"If I wasn't a
Christian, I'd be a feminist."
A friend of mine emailed me to tell me of a conversation he had had where
someone made that statement. "If I wasn't a Christian, I'd be a
feminist." My gut reaction was hasty typing that matched my
quickened pulse, "send them to me, I can straighten 'em out."
Let me explain to them exactly what is wrong with their logic. Let
me give them a philosophy lesson, a gender studies lesson, and a theology
lesson, all rolled into one. Let me unleash my stereotypical angry
feminist, and argue them into a corner about exactly why Christianity and
feminism are not mutually exclusive.
And then I was heartbroken,
and filled with sympathy, because this person actually thinks that
Christianity and feminism are mutually exclusive. And I want
to look them in the eye and say, "No, you got it wrong. Whoever told
you that you had to choose, was wrong. Whatever led you to believe that your
faith, or your feminism, could only exist within a narrow set of parameters,
was a lie. You can have both. You can be both. And it's not just
you, or me, embracing the two. There's lots of us here. Come and
join the tribe."
Really, if I could talk to
this person, I'd ask them to tell me their story. Tell me of every knot
tied that stitched you closer to feminism. Tell me of the slow unravel.
Is that longing I hear in your voice? Regret? Disconnect? Did
we hurt you? Do our methods and means cause to seek distance? Did
you disagree with our stance on the issues closest to your heart? Were
you told your faith required the rejection feminism? Tell me your journey to
faith, the fractures and settings of spirituals bones that led you to embrace
the label of "Christian" and set aside that of "feminist".
Tell me of the whisper in the dark that said you had to choose.
And I'd tell them my story,
of the tug-a-war of equality and submission. Because I didn't find
feminist values of equality in the scripture, (although I see them now),
because I struggled to integrate the two, and at times still do.
There are many individuals
who came to feminism because of their faith. Who found it woven in the Word.
I wish that I was one of them. Honestly, I'm jealous that they
didn't have this struggle to incorporate the two. I wish I could tell you
that there was never a doubt in a mind that God cherished women as much as men,
that He called them all equally to build His Kingdom. That's not my story
or my experience. And while I now see feminism through out the
scriptures, I didn't for most of life. So here is my story of faith and
feminism, and the things in between.
At nine years old I was really
in to biographies, I mean really in to biographies. For an oral
book report in the third grade I compared the characteristics of Mother Theresa
and Lady Diana based on biographies I had checked out the library. My
father brought me home a book from that same library about Nellie McClung.
For those of you who weren't Canadian History buffs, Nellie McClung was a
member of the Famous Five, a group of suffragists. She is one of many
individuals who fought for woman to have the right to vote, who full torso
wrestled with the Canadian government to have our law include women in their
definition of a person. And then they became the Canadian
government: Nellie McClung was elected to the Alberta Legislature in 1921. And
this nine-year-old little girl who had been told her whole life that she could
do anything she set her mind to, who could become anything she wanted, was
shocked. I couldn't fathom a world where I wasn't allowed to vote, or
open a bank account, or pursue a career. I couldn't imagine a world where
I wasn't consider a person. A world where I was less than human.
The fact that that world existed just a handful of decades before my
birth, was astonishing to nine-year-old me. And, the bookworm that I was,
read everything I could get my hands on about Ms. McClung, transcripts of every
speech she had written, every biography my local library had, every newspaper
mentioning her name. My parents were more than happy to oblige their
daughter's new obsession. Because hey, women's lib and Canadian history
beats unicorns and Barbie dolls, right? When our teacher asked our class
what we wanted to be when we grew up, most kids answered "doctor",
"teacher", "police officer", I quoted Ms. McClung and stated
that I wanted to be "a voice for the voiceless." Yup, I was an
annoying child. (I also now recognize how harmful that phrase is. We'll
talk about it here sometime. Short version: people are only voiceless if we are
silencing them.) In the fifth grade, my parents even helped me prepare a
school project that involved a ridiculous costume and oral presentation that
was more or less a mash-up of my favourite Nellie McClung speeches (so grateful
that there's no video).
If I had to pinpoint the
moment I became a feminist, it was then, at nine years old. Although I
didn't have the vocabulary for it at that time. In fact the first time I
did hear the "f-word", it was accompanied by descriptions and images of
women who burned their bras and reduced men to domicile house pets, and
ultimately just wanted everyone to be able to have sex with everyone else,
without any consequences. And I was a Christian (of the purity culture
variety), so that was really, really bad, and why would I ever want to
associate myself with that? (I could talk for hours about the
misrepresentation of feminism, particularly second wave feminism, by the media,
not to mention by Christian culture.) But I was a feminist. I
believed in the political, social, and economic equality between the
sexes, regardless of what I called myself.
While I would say the age
of nine is when I became a feminist, it really could have been earlier. Because
patriarchy is learned, folks. It is why, before I was old enough to read,
I asked my parents why we said "mankind" when there are women too.
Why don't we say "peoplekind"? It's why it never made me sense
to me why the default was always male. It's why I asked my fourth grade
french teacher why we say "ils" when referring to men, "elles"
when referring to women, but then "ils" when referring to men and
women. "That's not fair, Miss. It doesn't make sense."
I have patience and
understanding for those who are hesitant to brand themselves as feminist. I was
one of them. My journey to embracing feminism and faith didn't happen
overnight. It was a slow evolution. It is an ongoing process, and I get it
wrong sometimes. (Confession: As I was easing into my identity as a
card-carrying feminist, there may have been a brief period of time when I
referred to myself as a "conservative feminist"-yes I completely made
that term up. I'm pretty sure that's offensive to both conservatives and
feminists. Sorry guys, wish I could take that one back.) It was when
I moved from an egalitarian church and started attending a complementarian
church in my late teens, and had to work through the fact that some wonderful,
dedicated Christians didn't believe women should be teaching or leading, that I
discovered Junia and the hope and implications she
brings. It’s coming back to an egalitarian church and realizing how
prevalent patriarchal approaches are to ministry and life , even within the realm of
egalitarianism. Because subtle sexism is still sexism. It was only the past few years that I've proudly claimed the
title of feminist. I'm still reeling in the ramifications of Christ
first revealing himself to a woman after the resurrection, of him sending a
woman to tell the good news to the disciples.
Before the loud
proclamations, before declaring it on the internet, there were quiet whispers. I thought I was the only one. I had
never met a Christian who was also a feminist.
I didn't want to out myself as a Christian to my feminist friends, or as
a feminist to my Christian friends. But I did. Slowly at first, and now
I'll shout it from any roof top (albeit absolutely terrified, but so help me
God, I'll do it). I’ll even write letters to the church, listing what I
want them to know about feminism. And
the most amazing thing has happened, since I've stopped compartmentalizing my
self, people have emailed me, tweeted me, texted me, stopped me on a Sunday
morning, to say "Hey, never quite thought about that way." Or my
favourite responses, the quiet whispers of "me too." And I
feel a little less like I'm standing in the middle of a field waving my arms
screaming “over here, listen, I'm over here!”
I have found my people. Some of
them live on the internet, others sit at the end of my pew.
I get it. Feminism is a word with a lot of baggage.
I know that. So is the word Christian. I'm not throwing either title away. I'm working through of what each of them mean, for me, and their impact on how I live my life. It’s one of the
reasons why I identify as a Christian and a Feminist, not as a Christian Feminist.
I don't need to qualify or apologize for either of those identities. Neither should you.
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