Preaching to the choir: gender confusion

Read the first post in this series: Redefining marriage

This is another call to repentance, another call that is not for those outside the Church. I’m not even sure it’s for everyone inside the Church. In fact, it may not even make sense to anyone but me. That’s because, more than anything else, I am “preaching” to an audience of one. Any finger-pointing is directed first and foremost back at myself.

This post, and any others in the series, are a reflection of some of my ongoing thoughts and concerns about marriage in general. At this point, I freely admit to being more short on answers than I’d like.


We have confused stereotypes and prejudices about gender with how God created men and women — and have dared slapped the label “God-ordained gender roles” on the resultant mess and nonsense.

We have searched out Scriptures to find “evidence” for our own pre-conceived notions about gender roles. We have twisted Scripture into convoluted evidence, and attacked anyone as “less than Christian” who called our carelessness and lack of logic into question.

We have attached gender to the evidences of the Holy Spirit’s work in a person’s life, even though Scripture does no such thing. The truth is that there are no male or female “fruit”, no male or female “gifts”.

We have confused cultural norms and practices with God’s will for men and women.

We have confused our own opinions and experiences, our own hopes and desires, with what God requires of us. (“I like men to be like this…I’m sure God feels the same.” “All the women in my family don’t do this, so no Christian woman should.” “I’m uncomfortable with this, so it must be wrong.”)

We have seen gender where there is no gender. Like the three year old boy I knew who insisted on drinking only from a “boy cup” and using only a “boy spoon”, we too often claim certain things are masculine or feminine, when they are neither. Courage is not a “masculine virtue”, nor is gentleness a “feminine virtue”. The Bible does not speak of gender-specific virtues or character traits.

Furthermore, God does not give either sex a free pass on certain sins because some people of our gender may find them especially easy to commit, or overwhelmingly tempting. Nor do we get to opt out of obeying God in those instances when to do so might cause our same-sex peers to look askance at us and call our gender identity into question. Too bad. Following Christ is not without cost.

Side note: if you are a woman, please don’t whine about “persecution” just because you are being accused of “acting like a man” when you don’t shrink back with fear or don’t insist with feigned helplessness that a man do something that you are capable of doing for yourself. If you are a man, please don’t whine you are being “persecuted” just because one of your buddies makes a joke about you being “whipped” when you try to love your wife as much as you love yourself.

We allow our culture to define masculinity and femininity for us. Oh, sure, we deny this, but the truth is that we merely tweak and attempt to “Christianize” the current cultural definitions. Thus, the red-blooded American Christian husband should be having all the mind-blowing sex he wants whenever he wants it — but only with his wife. Of course, she should be the Christian version of a “real woman”: voluptuous and sexy, wildly uninhibited during sex, but soft-spoken and gentle in every other setting. The truly godly wife should be her husband’s very own private porn star — incredibly skilled at performing every sex act he can imagine without him even having to ask — yet so innocent and pure that she not only never kissed another man, but never had a remotely sexual thought prior to marriage. But there is more. Men like sports; women like Pinterest. Men are from Mars; women are from Venus. Men are initiators; women are responders. Men need respect; women need love. We just recycle our cultural messages and repackage them with the “Christian” label.

We bludgeon one another with ungodly measuring sticks of what we claim is true masculinity and femininity. Those that do not measure up to our arbitrary standards are left feeling bewildered, emotionally battered, and inadequate — often with deep aching wounds at the very core of our being. I have experienced what a terrible thing it is to be convinced, by fellow Christians, that I fail to measure up as a woman, as a human being. Men who have been similarly bludgeoned insist that their wounds are even more devastating.

We tell each other lies about gender. We place burdens on ourselves and others that God never intended. We accuse. We condemn.

We allow gender to separate us when our very own Scripture teaches us that there is neither male nor female in Christ. Instead of focusing on Him, we prefer to focus on sex and gender. We prefer to divide rather than unite.

Instead of embracing the beauty of God’s creation, instead of seeing His image in every man and woman, we pit one sex against the other, shove each other into boxes, tear each other down, exalt ourselves, demean each other, insult each other, exploit each other, abuse each other.

We need to repent. We need to read the Bible without our lenses of prejudice. We need healing. We need to seek the Father’s heart about men and women, male and female. We need to reflect Him, instead of cultural stereotypes, even Christianized ones. There is a lot that needs repenting.

May God have mercy.

