Women in the Church – Snapshot of censorship and call for repentance

Eldon Epp is the author of a little book entitled Junia:  The First Woman Apostle.  It’s a book about a single verse in the bible, Romans 16:7 which reads wildly differently, depending on your translation, because it’s fraught (unnecessarily) with controversy.  Since this is a blog post and not a book, I’ll summarize Epps conclusions, also offered in Scott McKnights marvelous e-book, Junia is not Alone (about the censure of females voices in Christendom).

First the verse, translated without equivocation or footnote in the CEB version of the Bible as: Say hello to Andronicus and Junia, my relatives and my fellow prisoners.  They are prominent among the apostles, and they were in Christ before me.

You go to McKnight’s e-book to see the massive alterations to this seemingly inn0cuous verse, but here’s what Epp and McKnight both offer:

1. Junia was a woman.  That’s the name in literally all the best ancient manuscripts.

2. There is no evidence that any man had the name Junias

3. Junia is not, as some have argued, a contracted name of Junianus

4. “Among the apostles” means Junia herself was an apostle not simply that she was well liked by the apostles.

The office or title of apostle, though, carries a certain weight with it, implying spiritual authority, church planting initiative, and of course, preaching and teaching.

To quote McKnight further, “Junia was a woman in the Old Latin, the Vulgate, Sahidic and Bohairic Coptic and Syriac (as well as in) English to the last quarter of the 19th century.

However, history is also peppered with incidents where the Junia name is retranslated as Junias, which would have the affect of producing an immediate sex change.  Luther did it.  And, significantly, the prominent creators of the New Testament Greek Bibles that we pastors like to have on our shelves changed Junia to Junias for the first time in 1927, when Junias became the name of the apostle and Junia became a footnote.  Junia remained a footnote until 1979, when she disappeared from the footnotes completely.

Why is this?  I assure you it has nothing to do with scholarship and everything to do with patriarchal bias.  As one author writes, “Because a woman could not have been an apostle, the woman who is here called an apostle could not have been a woman”… ergo, lexical sex change, ergo, problem solved.

By 1998 things had changed (yes, not a typo – 1998) and Junia reappeared, with the non-existent Junias dead and buried, as he should have been all along.

Again, quoting McKnight, There was no evidence in ancient manuscripts that anyone understood Junia as a male, no evidence in translations she was a male, and there was no ancient evidence that Junias was a man’s name.  But, still, the church got into a rut and rode it out until some courageous folks said, ‘o yes, Junia was a woman and she was an apostle, and we’ve been wrong, and we’re going to do something about it.

McKnight tells the stories of three women in his book, Marie Dentiere, Phoebe Palmer, and Mary McLeod Bethume, to remind us that the silencing of women’s voices has a long and tragic history in the church.  That this history has happened is reality.  At stake is whether we’ll have the humility to learn from it as we move forward.  What is there to learn?

1. Cultural biases are embedded in faith movements. The patriarchy of Rome was carried by Luther into the reformation as something left unreformed, even to the extent of altering the overwhelmingly clear reading of a certain text in order to accommodate his bias.  If you think we don’t all still to do this, wittingly and unwittingly, you’re living in a self-righteous fantasy land.

2. We don’t like disruption.  This extends well beyond the common notion that the only acceptable women in the Bible lives in Proverbs 31, even though warriors, and judges, and beauty queens, and wealthy patrons, and yes, even apostles, were all making their mark.  They didn’t make the cut when it came to Sunday school curriculum, at least not as role models, other than to speak of Deborah in terms like, “do you see what happens boys and girls, when men don’t step up to lead?  God is forced to use a woman!”

I’m here to say that Jesus made his disciple’s heads explode all the time, not just the day they decided to follow him.  He ate with the wrong people, touched the wrong people, got violently mad in church, and conquered the world in a way nobody thought the world could be conquered – by dying.   Now here we are, some two thousand years later, running the risk that his explosive endeavor has become nothing more than our own personal comfort zone.  If we’ll open our eyes and ears though, we’ll see and hear things will make heads explode as well – and its high time they did, because we still get it mighty wrong too much of the time.

