Friday, May 25, 2012

Goodbye to Good Fridays

At the beginning of 2007 in the middle of what Texas calls winter, I was working as a park ranger for Cameron Park.  Lindsay was 7 months pregnant with Roy and there was no shortage of unsolicited advice on what to expect with our first child.  My friend and park-rangering-coworker Lanny managed to catch my ear with his qualifier, “I know everyone is giving you advice, so I’ll just say this,” and then his advice, “enjoy it, because it goes fast man.” Lanny was speaking from experience.  He was then, a father of a 19-year-old son and so had witnessed time’s expeditious sprint into the future. 

Because I’m an enneagram type 3, I have trouble connecting to my emotions.  For this reason it takes me a good deal of time to figure out what I appreciate.  Ask me how a movie or a vacation was and I’ll tell you to check back in with me in three months.  Once I commit emotionally I become incredibly nostalgic.  My parents are selling the house I grew up in after living there for 27 years.  My siblings didn’t bat an eye.  I created liturgy and demanded we have a goodbye ceremony.  When I watched Woody Allen’s Midnight In Paris I was confronted by my own condition. 

Last night Lindsay spoke a truth that I didn’t think much of in the moment, “tomorrow is your last Friday with Roy.” 

Here are the facts that make sense of that statement.

1.     Friday is the one day I am at home with the kids and Lindsay is at work.

2.     This is Lindsay’s last Friday of work for the 2011-2012 academic year.

3.     When she returns to work in the fall, Roy will be in kindergarten.

      Today was my last Friday with Roy.  I’ve tried to do something different with the kids on Fridays since my super-mom-wife exhausts Waco’s good parenting options throughout the rest of the week (library timethe zoothe museumPinwheel Kids, etc.). Consequently I’ve elected to make Fridays doughnut and Barnes and Noble day. 

(Our last Barnes and Noble trip together)

(our last doughnut trip together.  If you were astute enough to notice the wardrobe change it's because a trip to the gym interrupted our routine)

There are only a few things I love more than Christmas, and to celebrate my love for the holiday I’ve begun collecting Kohl’s St. Nicholas Square Christmas Village.  This year the kid’s Christmas gift to me was The Doughnut Shop.  The gift immortalized our experience.  It made me realize how sacred Fridays had become.  I had a peculiar response when I opened my gift.  I envisioned myself at 55, getting the Christmas decorations out of the attic and seeing that box.  The box would remind me of those precious days when life was so simple, the kids were that perfect age, and that on every Friday we used to go to the doughnut shop and Barnes and Noble together.  (I know, some of you just went here).

I didn’t hear what Lindsay said last night, but I did this morning when I woke up at 5:18.  I began doing what I do well … remembering.  Remembering when Roy was born, when he fell off his changing table at six months old, when he ate an entire pear at seven months, long nights fighting croup, his first day of mother’s day out, his first birthday, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th and the million moments that make life so incredibly meaningful. 

My local readers will know this well, but the rest you won’t so it’s worth retelling.  In 2005 I was part of a congregation that witnessed the tragic death of our friend and pastor Kyle Lake.  An electric wire improperly grounded was feeding electricity into a baptismal.  When Kyle, standing in water, grabbed a metal microphone stand the circuit was completed and his life was taken. 

We gathered two days later to say goodbye.  Kyle’s funeral officiated by Burt Burleson who had the wits to read through Kyle’s last sermon that was prepared, but remained undelivered on that Sunday morning he died.  In that sermon Burt found Kyle’s conclusion, which Burt read at the funeral.  Kyle’s healing words from the grave.  Last words from a pastor to his flock:

