Column

Hey, I feel like I ought to start using this thing for real now that I'm actually getting engaged in the world of hands-on activism. So I'm rebooting, I guess. Below is my column which Christians for Biblical Equality recently ran in their newsletter. Hope you like it -- hopefully more to follow.

The word “princess” seems to be taking over Christian pop culture and women’s ministry in the days since the Captivating craze. Every fall when I go to women’s retreats, I usually have to set aside a junk drawer just for the storage of plastic crowns that I receive, until I can donate them to a daycare. They’re usually a prop adding to a self-esteem related talk—an assurance that all women are beautiful. The plastic prop (or Burger King cardboard cut-out) accompanies the oft-heard, conviction-free reminder: you are a princess because your Father is the king of kings.

Semantically speaking, I suppose there’s some logic to that. “See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!” (1 John 3:1, TNIV). By all means we are children of a king, and given an unbelievable gift of grace and adoption through him. And likewise I fully support women abandoning the pursuit of the Cosmopolitan perception of beauty and pursuing their worth in higher callings. But what are we to do with that funny pop-culture word “princess,” and all the princess paraphernalia for sale in Christian bookstores? Does God ever call his female servants that?

The word “princess” fundamentally encourages a fascination with ourselves—namely, a confidence in our own talent, beauty, and importance. The problem with this is that the thrust of the New Testament, while celebrating the fact that God loves and accepts us, calls us to look outside ourselves. The Law and the Prophets hang on the commandment to love God and our neighbors. Loving ourselves, Scripture suggests, is something we already do well on our own (Matt. 22:37-40).

Furthermore, our extraordinary relationship with God makes us royal, but not in a way that makes marketable t-shirts. Women are not princesses but “a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light” (1 Pet. 2:9). Being a priest is a hard, high-responsibility calling that has been extended to every member of the church regardless of his or her gender. God has given us a new identity, and the hard work that comes with it is incompatible with the self-absorbed gospel of self-esteem that comes in the fairy tale packaging of a crown and the promise of princesshood.

When Paul speaks of love, he reminds us that when he grew up, he put childish ways behind him (1 Cor. 13:11). And when the elders worship at the throne of God, they take off their crowns and lay them before him (Rev. 4:10). Playing pretend is all right for little girls, but when we get to the throne of God, it’s time to set aside our playthings and be prepared to worship. It’s time for women to be priests.

If you're wondering what that rumbling noise is...

It's me banging my forehead against the wall and screaming, "Oh my gosh, are you kidding me?"

I've lately been reading a lot of articles from "Christians for Biblical Equality," which is a fascinating organization that I'm hoping I can intern for this summer. It sponsors a lot of publications that take on some of the backwards, destructive, and faux-biblical notions (Post-WWII is not the same as biblical, by the way... I'm talking to you, Mark Driscoll) of how men and women are supposed to relate to each other.
I've been keeping an eye on mainstream evangelical presses' publications on men and women -- especially those geared at teenagers -- and the results have been pretty disappointing. To say nothing of Captivating by Stasi Etheridge, which quotes movies more frequently than it quotes the Bible, most of these books encourage young ladies to catch boyfriends by playing weak and baiting in a guy to come rescue them. Rescue them from what? Who cares?! Every girl wants to be rescued, right?...
I'm quoting from CBE's review of The Dateable Rules by Haley Morgan and Justin Lookadoo here to try to paint a picture of what I'm noticing. It's incredibly grim, doesn't particularly flatter men (the descriptions of young men are cringe-inducing), and doesn't affirm girls, either. Here are some highlights.

After talking about a hypothetical girl, who's intelligent, attractive, and independent, who can't seem to get a boyfriend: "She's doing everything he would normally do for her... her independence becomes a deterrent instead of an attractant." (Laura says: Does this make anyone else think of "Mad Men?" That is not a compliment, authors.)
About guys: "In the end, no matter how sweet he is, he is male first. And that means he has one goal, and that is the physical pay-off... Guys are male first, and Christian second." (Laura's note: This is pretty much the underlying message of rape culture. Guys are guys and, morality be damned, they're going to get sex when they want it. Way to affirm this in a Christian bookstore, gentlemen.)
Advice to guys about girls: "At all costs, listen. She will shut up eventually." (There's a guy you want, impressionable 14-year-olds!)
To girls: "Shut up and be mysterious." (Don't make him listen too much, girls... I mean, he's a guy, not a morally responsible, self-aware, conscious human being.)

The image of guys you get here is a sort of bumbling neanderthal who should only have to listen to your blather intermittently between rewarding periods of sexual gratification. And the image of girls you get here is someone who has no choice but to play their corresponding part in the system. Does that sound like a good plan to anyone?

*******EDIT EDIT EDIT EDIT***
If you google this book you can find a quiz set up by the authors to find out if you are "dateable." I'm not, but the webpage also assures me that "it's not too late." All I have to do is buy their book!

Conversational gem with my mom

Mom and I have been getting in a lot of fights lately over how I lose things. This is one of them.

(I'm reading in the living room when Mom comes in.)
Mom: I found your toothbrush.
Me: What? It's not missing.
Mom: It's in my bathroom.
Me: That doesn't make sense. I haven't been in your bathroom all day.
Mom: Go get it.
(I give her the benefit of the doubt and go get it.)
Me: Look, it's not my toothbrush. Mine is in my bathroom upstairs.
Mom: I can tell it's yours. The bristles are worn down on the sides.
Me: But my toothbrush is upstairs.
Mom: You're probably hurting your gums. Look how worn down it is on the edges.
Me: It's not mine.
Mom: Your toothbrush shouldn't look like this.
Me: IT DOESN'T! IT'S NOT MY TOOTHBRUSH!

I have no idea who owns that toothbrush. It's still in the living room. I feel like we ought to all swap our cheeks and find a match in my mom's lab.