Reading through my own recent posts, I’ve been struck and saddened by how little I have written about how my faith and my feminism intersect. I realize that I have spent too much time writing for an audience. Most of the blogs that I read that deal with feminist and men’s issues aren’t much concerned with faith; only a few of the Christian blogs I am fond of spend much time on gender issues. (There are some fine exceptions, like Lynn, Jenell, Camassia, and Christy).
My Christian faith and my pro-feminism do not exist in separate compartments. Though I’m pretty good at living with internal contradictions, my faith and my feminism are not at odds with one another. Indeed, I’d like to think that they inform and shape each other, always challenging me to grow spiritually, intellectually, and morally.
As I’ve blogged before, I’m a "cradle pro-feminist." From childhood through young adulthood, I was raised with egalitarian, liberal, and thoroughly secular values. In my family, politics was our civil religion, and the fight for equal rights for women the central focus. But as I grew through adolescence towards manhood, I did not find sufficient purpose and meaning in political struggle alone. I tried, believe me, even abandoning liberalism for revolutionary socialism in my mid-teens. (Guess who was subscribing to the Militant at age 15?) It wasn’t enough. I had a harder and harder time matching my language and my private life. I spouted fine things in public, and was a mixed-up, typically self-destructive guy in private. My political feminism did not help me in my relationships with girlfriends, I found. When it came to relationships with women, ideological commitment alone was not enough to overcome my selfishness and my insecurity.
I first came to Christ in college. In the eighteen years since I first asked Jesus into my heart, I’ve known most of the classic highs and lows of the convert. I’ve gone from absolute, blissed-out certainty to horrible, crushing doubt — and back again. I’ve church-shopped with the best of them: I’ve called myself a Catholic, a non-denom evangelical, a Mennonite, and an Episcopalian. I had brief but intense flirtations with the Assemblies of God and the Salvation Army. I’m at home now, in my church, and far more at peace with my faith than ever before. My denominational affiliations shift from time to time, but my Christology doesn’t. Jesus is Lord, the ancient and simple statement of faith, remains a creed I can say and believe without hesitation. Beyond the power of words to describe, I love Him.
I don’t blog much about my faith these days because it is, in some sense,almost embarrassingly simple. I love Jesus and I try and follow Him. I want to grow to be he whom He wants me to be. I pray to Him, I talk to Him in the car, I listen to Him when I run in the mountains, I read His word and am humbled and shaped by it. But though all of that is true, I’m still in some sense fiercely protective of my faith. I don’t mind my politics being ridiculed — I do mind my relationship with Christ being questioned in the wide open spaces of the blogopshere. Faith, like the intimate details of one’s sexuality, ought to be more private, or so it seems to me.
But how do my faith and my feminism intersect? We all read the Scriptures with our own preconceptions, of course. I need other Christians who don’t share my poilitics to show me my biases, and I am grateful to have such friends in my life today. There is much in the New Testament that touches on male-female relationship, and I’ve turned to it regularly as I reflect on gender issues. It’s eas to get into proof-texting, and I don’t do it and ask my commenters not to. (That means quoting a passage out of context as "proof" that Jesus or Paul felt a certain way on a contemporary issue). But in recent years, I’ve become increasingly aware of God’s call to do radical justice in the world at large and in one’s personal relationships. Sexism,in its myriad forms, is profound sin. I believe Christians are called to question what the world tells us about men and women, and to be in our own lime as subversive of traditional roles as Jesus was in His.
I believe in the Christian idea of a "calling", or a vocation. I believe God wants me in the classroom, and He wants me doing gender work. I don’t mean that I think that every word I type or speak is God’s will — heaven forbid! Rather, I believe that working to reconcile men to the reality of their privilege — and to help them to transform — is real ministry. I don’t do it as well as I’d like. I get frustrated and ill-tempered and filled with doubt. But I do believe that in my own deeply imperfect way, I am doing exactly what it is I was meant to do.
My faith has given me the strength to live out in private what I proclaim in public. Without God, my feminist commitments would be passionate but superficial. Whatever success I have had in matching my language to my life is thanks to Him, not me. I don’t push my faith on my students or my allies in the feminist movement, but I don’t generally try and hide it, either. Lately, however, I haven’t been blogging about it, and it was starting to nag at me.
Before I go on the Glenn Sacks show on Sunday, I’m going to say a small prayer for Glenn and his listeners, and I am going to ask my God to guide my speech. I want to speak — and listen — in love. I want to be slower to anger, less prideful, less condescending to those who don’t seem to "get it." (Lord, remind me that sometimes, I don’t "get it" either.) I’ve been praying a lot lately for reconciliation within the men’s movement and for those who are on the "other side". I would be so grateful if some of my readers who are of faith would pray for me and for Glenn before Sunday’s show.

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