"Who's in Charge?" - Thoughts on Gender Roles and Genesis 3

I once had a conversation with a fellow pastor and we somehow ended up talking about gender roles in marriage. I was advocating for a more “everybody-is-equal” point-of-view, and he was telling me how weak I am for holding that opinion. “The man is supposed to lead and be in charge,” he said. And so he challenged me: “So in your marriage, who’s in charge?”

“Why does anyone need to be in charge?” I asked. “Isn’t the idea of marriage that you’re supposed to be partners?”

“Well, sure,” he said. “But if you have to make a big decision, and the two of you can’t come to an agreement, who gets the final say?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t mean to sound naïve, but I’d like to think we’d keep working through the issue until we find a compromise.”

“But what if you can’t come to a compromise?” the other pastor said. “What would you do then?”

“I have no idea,” I said. “I can’t imagine what kind of scenario would call for that. Are we talking about diffusing a bomb or something?”

He wouldn’t let up.

I know what he wanted me to say. He wanted me to concede to his assertion that ultimately the man rules the household and that any perceived power held by the wife is merely an illusion.

There is a Bible verse that people sometimes use to propel this point-of-view. In Genesis 3, humanity has deviated from its original path and has chosen a more destructive way of life. At a certain point in the story, God enters the dialogue and speaks to humanity. In verse 16, this God says to the woman in the story:

“Your desire will be for your husband, and he will rule over you.”

And so for thousands of years, people have taken this verse and said, “You see? The man is supposed to rule over the woman. Even God says so!”

Here’s the problem with that method of thinking: Genesis 3:16 is a curse. It appears in a string of passages in which God is making observations about what a broken world will look like. This is a lament over what has been lost in the process of eating the wrong fruit and choosing the wrong path.

In other words, Genesis 3:16 is not God saying, “Now go and do this.” Instead, the verse is essentially God saying, “Don’t you see what you’ve done?”

It is a curse.

It is a lament.

It is a description of a broken reality.

The first two chapters of Genesis describe a state of reality that is good and whole—the way things were meant to be. The third chapter of Genesis describes what happens when all of that goodness and wholeness falls apart.

Hebrew scholar Nahum Sarna says it this way:

“It is quite clear from the description of woman in [Genesis 2] that the ideal situation… was absolute equality of the sexes. The new state of male dominance is an aspect of the deterioration in the human condition” (JPS Torah Commentary, Genesis).

What’s being described in Genesis 3:16 is what happens when we choose a broken path. God is saying, “For the rest of time, there will be women who struggle with their own sense of identity because they will define themselves by their relationships. They will find their worth in how other people interact with them. And then there will be men who will exploit that and leverage all kinds of power and manipulation over these women.”

So thank goodness things have changed so much.

It’s not insignificant that the passage that immediately follows verse 16 talks about how the man will work tirelessly by the sweat of his brow and he will thanklessly labor until he dies.

I work in an air conditioned room in which I almost never break a sweat, and I really love what I do. So are my lack of sweat and feeling of fulfillment signs that I am being disobedient to God? Should we shame men who love their jobs because Genesis 3:19 says that we will toil and struggle all the days of our lives?

When we find circumstances in the world around us that contradict what we see in Genesis 3:16-19, we should celebrate it. This means we have somehow—in a very small way—transcended the curse. We have found something good and beautiful in the midst of the chaos. If you find a person who loves his job or a marriage based on mutual respect and submission, you are witnessing someone who has overcome something dark and has reclaimed something beautiful about reality.

So here’s what we need to do: We need to stop treating Genesis 3:16 like a “life verse.”  Stop citing this passage as the way things were meant to be, because it isn’t. We were created for something better than that.

Our role in the world is to reclaim the goodness and beauty that was originally created, not to wallow in the brokenness and claim it as God’s will.

So who’s in charge in our marriage? Neither of us. We submit to one another, because that’s the reality we were created to live within.

Adoption, Risk, and the Fear of Toxic Gas

“Let’s say a toxic gas is released in your neighborhood and you need to evacuate. Where would you go?”

