Chapter 26: Death Sentence

What’s in a sentence?

Combinations of 26 letters, peppered with symbols, spaced apart in clusters. Averaging about 15-20 of these clusters, separated by periods, commas, and the more exciting exclamation point or sexy curved question mark that seems to ask, whaddaya think big guy? Wanna give it a go? I suspect with my writing habits, you are looking at more like 40 of these little clusters before you hit the little dot that tells you to stop. And as innocent as the little curves and lines and circles and dots seem, they can carry enormous weight. They can turn the tide of a country. They are able to start wars, or create peace. They can passionately begin, or devastatingly end a relationship. And, oddly enough, sometimes a sentence… is literally a sentence. A death sentence. And I finally used the word literally correctly. Yay me.

It all started with the moon landing.

We are in California, Pastor Jock having had the actually pretty great idea to fly the core ministry leadership to visit the church we were loosely patterned after. We arrive, pick up our rental cars, and head for the ocean to blow off a little steam, stopping in little boutiques along the shoreline.

Our troupe descends upon a little shop packed with souvenirs and trinkets, wandering vagabonds perusing California shotglasses, pothead wallhangings and shirts proclaiming My Mom Went to Los Angeles and All I Got Was This Crummy T-shirt. In the center of the store there is a rack of large prints, and I am leafing through the collection of pop bands I don’t know, beach scenery shot by a mysterious someone, and those renderings of illogical stairways by that artist whose name I can never recall. I stop at an image of the Earth from the moon, a picture I’ve always adored, the sense of awe and wonder at the serenity and size of our planet, the beautiful blue-green marble. I really should have bought it. I gaze at the classic print and remark how much I love this photo. Pastor Jock leans over to look, and states blandly “too bad it didn’t happen”

Wait, what?

I have heard of people not believing in the moon landing, I had never actually met one in real life. Not only do they actually exist, but I am now working for one. I’m a huuuuge fan of the sciences, and my head slowly turns to gape at him, struck mute, while he launches into a ten-minute oratory on shadows, footprints, a flag moving incorrectly, a government cover-up. Is this guy for real?

He is, he’s dead serious and it’s another sign that shit’s gonna get weird.

We continue our week in SoCal, going to Joe’s Crab Shack, checking out Saddleback Church’s expansive multi-venue campus, then visiting a VERY cool church called Mosaic. This place was my favorite church I ever visited, earthy, artsy, progressive and authentic. Oh, man! If we can build something like this, I am wayyyy on board. I become very inspired about the future, and am taking expansive notes on how this could be done in a smaller venue, and what kinds of creative groups could be started when we return to Tiny Town. I have new ideas bursting forth for all of the areas I lead and can’t wait to get back and pass on the torch. Pastor Jock is continually holding court regarding his vision for the future of the church, and we are all excited to get on board and see this thing fly.

But something is sickly dawning on me.

I’m hearing him say repeatedly, he wants men to run this, men to run that. If men are in leadership, everything falls into place. If we invest in reaching men, the women will follow.

Men, men, men.

I know from years of working with Pastor Jock in youth ministry that he just looooves this book called Wild at Heart. It’s a book that swept through Evangelical churches in the 90’s that… wow, how do I put it? It’s one of those books insisting that the problems of the world will be solved if we would just revert back to a patriarchal model, men running the show while women obey and live quietly. The way it was taught to my daughter in Sunday school while I thought she was learning to be kind to others, was the man is the head, the woman is the neck. But I was not born quiet, and I have this propensity to wind up in leadership no matter where I go, so what are you supposed to do when you simply don’t fit this mold?

Author John Eldredge has this idea that problems in this world are caused by men not being manly enough. He sets out to prove his manliness by climbing mountains, tracking wild animals, doing things that are considered “macho”… the one-dimensional idea being God wants men to be Bear Grylls kinda guys who protect the weaker sex and want to go spear someone in the heart at Medieval Times, winning the fair maiden who sits quietly at home breeding his offspring, ironing the wrinkles out of his armor and dutifully crocheting him a coozy for his man-sized beer stein while he’s out slaying dragons. I always thought the term for guys like this was Asshole, but I guess I could be wrong.

He is also a huge fan of John Piper, author of books such as Recovering Biblical Manhood and Womanhood, I think you can figure out from the title where that’s headed.

The pieces of the picture I am looking at are beginning to fall into place, and as the week unfolds, a grain of sand in my stomach becomes a pebble, then expands to a stone, then a rock, finally a sickening boulder rising up in my throat. And I ask a simple question as we are driving, and I can see him to this day, he is driving and I’m in the back seat, which is in itself a good image for how much control I have in this situation.

“So…Pastor Jock, ummm… what exactly IS your view on women in leadership?”

And this Manly Man Jock states fourteen words, and I can hear it plain as day in my head, the strung-together career-ending line of words that is the iceberg scraping against the hull of my painstakingly built ministry.

“I believe that a woman should not teach or have authority over a man.”

And I know it’s over.

I have spent eighteen years studying church leadership, having forsaken my original plan to go to college and get first a vocal jazz degree, then continue into the sciences going after forensic chemistry or pathology. At the encouragement of various pastors along the way, I have given up those precious years to pursue being a worship and programming director, and spent my time learning to lead groups of people, and raise up leaders, male and female. I teach, I lead, I’m a public speaker, I have always held an up-front role, it’s what I do best.

Only what I do best is no longer allowed.

I ask him what will happen to my position, especially since I was supposed to have been the next hire, and he says he would defer to the elders. Well, maybe I’ll be okay, I have known all of them for years, and they have always been supportive of me.

But this isn’t what happens. Not at all. Six weeks later, DH receives an email, and my position is taken from me and given to…can you guess? A man. Pastor Jock throws me the bone of being called on often to sing solos. Gee whiz, that’s fantastic.

All that I built for eighteen years is effectively over. I am now trapped in this church doing nothing because I’m married to DH, who is still Pastor of Worship. Since he is in possession of that ever elusive penis, Pastor Jock has no problem with him leading.

I have the wrong bits for this job.

Ahhhh, shit.