Some courageous women from Christ Church have started their own blog called Women Freed where they tell their stories of past abuse and the road to healing.
Jory Micah had another response to my last blog post, and once again she proved herself able to handle a disagreement in a mature fashion. Kudos on going to an exegetical argument – that’s the place where this discussion can actually get some traction.
One possible confusion, however, is that I think Jory may be interacting with what she thinks is my view on gender roles, but which I myself would never claim. She seems to think that the fact that I disagree with feminism tells her all she needs to know about my position. But I grew up in Moscow, and Doug Wilson is my dad, and to be honest that’s like saying I grew up in Sherwood Forest. Lines are drawn a bit differently here and we don’t fit neatly into categories. People can shout all they want about Doug the Great Misogynist Oppressor, but he started the schools which his daughters attended, and he made sure that we had years of Latin and years of Greek and Physics and Logic and Classical History and Classical Lit and Church History and Philosophy and Apologetics and Doctrine and Rhetoric and Poetry. He raised his girls (who are now raising his grand-daughters) to argue and scrap and think for themselves and study and own businesses and write books and, yes, submit to their own husbands as to the Lord. But he also made dang sure that those husbands were worth submitting to. (I can hear the internet yelling already! Aagh! Courtship model! The injustice! Where are my smelling salts!?!) Read More
There was a lot of outcry over my last blog post, and much of it was not really “interact-able” if you will. (Shrieks and howls aren’t terribly well-reasoned, and thus are hard to answer in any meaningful way.) One notable exception, however, was from Jory Micah – who wrote a response which was both sane and charitable. I’d like to walk through her post, but before I get to that I want to just make a general observation.
I wrote that last post entirely pointed at a particular form of “patriarchy” (or “complementarianism” if your prefer) which I have seen with my own two eyes, and to which I object on every level. That was the point of the post. Yes, I made it clear that I don’t believe feminism is the answer to the problem . . . but the point of the post was to emphasize that I actually understand the feminists’ antagonism to certain kinds of patriarchy.
And yet, it is noticeable that not a single squawk did I hear from any misogynists, telling me to not be so rude to them. On the other hand, many feminists are currently still rolling on the ground, clutching their skinned knees and shouting about their hurt feelings or my terrible manners, busily being deeply wounded on behalf of abused women everywhere, or just calling me names. That tells me something about their general thin-ness of skin, and also about their ability to read carefully and follow an argument.
But like I said, Jory’s post was not like that. Read More
I have, now and again, had occasion to pop off on the subject of feminists who can’t decide if they’re trying to channel a swaggering machismo persona – or delicate, hyperventilating, victimhood. And the thing is, the whole situation is funny. It really is. One minute these ladies are rough, tough, and hard to bluff . . . and the next minute they’re pasting trigger alerts on all the sharp corners of everyone’s lives like those dreadfully inelegant foam protectors for the edges of coffee tables. You’ve seen those moments of high heels gone wrong in which the poor girl staggers violently in every possible direction before actually falling down? That’s what the evangelical feminists remind me of. There’s no clear trajectory. One minute they’re galloping nor’-nor’-east, and then suddenly they’re staggering to the sou’-sou’-west. On the one hand, they want to be hard edged modern women, all pant suits and nun chucks, but then again, what they really want to be is tender and empathetic, cherishing and tenderly petting the hurt feelings of everyone everywhere.
Like I said, I find that whole thing funny. But actually, in a surprise move, I wanted to actually take a moment to explain in what way I totally sympathize with them. I don’t agree with the nonsensical road they’ve taken, mind you, but I can at least understand how they came to be in this ridiculous place. Read More
Given the obvious interest in the topic of women teaching women (as seen in the comments of the last post on this topic), I thought I would put up a link to this little booklet that Athanasius Press published in 2010. It’s “a brief survey of the roles of men and women in the church.” With the world leading the charge to put women into every role assigned to men, it’s important we don’t just drift along assuming we know what we think. That’s why I have appreciated so many of the good comments and questions that have come in. It’s a good exercise to have to defend your position, refine your position, and be clear about what the Bible says.
When I was a little girl my Dad’s office was in the back room of Crossroads Bookstore, which was run by my Grandpa. My Grandpa was and is an avid evangelist, the bookstore was full of christian books, my Dad was a pastor, and I was generally surrounded on all sides by stories of faith and conversions. Back in those days there was also a series of books for kids that I think I read at home but also in the bookstore. They were illustrated in very pastel colors and always seemed a little sad somehow. If my memory serves me correctly, I think they heavily featured weeping willows and kids feeling lonely or angry or hurt somehow.
Well in one of these books I got to the last page and it was a conversion moment of sorts. I cannot remember the specifics, but I think it was something about Jesus being a true friend to me when I am lonely, so I will stay with him forever. I remember sitting there staring at it and thinking back to other books and testimonies I had heard. There was the one about some poor kid that was with the wise men and had no gift so he gave his heart. Then there were people I had heard who were afraid of death, who were sick of sin, who were sad, or whatever. I myself prayed officially because I was afraid of the dark – where does that fit in? Well I gathered myself up in what were probably my high-watered corduroy pants and went to find Dad. Just what does this all mean? What is the real way to become a Christian? Which one of these things is right?! Read More