A strange question to be sure, but it was one of the scenarios that was raised during our recent adoption orientation class.

Let’s back up.

Caroline and I have begun the process of adopting a child. It’s a long process that begins with an orientation class at our adoption agency, which we attended earlier this week. At this orientation class, we are led through an overview of the adoption process, given a brief history of adoption in the United States, told what our responsibilities and rights (and expenses) are, and walked through several scenarios that we will need to think about at some point in the very near future.

Which raised the question from our social worker: “Let’s say a toxic gas is released in your neighborhood and you need to evacuate. Where would you go?”

These are the things you have to think about. I mean, I’m a “worst-case-scenario” thinker anyway, so it’s kind of strange that I hadn’t thought about this one already, but here we were.

I remember the first time my wife told me she was pregnant and how joyful and overwhelmed I felt. I remember the second time she told me and the same feelings rushing through me all over again. That’s what this adoption orientation class felt like.

Intimidating.

Exciting.

Overwhelming.

Of course, whenever you tell people that you want to adopt a child, the reaction is mixed. Some people are excited for you, and some people are worried about what kind of trauma you are setting yourself up to endure.

The reactions span from “How exciting!” to “Are you sure you’ve really thought about this?”

Again, this is not unlike a biological pregnancy. Most people are excited for you, but there are probably some people who are (at least silently) wondering if you’re really up for it.

Here’s the thing I learned both times my wife was pregnant and that I was reminded of during our adoption orientation class: We never have as much control as we want.

People who want to warn you about the dangers of adoption seem to forget that a biological pregnancy has just as many questions and concerns attached to it. Are we under the illusion that our genetic material is incapable of creating a child who will grow up to struggle with emotional or physical health issues? Do we really think there is some level of certainty and safety associated with our own biological children?

We have several friends who have adopted kids, and they have all told us about all of the fears and risks involved. However, they have all also talked about the incredible, rewarding, and overwhelming feeling of welcoming a child into their home--of choosing to adopt and becoming more open than ever before.

Are there risks involved in adoption? Of course there are. There are risks involved in every human interaction. That’s part of being alive.

Brene Brown says this in her book Daring Greatly:

“I define vulnerability as uncertainty, risk and emotional exposure. With that definition in mind, let’s think about love. Waking up every day and loving someone who may or may not love us back, whose safety we can’t ensure, who may stay in our lives or may leave without a moment’s notice, who may be loyal to the day they die or betray us tomorrow—that’s vulnerability.” 

So basically, to be alive and interact with any other human soul is risk. That vulnerability can be terrifying, especially to those of us who have been wounded or who have a natural fear of pain. But without the vulnerability, we lose the rewards of love and openness—we lose our human connection with the people around us.

So yes, we are going to adopt a baby, and that will open us up in all kinds of new ways.

It is a risk to be sure, but that’s part of being human.

And it’s worth it.

If you are an adoptive parent or an adopted child, I would love to hear your story! Feel free to post it in the Comments section below or send it to me in an email.

Everything in its Right Place

Last Sunday, we started a new series at Collective Church. The series is called "Everything in its Right Place," and it centers around the concept of shalom found in the first two chapters of the book of Genesis.

I will never forget the first time I was introduced to this idea. It was January of 2006, and I was at a pastors' conference in Grand Rapids, Michigan. I sat through a breakout session led by a guy named Matt Krick, and he talked about something called Narrative Theology.

The basic proposal of Narrative Theology is that we are part of a story--a story with a beginning, a middle, and an end.

This story begins in Genesis 1, in which everything is (as the title of this post and our church's series suggests) in its right place. When God creates in Genesis 1, creation is described as "good," "blessed," and, in the case of humanity, "in God's image." In other words, things are as they were meant to be. This picture of wholeness is also found in Genesis 2. This is the beginning of our story.

The story ends in Revelation 21 & 22, at which point everything is put back together again--things are once again exactly as they were meant to be.

This is how the story begins, and this is how the story ends.

This is our story.

The Hebrew word for this state of being--in which all things are as they were meant to be--is the word shalom. Shalom is often described as "peace," but it's so much more than that.