Live. And Live Well.
BREATHE. Breathe in and Breathe deeply.
Be PRESENT. Do not be past. Do not be future. Be now.
On a crystal clear, breezy 70 degree day, roll down the windows and
FEEL the wind against your skin. Feel the warmth ofthe sun.
If you run, then allow those first few breaths on a cool Autumn day to
FREEZE your lungs and do not just be alarmed, be ALIVE.
Get knee-deep in a novel and LOSE track of time.
If you bike, pedal HARDER and if you crash then crash well.
Feel the SATISFACTION of a job well done-a paper well-written, a project
thoroughly completed, a play well-performed.
If you must wipe the snot from your
3-year old's nose, don't be disgusted if the Kleenex didn't catch it all because soon he'll be wiping his own.
If you've recently experienced loss, then GRIEVE. And Grieve well.
At the table with friends and family, LAUGH.
If you're eating and laughing at the same time, then might as well laugh until you puke.
And if you eat, then SMELL.
The aromas are not impediments to your day. Steak on
the grill, coffee beans freshly ground, cookies in the oven.
Taste every ounce of flavor. Taste every ounce of friendship. Taste every ounce of Life.

Surreal.  That’s how I remember feeling when those words were being read.  Almost like Burt had made that up.  They were so perfect that it seemed like Kyle had been told he was going to die and was given a chance to share last words with the congregation. 

Those words have formed UBC and we all revisit them as we rediscover their  continuing relevancy. 

As I say goodbye to Good Fridays, I put on two sentences from Kyle’s last sermon.  No longer good words, but now the experience I wear, my heart yet again recognizes the need to:

Be PRESENT. Do not be past. Do not be future. Be now.

& also

If you must wipe the snot from your
3-year old's nose, don't be disgusted if the Kleenex didn't catch it all because soon he'll be wiping his own.

So now let me be that parent offering soon-to-be parents advice and echo my friend Lanny.  It goes fast, so be present to the million moments that continuously make up the precious now.  

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

why i'm not complementarian

I grew up in what I would characterize as a conservative evangelical home although by no measure were/are my parents ultra conservative.  Though my parents espoused, and still would something more akin to complementarian theology I think they embody a relationship that looks much more egalitarian.   

I hadn’t put much thought into the gender role theology my parents provided me with until I got to Bethel where evangelical trust fund babies would sit around a circle and debate all the important questions of the universe like “do you think women can be pastors?”  Evangelicals construct theology based on one thing, the paper pope.  For most of us this came in the form of the New International Version though some wild ones would use the New Living Translation.  Regardless of your translation, your gender role theology came from a few texts, chief among them—Ephesians 5.  Here the author is writing about household codes and says this:

22 Wives, be subject to your husbands as you are to the Lord. 23For the husband is the head of the wife just as Christ is the head of the church, the body of which he is the Saviour. 24Just as the church is subject to Christ, so also wives ought to be, in everything, to their husbands.
25 Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her, 26in order to make her holy by cleansing her with the washing of water by the word, 27so as to present the church to himself in splendour, without a spot or wrinkle or anything of the kind—yes, so that she may be holy and without blemish. 28In the same way, husbands should love their wives as they do their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself.

I have a confession to make about myself.  I think my strong inclination towards complementarian theology was informed as much if not more by what I will call the meta-fairytale, as it was scripture.  The meta-fairytale can come in all kinds of forms, but finds its chief expression in movies like Disney’s Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty and perhaps most explicitly in Tom Cruise’s movie Legend.  In all of these meta-fairytales you have three essential elements: a damsel in distress, an evil foe to overcome and a hero who does the rescuing.  The damsel remains captive to the evil foe who is eventually overcome by the male hero who then rescues the damsel.

The meta-fairytale should not be discounted as archaic.  It’s a good story and to be sure, its explanatory power is so pervasive that scripture utilizes it to characterize Christ’s relationship with the church.  To boot, I like the meta-fairytale.  I stand on an island in a church of mostly moderates in my appreciation for John Eldredge.

Still, I think a problem arises when we construct a theology of gender based on scripture without being aware of latent meta-fairytale hermeneutic at work within us. 

Here’s what I mean.  Undoubtedly Ephesians says:

“22 Wives, be subject to your husbands as you are to the Lord 23For the husband is the head of the wife just as Christ is the head of the church, the body of which he is the Saviour. 24Just as the church is subject to Christ, so also wives ought to be, in everything, to their husbands.”

