Sing it, sister!

I will worship (I will worship)
With all of my heart (with all of my heart)
I will praise You (I will praise You)
With all of my strength (all my strength) 

I will seek You (I will seek You)
All of my days (all of my days)
And I will follow (I will follow)
All of Your ways (all Your ways)... 

David Ruis, Maranatha Praise, Inc., 1991

For the uninitiated, this here's a song that the medium-to-considerably happy-clappy sing in church. And in case you're wondering, the bits in brackets are an echo 'traditionally' sung by the female members of the congregation. The pattern is not ubiquitous, but neither is it rare (and never, to my knowledge, is it inverted).

The other day, I had the rare joy of standing next to my sister in church, and I noticed that she was singing, not the 'response', as prescribed, but the 'call'. In a momentary pang of vicarious embarrassment I nearly nudged her – much as I would intervene if she was accidentally heading for the 'gents'. But then I did some quick mental theological arithmetic and figured that, far from being oblivious to the format of the song, she was intentionally side-stepping it. I smiled and switched parts likewise, my warble imbued with renewed worshipful earnestness.

After the service, we voiced the unspoken exchange that we had sensed pass between us: "You did that on purpose, right?" "Yes! You joined in on purpose, right?" "Yes! I never thought about the fact that..." etc etc. (To extrapolate from Psalm 133, "How good and pleasant it is when sisters dwell together in unity!")

As songs go, it's nice enough. I can appreciate that the higher register response maybe adds something musically, and I am willing to give the benefit of the doubt to the assumption that that is the entire objective behind it. But even so I'm uncomfortable with what it connotes: women have been bracketed in the world and in church life enough without symbolically reinforcing that arrangement for (at best) mere musical effect.

Not that Christians are the only culprits. There's a rather tiresome number that keeps playing in the gym: +1, by Martin Solveig (feat. Sam White). Again, this isn't an accusation of an intentional patriarchal agenda, but "Can I be your plus one?" sung multiple times by a female vocalist is simply not a lyric I can muster much appreciation for. Yes, women have been frequently reduced to the position of unnamed interchangeable companions to men, but I don't see this as a status to aspire to, nor to celebrate in song.

Now, I'm not about to wade into questions of church leadership structure, or complementarianism versus egalitarianism. These are both needed, sometimes difficult, conversations (Rachel Held Evans has some great chat on the latter) but there's a far less (I hope) contestable point worth emphasising first, and by way of context for the rest: God intends women to have free, full and equal participation in His kingdom. The relationship of women to God is in no way secondary to, contingent on, or lesser than that of men. (Nor is their worship of Him, whatever the structure of our songs might imply).

This is most powerfully, convention-defyingly-strikingly evident in Jesus' earthly life. He had plenty of women friends and followers, and his interactions with them were not mediated by men – even when, probably, culturally, they 'should' have been, for propriety's sake [1].

In fact, reading through the gospel stories, it is hard to find many ways that his interaction with women was different to that with men: he befriended, forgave and healed them; he taught them and tailored his teaching for them; he heard and validated them, and even received financial and practical support from them. It could be said that he shouted at them less, I suppose, since most of his reproaches were levelled at the ruling classes, from which women were excluded by virtue of their gender. And it would be irresponsible of me not to acknowledge that Jesus' twelve specially-appointed disciples were all male – a fact which has a bearing on debates around leadership, but which I believe has to do with the practicalities of Jesus' recognised position as a rabbi and of the tasks the twelve were required to undertake within a specific, pre-'New Covenant' cultural context, rather than his not valuing women equally. [2]

For their part, women, in substantial numbers, were willingly, joyfully involved in his earthly life from the get-go. A woman (i.e. Mary) was the first to be told of, and invited to participate in, God's incarnational plan; she was (necessarily) there when Jesus was conceived, and when he was born (Luke 1:26-38). Women were there at the end...and at the re-beginning: his female followers stayed near him as he died a gruesome death (Luke 23:49) and some (including Mary Magdalene) were first on the scene at the resurrection, and the first to be sent to 'bear witness' (to men!) (Matthew 28:1-10) [3]. In the interim, women followed him doggedly (Luke 8:1-3), they reached out brazenly (Matthew 9:20-22), they listened faithfully (Luke 10:39), they gave in contravention of convention (Luke 8:1-3). Far from needing prompting from men, they persevered to get close to Jesus even when men would keep them away (Matthew 15:21-28, Luke 7:39).