Cornelius Plantinga says this-

The webbing together of God, humans, and all creation in justice, fulfillment, and delight is what the Hebrew prophets called shalom. We call it ‘peace,’ but it means far more than just peace of mind or cease-fire between enemies. In the Bible, shalom means universal flourishing, wholeness, and delight—a rich state of affairs in which natural needs are satisfied and natural gifts fruitfully employed, all under the arch of God’s love. Shalom, in other words, is the way things are supposed to be. (Engaging God's World, 15)

Shalom is wholeness. It is order. It is unbroken connection with all things.

Shalom is the way things were meant to be, and it is how our story begins and ends.

When things break down in Genesis 3--when the wrong fruit is eaten and a different path is chosen--shalom has been disrupted, and everything is no longer what it was meant to be.

However, the story suggests that we are moving back toward shalom.

The story suggests that there are four dimensions of shalom:

Between God and humans.

Between human beings.

Between humans and the rest of creation.

Within the human soul.

I remember learning about this idea and feeling like I was reading the Bible for the very first time. I remember thinking that this changes everything I have ever been taught.

This is not a merely story about having my personal sins forgiven so I can die and be whisked away to some other place. This is about the restoration of all things in this realm (which, of course, includes the forgiveness of sins).

This is about shalom.

This is a conversation about all things and the story we are all indwelling.

This isn't just a four-part sermon series to be wedged between Mother's Day and Father's Day. This is a whole new way of seeing the world.

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Resources on Narrative Theology and Shalom:

"How Can the Bible Be Authoritative?" by NT Wright (article)

Engaging God's World by Cornelius Plantinga

Truth is Stranger than it Used to Be by Middleton & Walsh

The King Jesus Gospel by Scot McKnight

Scripture and the Authority of God by NT Wright

The Drama of Scripture by Bartholomew & Goheen

Did Jesus Compromise?

As I grew up in evangelical culture—youth groups, Baptist church revivals, Newsboys concerts, etc.—one of the many mantras that I often heard had to do with “not compromising.”

“We are not ashamed, and we do not compromise!”

“If you compromise your faith, you compromise your future!”

“The world wants you to compromise, but God wants you to stand firm!”

Not long ago, I heard someone make another version of this statement. He said (with tremendous confidence in his voice), “Jesus was one hundred percent compassion and zero percent compromise!”

I mean, it sounds good because of the alliteration and all, but I thought a lot about it, and I don’t think this statement is actually true.

What the guy was trying to say (I think) is that Jesus possessed a perfectly-honed moral compass, and that he never betrayed his own values, even though he was “one hundred percent” compassionate. But that's a little more nuanced and a little less ready-made for a fill-in-the-blank church outline.

So does this sound bite-worthy statement about zero percent compromise hold up? Let’s have a look, shall we?

First of all, what does the word “compromise” mean? It’s not a word from the Bible, so we can only look at the English definition. So in pure valedictory-speech fashion, I will quote from Mirriam-Webster’s dictionary: “Compromise” means the following:

“a way of reaching agreement in which each person or group gives up something that was wanted in order to end an argument or dispute”

Here’s a secondary definition:

“a change that makes something worse and that is not done for a good reason”

So in considering what a compromise is, we see that it the act of “giving up something” in order to serve a greater purpose or changing something “for no good reason.” Of course, since we believe that Jesus was God, it would be difficult to argue that he did anything “for no good reason,” so I will concede the point on the second definition.

But that leaves us with the first definition, which raises the question, Did Jesus sacrifice (i.e., "concede" or "compromise") anything in order to bring harmony?

I would argue that yes, that’s exactly what Jesus did.

Jesus was a Jewish rabbi, which means his core values would have included all 613 of the commandments from Jewish law. One of these core values would certainly have been to keep the Sabbath day holy (it is one of the Ten Commandments, after all, so it stands to reason that Jesus would have taken this commandment rather seriously). However, there are times when Jesus “compromises” his reverence for the Sabbath in order to heal a person who is in pain (e.g., Mark 3:1-6, Luke 13:10-17, John 5:1-18, etc.). So here, Jesus compromises one value in order to hold up a higher value, which is to show compassion to another person. So Jesus compromises in the name of compassion.