“We” did not “create” a racist mass murderer

We created Dylann Roof,” insists the Huffington Post.

To which I reply, “No, I didn’t. I didn’t even know the guy.” Yes, I am part of a culture that has a disturbing, terrible, racist past. I am part of a culture that includes, to this day, racists. I am part of a culture that has a painful racial divide that needs healing. There is plenty to indict us.

 asks, “So who should we blame for Dylann Roof?” and answers, “We should blame ourselves.”

I’m not going to blame myself. I am not even going to point blame at the culture, Dylann Roof’s parents, his family and friends, his schools, or the books he read and websites he visited. Those may or may not have been contributing factors, but they are not to blame.

It is Dylann Roof alone who is to blame because he was acting alone when he walked into a church building, spent an hour with people he admitted treated him very nicely — people that have left huge vacancies behind in the hearts of their families and community — and gunned them down. To insist that “It must be acknowledged that there are more Dylann Roofs out there, and they exist because we let them” is not just to point the blame at white Americans but at the very ones — the Mother Emanuel Nine — that he killed.

Some may say that I am merely voicing my unwillingness to look at my own white privilege or my own covert racism. To which I say, You obviously don’t know me and you have no idea of my state of mind since I first learned of the terrible killings. I didn’t just watch the service being live streamed from Emanuel AME Church on Sunday, or the rally held Tuesday at the South Carolina Capitol. I have spent much time soul-searching, and in prayer. Trust me; I am not holding myself up as a paragon of justice and righteousness, or as one who perfectly reflects God the Father’s heart on the issue of race. I am not trying to deflect any blame that I deserve.

Here is why I take issue.

Each of us is responsible for our own actions, for our own attitudes, for our own choices. Blame-shifting began with the very first sin — God didn’t buy it then, and He isn’t buying it now. We need to examine our own hearts and lives for real sins we are committing, not embrace some vague and foggy sense of guilt because we supposedly “let” a racist commit heinous acts clear across the country from us.

Those of you who have read this know that, at the age of 23, I was raped by two of my neighbors. While I have encountered, since then, some compelling and convincing arguments about “rape culture”, I do not blame the culture for my rape. I do not blame you, even if you were alive then. I do not blame the friend who knocked on the locked door behind which I was being held prisoner and, not getting an answer, walked away. I do not even blame myself. I blame those men, not their parents or their friends or the other men who laughed at their rape jokes or even those who taught them to rape. I blame the men who raped me.

No one “let” those men rape me. No one turned them into rapists. We did not create Lou and Carl. I certainly didn’t. No one held a gun to their heads and forced them to rape me. No one brainwashed them into thinking that raping me was a good, moral deed and a great kindness.

No one held a gun to Dylann Roof’s head. No one brainwashed him. He knew full well what he was doing, and why he was doing it. He told them and he told us.

So did my rapists. They told me.

Evil exists. If a culture is mostly evil, it is because it is full of people with evil lurking in their hearts. We didn’t put the evil into other people’s minds and hearts. We need to look at our own hearts, at our own evil — the stuff we really don’t want to face. We need to stop giving murderers and rapists ways to weasel out of taking full responsibility for their despicable acts: oh, it wasn’t really you, it was the culture…it was us…we let you commit these horrible crimes…we created you… We need to stop blaming society and laws and the educational system — even while we should work diligently to reform those very things and bring about more justice and equality.

Yes, the culture needs changing. But that means people have to change. We can’t force that on others. We can only change ourselves, and pray for and influence others. It’s time we faced that.

So who should we blame for Dylann Roof? He alone is to blame for his actions.

So who should we blame for Lou and Carl? They alone are to blame for their actions.

So who should we blame for Rebecca Prewett? Wouldn’t it be nice if I could blame culture, nature, and nurture for every sin I’ve ever committed? If I could blame you for “creating” me and “letting” me? When I stand before God some day, I won’t be able to blame-shift, not even a little bit. I’ll have to own up to it all…and throw myself on the mercy and grace of Jesus Christ.

How not to be obnoxious after a short term mission trip

I might as well admit this right up front: I have no idea how to accomplish this. In fact, I’m sure at least some people will find me obnoxious and insufferable — as well as even more bewildering and weird than usual — upon my soon return home, and that I will come across in those ways for a number of reasons. So I might as well warn everyone and apologize in advance.