Some of them, not to get competitive about it, seemed to kinda 'get it' better than their male counterparts. Take, for example, the sexually disgraced(!) Samaritan(!) woman(!) who met Jesus on a routine water-fetching errand (John 4:7-42). After a profound exchange (N.B. Jesus didn't 'hold back' theologically, any more than he did socially, with his female listeners) she dashed into town to tell everyone she knew what she newly knew. Contrast this with Nicodemus, just one chapter previous in John's gospel: he was drawn to Jesus as a great teacher and probably more, but felt bound to explore his curiosity in secret for fear of jeopardising his good standing (John 3:1-21).

Or how about the 'fallen woman' who tracked Jesus down at a dinner party in order to wash and anoint his feet in worshipful affection (if you find this image uncomfortable, perhaps reflect on the fact that Jesus did not consider himself above the business of foot-washing). The host, Simon, regarded the 'scene' with disapproval, wondering how Jesus could permit such an indiscretion – but Jesus commended her for an insight and a humility which he, Simon, apparently lacked:

Then turning toward the woman he [Jesus] said to Simon, “Do you see this woman? I entered your house; you gave me no water for my feet, but she has wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. You gave me no kiss, but from the time I came in she has not ceased to kiss my feet. You did not anoint my head with oil, but she has anointed my feet with ointment. Therefore I tell you, her sins, which are many, are forgiven—for she loved much. But he who is forgiven little, loves little.” (Luke 7:44-47)

Perhaps these are glimpses into some (interestingly gendered) aspects of the reality behind Jesus' teaching about privilege, standing, pride and self-righteousness, and the kingdom advantage of not having them: "Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth" (Matthew 5:5); "It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God.” (Mark 10:25); “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. I came not to call the righteous, but sinners.” (Mark 2:17b). If the world's odds are patriarchally stacked against women, at least it positions them to more readily recognise that they have nothing to lose and everything to gain by embracing kingdom life. (Which is not at all to say that the injustices are justified!)

No wonder, in its early days, Christianity was perceived – nay, accused, even – by some (e.g. Celsus; see Origen's Contra Celsus, Book III, Chapter 49) of being a 'religion for women'. Critics have since changed their tune: Christianity is latterly more often called out for being problematically endorsing of male domination. But I don't believe this state of affairs rightly follows from following Jesus. Whatever the success of the church in grasping and communicating the fact, Jesus is decidedly 'for' women – not to the exclusion of men, of course, but not as an afterthought or an aside. Women are not 'plus ones' at the kingdom wedding feast (Matthew 22:2): each of us gets (and must answer) our own invitation. Nor are they the embellishing echo to men's worship: we worship in unison, and the more loudly and richly for it.



[1] Those concerned about the fact that Jesus was himself a man, and the potential patriarchal undertones of the call to follow and worship a 'male saviour', might find the following essay interesting: "Christology and Feminism: Can a Male Saviour Save Women?" (Rosemary Radford Ruether, from To change the World, 1981). To quote: "[Jesus'] ability to be liberator does not reside in his maleness, but, on the contrary, in the fact that he has renounced this system of domination and seeks to embody in his person the new humanity of service and mutual empowerment."

[3] For more on this, there's an excellent article 'But the Twelve Apostles Were All Male' by Margaret Mowczko over at the Junia Project.

[3] I've written recently about this (in sonnet form) for the Sophia Network blog, if anybody's interested.


[Thumbnail image cc by Rich Camacho on Flickr].