3. Scholarship matters. What’s needed, in the end, is a willingness to allow revelation to change our view on things.  Yes, we need discernment.  We can’t allow ourselves to be persuaded by just any old internet article (or blog).  But when overwhelming evidence points us in a certain direction, we need to be willing to go there.  Tampering with evidence is, in many parts of life, a crime.  In the fundamentalist fringes of both left and right however, such tampering is business as usual.  Christ’s followers would do well to see such behavior as the moral quicksand that it is, and stay far, far away.

 

Loving People, Losing Life – The Gospel made Real

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it remains alone.  But if it dies, it bears much fruit. Jesus the Christ

Jeremiah Small was a student who attended the Torchbearer Bible Schools, the family of schools where I am privileged to teach on a regular basis.  Jeremiah was teaching in Iraq until last week, when he was killed by one of his students, before turning the gun on himself.  An e-mail I received from one of his friends remembers Jeremiah this way:  He did much more than spread the gospel, he trained individuals to seek truth.  Seeing truth is something that Jeremiah did unlike anyone else. He committed his whole being to knowing God and wrestled to know his character with exemplary  diligence and faith.  In this news video Jeremiah’s dad speaks of his son’s life, of his passion to live life generously, courageously, fully, even if such commitments meant a shorter life.  He was 33.

I was moved by reading the perspective of a Kurdish student in this article from the Kurdistan Tribune, where he wrote:  In the classroom he taught his students a love of Literature and Humanities and encouraged them to always look for truth and seek knowledge; he spent all of his energy and time teaching, mentoring, and giving. Most importantly, he encouraged his students to pursue education as a way of giving back to their community; he was himself a servant leader and wanted to see more servant leadership in our country.

In the community he was a faithful and friendly expatriate. He cared for Kurdistan’s nature, environment, traditions, and way of life. A camera slung on his shoulder, you could spot him walking down of Mawlawi Street in his Jili Kurdi with his colleagues and students during Nawroz. He was no regular teacher; he was a mentor with immense God-given capabilities.

Our world is obsessed with economics, upward mobility, and security.  Here’s a man who cared for none of these things.  Our world is filled with arrogant pontifications, both political and theological, with acidic language becoming so commonplace that my soul’s nearly numb.  Jeremiah, it appears, didn’t care about any of it.  He  just got on with loving the people around him, challenging, serving, blessing.  On the day I read of his death, 60 minutes had yet another stories about hundreds of boys abused by priests, making me nearly throw up.  Jeremiah met people and helped them become whole.  His death comes right in the midst of this Lenten season when I’ve left behind any writings about politics and divisive issues in order to focus on one single question:  What does it mean to identify fully with Christ? Jeremiah’s life and death shed light on the answer:

Following Christ means emptying oneself. This is what sets the gospel apart from everything else I’ve ever seen.  Real faith is not some path to upward mobility, or downward mobility either for that matter.  Real faith means so fully identifying with Christ that we, like him, empty ourselves of self-seeking, self-promotion, self-preservation.  Philanthropy gives off the top, out of the margins.  Philanthropy’s good, but it’s not the Christian life.   Christ gives everything, lavishly pouring out his very life for a broken humanity, and then invites us to follow His example, noting that only those who are pouring their lives out will really find the life for which they were created.  This is paradox.  This is the core of the gospel.  In an age where the core’s gone missing, where the gospel has become “self improvement” instead of self-emptying, Jeremiah’s example shines.

Following Christ means loving. One of his students wrote: For me personally, Jeremiah Small was both a teacher and a friend. After my parents, he contributed the most to my personality and knowledge. He taught me how to turn my vision into reality and challenged me to be diligent, observing, meek, organized, and detailed.

He was also a great friend outside of the classroom; we went on numerous hikes, trips, and other outings. God knows I would not be who I am today if it was not for him and what he presented to me. I am sure hundreds of his other students feel the same way.