In the book of Luke, Jesus tells a story about a man who is attacked by robbers. When a priest and a Levite (two holy people in the Jewish community) see the beaten man, they choose not to help him because to help a man who is naked and bloody would be to “compromise” their own ritual cleanliness (they were coming from Jerusalem, which suggests that they had been maintaining their sacred cleanliness for their period of service in the Temple). In the story, only a Samaritan is willing to become unclean in order to help the beaten man. So the two people in the story who do not compromise are the ones who are seen as missing the point (Luke 10:25-37). The hero in Jesus’ story is the one who compromises in the name of compassion.

In Matthew 26, Jesus is arrested by an angry mob. When one of Jesus’ companions tries to fight back, Jesus tells his friend to put his sword away. Jesus allows himself to be arrested and killed—he compromises his own well-being and his own power in the name of compassion toward all humanity. In fact, one could argue that the crucifixion was the ultimate act of compromise.

In the book of Ephesians, the writer Paul instructs people to “submit to one another” (Ephesians 5:21). To submit to someone else is to offer a concession—or a compromise—for the benefit of the other person and the health of the relationship. And to everyone in the community of Jesus followers, Paul says, Offer concessions to one another, because that will make you better and strengthen your relationships.

So the old youth ministry cliché of “no compromise” may sound nice, but it doesn’t really reflect the nuance of the human soul, nor does it provide a healthy place for human relationships to exist. On top of that, it doesn’t reflect the life and teachings of Jesus.

Was there anything that Jesus did hold a “no compromise” position on? Sure. There was one. When someone asked Jesus what the most important commandment in the Law was, Jesus replied like this-

“‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment.  And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”

In other words, the way you love other people is directly connected to the way you love God. They are inseparable.

So when Jesus compromises his commitment to the Law, he is somehow fulfilling the Law at the exact same time. To violate the Sabbath in order to heal someone is to love one’s neighbor as yourself. So the Sabbath is broken out of a need for compromise, yet the spirit of the Law remains intact, because the Sabbath was broken for an act of love.

All of Jesus’ “compromises” occurred out of service toward others.

When we think of “compromise,” we think of something that is ultimately self-serving: We compromise our ideals in order to make more money, or we compromise our integrity in order to win one battle or another. Admittedly, these are compromises that can lead us into dark places.

However, whenever Jesus—or Paul—compromises, it is always for the benefit of someone else. And this is our calling: to submit to one another and help other people feel loved and safe and hopeful.

One cannot be “One hundred percent compassion and zero percent compromise,” simply because compassion requires compromise—concession and submission to another.

There is a kind of compromise that builds bridges and gives new life.

There are people in this world who have been the victims of Christian bullying done in the name of “Zero percent compromise” or (even worse) “Love the sinner, hate the sin” (if you want to read a terrific piece on this phrase, take a look at Micah J. Murray’s piece here).

But when we choose to compromise our own right-ness or dogma in deference to another person’s humanity, something new comes to life. We become like the Jesus who heals on the Sabbath.

And so we make room in our churches for people who have been made to feel unwanted because they hold different opinions than we do.  We provide a safe place instead of electing ourselves to be the moral police. We offer love, comfort, and support to those whom other Christians have condemned, written off, or protested against.

In short, we compromise for one another. We submit. We concede our role as the moral authority in the lives of others, and we simply offer love, hope, and faith.

In our acts of compromise toward one another, we actually fulfill our greatest calling.

Religious Abuse and a Sobering Reminder for Pastors

Religious abuse makes me angrier than almost anything else in this world.

In the past few years, I have read several books on this subject, and it always leaves me feeling sad for the victims and furious at the offenders. Children are raised in toxic environments, made to constantly feel afraid of the adults in their lives who should be providing safety and love. Adults are controlled and manipulated through fear of punishment, either from a transcendent deity or from the other adults who have all of the power.

