As I sit to write this, I don't know where it will go. I don't know how the threads of the story will weave. I admit, it'll be rough. But stick with me as we figure out from whence came this imaginative, female theologian who loves the arts and how she came to accept that.
Growing up, I wanted to sit at the man's side of the table when our family went out to dinner with another family. The woman's side talked about raising kids and, well, I don't remember what else (although I'm sure there's much else). But the man's side, now they talked about theology and occassionally football. I wanted to be in on that conversation.
Before I go any further, let me say this: raising kids is theology. Or it should be. But to a twelve-year-old mind, that connection isn't clear. And my mom and I had and have more theological conversations than a toddler has opportunities for trouble, but at those dinner tables, my twelve-year-old (or however old I was at each time) didn't hear it.
I wanted to talk theology.
You also need to know that I grew up loving Anne of Green Gables and Nancy Drew and later, I voyaged to the worlds of Dickens and Austen and rode the train with Agatha Christie and painted revenge with The Count of Monte Cristo.
And that when I entered seminary, I had spent a lifetime preparing to go into the music world.
So I enter this new world at 22, a world where I get to talk theology whenever I want, but a world where most of my colleagues come from world's of engineering, a world where my music and my imagination had no place.
At least, that's what I understood at the time.
It was a world dominated by men.
Where did I fit? A woman? A musician? A girl with pixie dust on my wings?
I adapted well enough. I taught flute lessons to help pay bills, so I had my music, even if I kept it separate from my theology.
Even if I had to pack Anne in a box.
Even if I tired of the questions, "So you must be here for women's ministry?" and "Wow--you're doing this program as a woman?" which I know they meant as a compliment but really, it's an insult.
I was fine. Just fine. I liked the Greek and the Trinitarianism and the Missions studies. That side of me hid in my music world for the past four years.
Until midway through the second semester of the first year, I pulled my car on the side of the road because the tears blurred my vision. I couldn't force the pieces anymore--the jigsaw puzzle had no picture.
To be continued...
I'm with you on this Heather. My wife and I grew up in a notoriously sexist denomination. When we moved to Kerrville, we considered the local congregation of our heritage and visited a few Sundays.
The second visit she left in tears. "You can only get to the cry room from the women's bathroom," she said. "Is there even a changing table in the men's bathroom?" There wasn't.
It seems like a small thing, but it felt like a symbol to us. Women have their place. It isn't questioned and it isn't discussed. But by chance or design, they built gender roles into their new church building.
I had a great conversation with your husband the other day, by the way. I'm sure he told you about it.
My wife and I went to seminary together back in the 80s. She was one of only a few women pursuing a Master of Divinity. She had all sorts of identity issues along the way. Feeling out of place, undervalued, and so on. I'm looking forward to the next installment.
I'm interested to see where you are headed with this piece. And, I entirely understand. When I graduated in college and started working - I started in a very male dominated environment. Frustration - supposed compliments that were really put-downs, not really being heard when I was talking, my conclusions being doubted. It's tough.
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