Jeremiah’s life and ministry of loving his students deeply, sacrificially, unconditionally, stands in stark contrast to too much of what passes for Christianity these days.  I’m chastened, humbled, challenged, by his example of delighting in his students and serving them tirelessly, for this, in the end, is the essential ingredient to making God’s good reign visible in world.  I see this love in my daughter and her work as a teacher in Germany.  I see it in friends who are caring for spouses and parents during their last days.  Would to God that all of us would grasp that this simple posture of sacrificial love, of delighting to serve the other in Jesus, is the most powerful force on the planet.

But alas, the pricetags have been switched, and the Christian machinery of the West has created a “faith” that adds activities, books, radio stations, camps, and the endless words of sermons to our lives, without necessarily calling people to empty themselves, follow Christ, take up their cross, and love deeply.  The results are loud – but not pretty.  Thank God for the Jeremiahs of the world who, without fanfare, are getting on with the work of serving and loving in Jesus’ name.   May the death of Jeremiah cause their tribe to increase.

O God of life;

You call us to pour our lives out as a sacrifice, promising that those who “lose their lives” for your sake will find them.  Thank you that Jeremiah found his life, found his true voice, found deep joy, by emptying his life.  Now, having paid the fullest sacrifice in his service to you, I pray that the example of his life will continue to “preach Christ” for generations to come, and that we who knew him in life, or only just now in death, would follow you fully as a result.  You point us to the cross, and now Jeremiah stands beside you, counted among the millions who’ve gone before to show us the way.  This is our hope and joy.

Amen

 

 

Seeing: the father of endurance

Mt. Lafayette is, by any Pacific Northwest standards, just a hill, topping off at a mere 5,249 feet.  It’s beautiful in it’s own right, but only a hill.  Still, the hike to to the summit is an exercise in endurance because most of the hike is shrouded in forest, save the few openings where one is able to see some remarkable granite walls (next time I’m bringing climbing gear).  The cocktail of steep sections, wet rocks, and warm air thick with humidity makes the journey a little boring.  Without the distractions of great views, the negative elements of sweat and bugs seem magnified, and I find myself asking, “Why am I doing this?” every 30 minutes or so.  As we near the delightful AMC hut, the trees thin out, and we enjoy the views.

We rest for a few minutes, and then ponder our next moves.  Reports say a storm is coming, but the summit is in clear view, just below the clouds.  My wife’s had enough but I tell that I can’t see something so close, so doable, and not continue the journey to the top.  So I leave my pack with her and travel ultralight to the summit, where I snap a few pics, before enjoying a theological conversation all the way back to the hut with a Jewish mystic who works for ATT by day, but whose passion is teaching meditation.  It was a delightful hike, and I was glad I summited because the journey revealed the relationship between seeing and endurance.  Had the top been shrouded in fog I, not knowing the area or the terrain, would have turned for home.  Seeing, it turns out, is mighty important. [Read more...]

Seeing: the father of endurance

Mt. Lafayette is, by any Pacific Northwest standards, just a hill, topping off at a mere 5,249 feet.  It’s beautiful in it’s own right, but only a hill.  Still, the hike to to the summit is an exercise in endurance because most of the hike is shrouded in forest, save the few openings where one is able to see some remarkable granite walls (next time I’m bringing climbing gear).  The cocktail of steep sections, wet rocks, and warm air thick with humidity makes the journey a little boring.  Without the distractions of great views, the negative elements of sweat and bugs seem magnified, and I find myself asking, “Why am I doing this?” every 30 minutes or so.  As we near the delightful AMC hut, the trees thin out, and we enjoy the views.

We rest for a few minutes, and then ponder our next moves.  Reports say a storm is coming, but the summit is in clear view, just below the clouds.  My wife’s had enough but I tell that I can’t see something so close, so doable, and not continue the journey to the top.  So I leave my pack with her and travel ultralight to the summit, where I snap a few pics, before enjoying a theological conversation all the way back to the hut with a Jewish mystic who works for ATT by day, but whose passion is teaching meditation.  It was a delightful hike, and I was glad I summited because the journey revealed the relationship between seeing and endurance.  Had the top been shrouded in fog I, not knowing the area or the terrain, would have turned for home.  Seeing, it turns out, is mighty important. [Read more...]