The author of this bit below posted it on Facebook and said to feel free to share. I'm not sure this is what she means. But I'm going to share it here for now and give her the proper credit. If she asks me to take it down, I will. Sharing because I so relate. Sharing because I feel that this is similar to my "The Parable of the Talents Revisited" post from earlier this month. (The link on her name goes to her Facebook page.)
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"Clutching Her Pearls: The painful preservation of God's good gifts" by Rebecca Congleton
“Do not give dogs what is sacred; do not throw your pearls to pigs. If you do, they may trample them under their feet, and turn and tear you to pieces.” Matthew 7:6
Torn to pieces. It may sound marginally melodramatic, but that metaphor, used by Jesus to illustrate the immense cost of offering what is most valuable to those who are unable to appreciate its importance, so poignantly describes the deep and dangerous wound, too often left in the hearts of Christian women. Those who passionately and courageously pursue a calling or openly pour out their gifts in a culture or environment where those callings and gifts are perceived as either less-than the ones proffered by men, or inappropriately sought by a woman, are very likely to have their souls trampled and their worth torn apart.
I was 28 years old, when I found myself co-leading worship with my new husband at a storefront church of fewer than 30 people in a small Indiana town. Joe was (and is) my second husband. My first marriage had ended after years of physical and sexual abuse, which culminated in my ex-husband’s arrest for stalking, voyeurism, and residential entry; crimes which were carried out against our young neighbor. It was only after his arrest that I felt the freedom to file for divorce. Though I had disclosed many incidents of abuse to my former pastor and his wife, I had always been encouraged to stay, pray, and submit.
A year later, having been liberated from constant peril and violence, rebuilding my life, recovering from trauma, safe and so very happy in my union with Joe, and leading worship in a new fellowship, I felt the healing winds of the unwavering love of Christ blowing powerfully through my heart, disturbing the well-anchored roots of shame and fear.
I felt like Mary, pouring out her priceless bottle of perfume. I had held onto my gift, my voice, my song, for so many years, knowing Christ had placed it in me for the purpose of worship, but always questioning how I could ever stand on a platform and fearlessly lift my voice, when I felt worthless, when my own husband could not love or care for me?
On the other side of that dark season, I finally felt free. I finally felt whole. It was time to step into my calling. The pastor who planted our brand new church, which was affiliated with a well-known global association of churches, recognized that calling and wanted to nurture it, and nurture it he did, until a devastating cancer diagnosis forced him to suddenly step aside. A week later, we welcomed a new pastor, and soon thereafter, I was informed, following a meeting between the new pastor and my husband—which I wasn’t invited to attend—I would no longer be on the worship team.
The reason provided to me for this change in leadership was vague and not related to my gender, but I knew immediately that was the heart of it, and I felt utterly destroyed, “torn apart”. I wept. I wept harder than the first time my ex-husband had sexually assaulted me. I wept from a different place. I wept from the very center of my being, the place where my devotion, my intimacy with Christ lives and grows. I wept as I felt those roots of shame and worthlessness begin to form once again. I had poured out my perfume. I had brought my precious pearls, so painstakingly guarded and treasured during years of abuse, and they had been carelessly rejected. There is no pain like the pain of having your purpose trampled underfoot.
Joe’s heart was broken too. He declined our pastor’s proposal that he continue to lead without me beside him. Holding me in his arms, as I cried, he said “How could I? How could I possibly do that, knowing you are hurting like this?”
For months we faithfully continued to attend services at our church. Most Sundays I cried through the entire worship set, now led by two brothers, ages 15 and 16. I lifted my hands in surrender and refused to allow the agony of this loss to create distance between my heart and God’s. I wasn’t just broken, I was angry. I was confused. I wasn’t even invited into a conversation about why I had been “sat down”. I would silently pray the same prayer over and over again. “Why can’t I be used the way I know you want to use me? I don’t understand. Just help me understand.”
I wish my experience was the exception and not the rule, but my heart has been grieved over and over, as I’ve heard and observed similarly painful experiences by women who want nothing more than to live out their callings in honor of Christ.
A friend in South Carolina wrote to me, recently, on social media, describing how she was treated as a young woman in bible college. When she was just a freshman, a professor accosted her in front of his entire department for closing his office door behind her, when she met with him to discuss a paper, treating her as though her very presence in his office was an indiscretion, because she was female. She was also denied the opportunity to pursue Pastoral Studies and wasn’t provided with a mentor to answer her theological questions, because all the mentors were men. Now, years later, having been subjected to bullying by a male pastor at a church where she was a counselor, she is not currently in active ministry. This intelligent, kind, creative, God-loving individual with so much to offer the Body of Christ works in a secular field and is thriving, but how might her story have been different if the men who claimed to follow Christ had treated her as an equal?
My husband and I spent a few years traveling as full-time music missionaries, and we eventually relocated. Now, living in the deep south, hardly a week goes by when I don’t witness the oppression of women within the faith community. Male headship and authority are so deeply ingrained here, to openly think differently is to welcome disdain, admonishment, and even severe correction. Still, I know it is not the heart of Christ. When Mary brought her perfumed oil and knelt at his feet, he honored her. He recognized not only the value of what she poured out, but her worth as an image bearer of God. While the religious elite stood by in shock and judgment, insisting her most valuable asset was not being utilized appropriately, Jesus allowed her to use her hair, one of the most culturally significant features of her womanhood, to wipe her tears from his feet. Can you imagine anything more intimate and easily misunderstood? Yet he did not push her away or rebuke her. Her gender, her femininity was not a threat to him. Her motives were not questioned by him, because she was female. He valued her gift, because he knew what it cost her, and be assured the cost was much higher than simply the price of the oil.
It has taken me until the age of 41 to fully understand the harm done by complementarian theology, not just to the women whose giftings are rejected, but to the whole of the Body of Christ, when fifty percent of us are relegated to smiling, cake-baking, baby-birthing, “helpers” and nothing more.
Joe and I received a late night knock on our front door from that Indiana pastor, several months after I was dismissed from leadership, a knock which was followed by a sincere apology and a reinstatement—after he had discussed whether women should be permitted to lead worship with the California-based founder of our fellowship of churches, who affirmed it was an acceptable role for women—but the damage had been done. We stepped back into our position, leading a gathering of roughly thirty people in worship, every Sunday, for the next couple years, but never with the same confidence, never with the same blissful feeling of being right where we belonged. I was once again “clutching my pearls”, aware I was not in a safe place to fully walk in the calling placed on my life.
I’m so thankful to say, after a long journey serving and struggling within complementarian churches, Joe and I are now part of the worship team at a thriving egalitarian church, where we live in Augusta, GA. One of the first things the Worship Pastor said specifically to me, after our audition, was “Rebecca, I see leadership in you,” and those six words may have been the most healing words a Pastor has ever spoken to me.
Clutch your pearls, if you must. Stash your expensive oil away from the eyes of earthly-minded men, but seek out Jesus. Look for him where he may be found, and there at his feet you will discover a safe place to pour out the most valuable substance you possess, the very life and breath he has given you. It is never a waste to offer them there, and you can trust that he will never chastise you or turn you away. He will never trample your beautiful soul beneath his beautiful feet.
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Thank you, Rebecca, for putting so eloquently what many of us feel.