I read these stories, and they remind me that pastors and religious leaders need to understand the power they have. People trust them with their emotional well-being, their sense of hope and security, their beliefs about how reality works. The violation of spiritual abuse is so offensive because it preys on people who are vulnerable and who want to believe in something bigger than themselves.

One of the best books I have read this year is Girl at the End of the World: My Escape from Fundamentalism in Search of Faith with a Future by Elizabeth Esther. Elizabeth grew up in a fundamentalist Christian group called The Assembly, which she describes as a cult. As the title suggests, her journey led her out of that group and into a more life-giving faith.

I don’t want to say too much about the content of the book itself because, a) you should read it, and b) other people have already explored the content of this book in a much more profound and beautiful way than I ever could (most notably, blogger Zach Hoag has written a terrific review of the book).

Here’s what I do want to say about this book: It matters.

These stories about people who have suffered and survived at the hands of toxic religion matter a great deal. We need them. We need people to speak out and remind us that intimidation and manipulation are not okay. It is not okay to make children feel that they must be “broken” by their parents because it is God’s will.

These stories matter because we need churches that are actively trying to create a safe and healthy environment for whomever darkens their doors. As a pastor, I need to be aware that people come to my church because they are reaching for some kind of hope. They are vulnerable, and they are open. The worst thing I could do would be to take that openness and vulnerability and use it to control them.

I have heard too many stories about people who have limped away from religious institutions, broken and bruised from placing their faith in the hands of someone who wanted power.

This happens in fringe groups, and it happens in megachurches.  It happens in groups that carry the label “Christian,” and it happens under nearly every other religious canopy in the world. Wherever there are vulnerable people, there will always be someone who is willing to exploit them.

Our job—those of us who lead churches—is to make sure we are seeking something better, something healthy and life-giving.

I am so grateful for Elizabeth Esther. I am grateful that she was brave enough to tell her story, and I am grateful that she found a way out of the madness. I am grateful for recovery and healing, and I hope more people continue to find that path.

If you have found yourself in a system of religious abuse, I hope you will find a path toward healing.

If you are a person who has been given a position of leadership or authority in a religious context, I hope you know the weight of your responsibility, and I hope your people feel safe and free.

May we all seek to be better, and may we all seek healing for our wounds.

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Note: I am thrilled to announce that Elizabeth Esther will be speaking at Collective Church on Sunday, September 14!

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Another note: Here are a few other good books on the topic of spiritual abuse-

Jesus Land by Julia Scheeres

Beyond Belief: My Secret Life Inside Scientology and My Harrowing Escape by Jenna Miscavige Hill

Stumbling Toward Faith by Renee Altson

Who is Easter For?

This Sunday is Easter, and for some of us, it is a reminder of something we have been longing for.

Easter is a reminder that we are in the midst of a story about renewal and redemption.

I’ve heard lots of Easter sermons in my life (approximately thirty-three of them), and most of them have revolved around “The Cross.”

The Cross—the place of Jesus’ sacrifice, the place in which God poured God’s own self out on behalf of all creation—is a beautiful thing. It is somber picture of God’s mercy, love, and self-lowering posture toward that which must be redeemed. The Cross must be celebrated and honored.

However, the Cross is not what makes Easter so remarkable. If it were, we would celebrate Easter on Fridays.

Easter is significant because Jesus refused to stay in the tomb. The power of Easter lies in the absence of Jesus’ body in the grave.

Without the Empty Tomb, the Cross would be just another Roman execution. Without the Empty Tomb, our story would be one of sorrow and defeat—a lament, rather than a celebration.

And so we realize that Easter is for those of us who live our lives in anticipation of some kind of resurrection. Easter is for anyone who has experienced some kind of death—a loss, a setback, a disappointment, a bitter ending to the latest chapter in one’s life.

Easter is God’s way of saying, “Just wait, because there is more to come, and it’s going to change everything.”

We celebrate Easter because we are resurrection people. We acknowledge that in the midst of the darkness, the pain, the sorrow, the despair, the disappointment, and the outrage, there is still more to come. There has been a death, but there will be a resurrection.

So who is Easter for?

Easter is for people who need resurrection.

May you spend this week anticipating resurrection.

Grace and peace be with you.