It’s the little things. I now want to wear my Thai pants everywhere, having decided they are the most brilliantly comfortable garments known to humankind. I want to greet everyone in the traditional Thai manner. I want to torment all my friends and relations with endless pictures and stories. I want to eat rice at every meal. (To answer your inevitable question, didn’t I get my fill of the food while in Thailand? — it seems not. Even now, before leaving, I am planning which Thai restaurants to check out back home.)

Don’t bother complaining about traffic around me, because I will only laugh and tell you, “This is nothing!” Same thing with the heat. Periodically, I will chuckle for no apparent reason or, even worse, exclaim something oddly random like “Star egg!” in my poor version of a Thai accent…and then laugh my head off at what will make no sense to you. Unfortunately, any attempt at explanation won’t help much.

It’s also the big things. For a while at least, I will have little or no patience for “first world problems” — neither mine nor anyone else’s. I’m going to feel strangely in and out of American culture, part yet not part, having again stepped outside of it for a bit. But there is more, much more…

If you are one of those men who think it’s “cute” or “funny” to objectify women, or who tries to claim that “men are just wired that way”, I have even less sympathy for your attitude than ever before. I’ve seen the end result of that mindset, walking down the streets of Pattaya. You may not be there, thinking that your money gives you the right to use and abuse women, but if you treat sex like a commodity, if you value women based on how their appearance and actions make you feel or how well they meet your “needs”, if you blame women for your own lust, if you feel so entitled that you think women are “defrauding” you by not fulfilling your desires, if you complain that your wife falls short of your sexual expectations or doesn’t fulfill your fantasies — in short, if you view women as anything less than God’s image bearers who are fully your equals — your attitude is, to put it bluntly, sinful and ugly. You may bristle at what I’m saying, but the sad truth is that you are at least somewhat sexually broken, even if you think you have never acted out. The good news is that Jesus died for broken people…like you…like me…like most if not all of us…but that doesn’t mean we should pretend that it’s ok to view women as anything less than who God created us to be.

If you are someone close to me, you might be baffled, or even dismayed, that I now care so deeply for mysterious people halfway across the world, people I hadn’t even met two weeks ago, people literally foreign to you. You might not understand why I weep over them and pray for them, or why I can’t describe what makes them so special to me. I will tell you stories, but my words will not do these people justice. I will show you pictures, but you will not see what I see. I can’t explain. I’m sorry.

To you, Thailand may be just a place, a country. Perhaps you’ve even visited there. But, as I wrote these words, I’m in a van headed for Bangkok. I’m fighting tears because I just left a huge chunk of my heart behind in Pattaya. Tomorrow I will board a plane, and it will feel like I’m watching another chunk of my heart fall to the ground as we take off. I thought the piece I left behind in Haiti over 25 years ago was a big deal, but it was only a sliver compared to this.

I am already planning my return trip. I want to leave yet more pieces of my heart behind next time, while at the same time filling my heart back up. I want to water the land with my tears. I want to hug the people I’ve learned to love. I want to hold women close in my arms and pray over them with every ounce of my being, full of joy and sorrow and hope and pain and the love of Jesus. 

Then there is something that I hope the people who mean the most to me will not find obnoxious at all.

This morning I stood up in a meeting and told the workers assembled there that I didn’t want to be one of those people who goes on a short term missions trip and then returns home, pats herself on the back, acts all self-righteous, and goes back to life as usual. 

Even before I left for Thailand, I was feeling restless…to be frank, I’m bored stiff with nominal Christianity. Being in Thailand only made things worse or, as I would prefer to think, better. I have no more desire for same old, same old — not when I’ve seen powerful answers to prayer, lives transformed, and God at work. I want to live life back home with my heart wide open. I want to be Jesus’ hands and feet wherever I go. I want to find out what God is doing, and get in on the action. It’s a lot easier to do that in a foreign land, with a wonderful team of great people working and praying with you, without the distractions of everyday life. It will be a different matter back home. My attempts to find a way to make a difference, to live a life that matters, to walk out God’s purposes for me — I’m not expecting that to go smoothly, without mess or mishap. Knowing me, there will be plenty of bumbling about, stumbling and falling. Some of my floundering may come across as obnoxious or weird…even more so than usual. I apologize in advance.

So, yes…I want to wear my Thailand pants everywhere. But, far more than that, I want to wear my Thailand heart. On my sleeve, if need be, for all the world to see. And I want Jesus to keep on changing that heart of mine, until it becomes more like His.