But it also says  

“25 Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her,”

I’ve grown suspicious of complementarians who are eager to point to Ephesians 5 in support of their case.  Jesus loved the church so much that He submitted to death by Roman execution.  40 lashes on the back, nails in the wrists and feet, beard ripped out, spear in the side etc.  You’ve seen Mel Gibson’s Jesus slaughtered.  You know the story.  It’s not that I don’t think complementarian males would endure this for their spouses.  Indeed they would.  This is at the heart of the meta-fairytale.  The hero faces the most atrocious forms of the death to rescue the damsel.  But as my friend Randy once pointed out in youth group, “people often talk about dying for Christ, but perhaps the much more difficult thing to do is live for Christ.”

I concur.  I just got done reading some of the martyrdom accounts in Rodney Stark’s new book, and I was unnerved.  But truthfully it often feels to me like being faithful in the mundane tasks of everyday life can take as much courage.  I’m constantly confronted by the question of death.  Will I follow Jesus in the death of not getting my way?  Will I follow Jesus in the death of putting my wife's needs before mine?  Will I follow Jesus in prioritizing my desires last in my family?  Will I follow Jesus in the death of living unselfishly with my finances and not be corrupted by greed? Death questions confront the way we live all the time. 

I’m thankful that I had the privilege of listening to Greg Boyd as my pastor in college.  One of the truths that he instilled in me is that power is quintessentially defined by Jesus hanging on a cross.  This is the way God expresses power in the world.  Jesus subverts our definition of power.  At the end of the day, power is not best expressed by Batman, Superman, Prince Charming or William Wallace.  Power, by Biblical standards, comes from below.  Power picks up a towel and serves.  Power chooses the less glamorous choice.  Power is not so insecure that it needs the final word.  Power does not need control. 

This definition of power exposes the difference between a Christological read of Ephesians 5 and a meta-fairytale one.  In my conversation with my college friends about gender roles it seemed that one way the truthfulness of the complementarain marriage would express itself would be that in major decisions where the couple disagreed the male would make the decision.  I think that notion is rooted in the meta-fairytale understanding of power and the not the Christological one. 

This last year my wife and I consumed all five seasons of NBC’s Friday Night Lights.  Never has a show so successfully depicted a realistic, healthy and dare I say Christian marriage as FNL did with Eric and Tami Taylor.  This article from Relevant gets it exactly right when of the Taylors it says, “It’s something of a miracle that a contemporary network television show could so vividly remind us of what is wonderful about families who stay together, struggle together and grow together.”

In the shows finale Eric and Tami’s marriage struggles reach an apex when they are simultaneously offered dream jobs.  Eric is offered a job as the head coach of Dillon’s all star team and Tami a job as the director of recruitment for a university in Philadelphia.  The impasse created by the circumstances is precisely the sort of thing that evangelicals debate about in their marriage discussions.  As is typical of a patriarchal culture we are led to believe that the Taylor’s will order their lives around Eric’s vocational opportunity. 

Here is a short compilation revealing how that situation resolves itself: 

The most biting critique I have of complementarianism is that it is fundamentally opposed to the notion of power that is defined by the cross.  At the juncture when leading in the way of Jesus might be most painful, evidence that complementariasm is subdued by the meta-fairytale emerges positing males as a specific kind of hero.  Complementarian theology finds its limits in self-sacrificial love when that love might entail sacrificing the traditional role that the hero gets to play in the meta-fairytale story. 

 Jesus would not just have died for his wife on a cross.  He would have died a vocational death for her as well.  Jesus would have taken the sucky job so that she could have the good one.  Jesus would use His power to lead her by elevating her to greatness at his own expense.  I wonder how many complementarians have considered that perhaps the most self-sacrificial thing they could do is embrace a lifetime at home with the kids so their wives could pursue what they wanted.  I wonder how many complementarians have considered that the cost of the cross might mean giving up vocational ambitions so their spouses could pursue theirs.  I wonder how many complementarians have considered that being the hero of their story might not mean being the hero in the traditional meta-fairytale sense at all.  Perhaps being the hero in this story means no one ever knows your name.  That being Christ means being the spouse who gets thanked in a lifetime achievement award speech by the other, not the one on stage accepting the award. 

Husbands if you do embrace this awesome responsibility of loving your wives do so “just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her,” … I dare you.