully turns out to be a nice person once he realizes there are real people behind the hyperlinks and pictures of comment forms.

Bullies must be stopped.

Sometimes reaching out to a bully doesn’t work. They are either too angry, fearful, or controlling to respond to kind words and hope. In that case, every blog owner has a right to delete bullies. The internet makes it possible for everyone to set up his/her own website, Facebook page, and Twitter account.

Andrew Jones is one of the early Christian bloggers I first read, and he often spoke of his blog in terms of hospitality—a front porch where public conversations could be joined by anyone passing by. I’ve found that a helpful way to think of websites and bullies. I would never let a bully ruin a conversation among neighbors on my front porch, and I have no tolerance for bullies who want to control conversations by attacking others.

By the same token, if we reach out to bullies in person and they refuse to stop attacking others verbally, they need to understand that they themselves have created conditions where community with them cannot happen.

Make the right mistakes.

The problem here is that I’m also asserting control over bullies. Can I become a bully in the process? That is the risk. The difference is that website owners and Christians in general need to create space for discussion and healthy debate. The point isn’t silencing all dissent—only the bullies. How can we create the best environments for conversations?

I have really wrestled with the comment policy at the women in ministry series, but I think closing the comments to theology debates has saved the series from becoming just another dumping ground for the same debates that really smart theologians can’t even sort out. In the process, many women have told me that the safety of my comment policy makes it possible for them to contribute to the conversation.

I’m sure I’ve made mistakes with moderating comments on my blog, but I think those are the right kinds of mistakes: mistakes made on behalf of creating more conversation among those who have feared the reactions of bullies. If bullies know they won’t be tolerated, they don’t bother showing up, and that has made a big difference.

A Final Question for Men

I am well aware that the Women in Ministry Series is primarily read by women. That’s a shame. The e-mail list has a few men. I’m not even sure if I can count the comments by men on one hand. That makes me so sad. Men are really missing out on stories they need to read. These stories are happening in their churches every day.

In addition, by ignoring this series, men are avoiding a really important question they need to consider:

Men, why are women afraid to tell their stories?

I’m asking men, “Are you willing to explore whether you’ve played have a part in creating an atmosphere where it takes courage for women to just speak their minds?”

I would not tolerate any group of people trying to silence my wife and to strike fear into her. In the family of God, we need to ask why women are afraid and whether us men have the guts to do something about it.

We can stand up to bullies both online and in person so that women have nothing to fear in the church. I applaud women who are brave, but I also long to see a day when they can use their bravery in places other than among their Christian family.

If we truly serve a God who drives out fear with his perfect love, why do women need bravery in order to speak the truth among God’s people?