Sometimes it is alcohol. Sometimes it is crack. Sometimes sexual slavery or addiction. Sometimes physical disease or abuse. Overspending. Food addiction. Cycles that beg to be broken.
Things that splinter my heart in two at the hearing of them, that tempt me to stop believing in the radical power of Jesus to set the sinner and the sinned-against free. These are the moments in which I must stop and remember the Kingdom perspective. When I must live in the Jesus Creed.
In his book The Jesus Creed, theologian Scot McKnight unveils Jesus' call for us to love God and to love others as ourselves. And how did Jesus illustrate this outlandish idea, this law that trumped all the other picky Jewish laws the Pharisees (or keepers of the law) had come to treasure?
He does it through a table.
Could this have anything to do with him being a carpenter? I'm not sure, but I do know it had everything to do with him fashioning his Kingdom. The Pharisees message to the down-and-out: smell better, do better, look better, be better, and then you can earn a seat at my table, to eat with me. Then you will be worthy.
Jesus' table story? "...clean or unclean, you can eat with me, and I will make you clean. Instead of his table requiring purity, it creates purity." (Jesus Creed, p. 36)
"For Jesus, the table envisions a new society, and that means that the table is a boundary-breaker and a grace-giver--and place where we can see what God can do when people are restored to fellowship with Abba." (Jesus Creed, p. 39)
In the story Jesus is telling through a table, the Church would not be a place to come for really righteous people to listen to righteous things and sing righteous songs and repeat only righteous things. Not if Jesus really meant what he said in Mark 2:17: "Jesus said to them, 'It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners'.”
Rather, the church would be a hospital for the sick.
It would not be a place to shuffle consumer-oriented, middle-to-upper-income people from one church to another church in their same city. It would be a place with healing ointment, and food, and provisions, and love and truth, and it would reek with healing and holiness. The church is to be a place where we fight for the broken and wounded, where we give to see them grow, where we worship to advance God's Kingdom, where we eat together. The homeless and helpless sitting next to the prosperous and the pampered. For we are all in need...and we are all in recovery, in debt to Jesus for what He has so graciously done on our behalf.
That's what Jesus and the beauty of His table is telling us. Something beautiful happens when we start issuing come-as-you-are dinner invitations.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Saturday, November 12, 2011
My New Occupation: Spiritual Mother
I feel a little like Deborah, the prophetess, warrior, and judge whom many call the mother of Israel. And with that, perhaps I should explain myself.
I am physically barren; in biblical terms, this means that up till now there has been no fruit and no multiplication in my household. This sometimes feels like a grave injustice, an assault against my God-given feminine instincts, as it also feels for many women who desperately yearn for motherhood but never experience it. Yet it is certainly not the worst lot in life. Others have far more difficult circumstances, like struggles for freedom from the horrors of sex-trafficking and the need for clean drinking water or an AIDS vaccine.
But barrenness is the place from which I can truthfully speak, and so I sometimes do.
Tonight, this struggle points me to a woman I have never met but hope to chat with one day. Her name is Deborah, and her story is recorded in the Bible in the book of Judges. She was married, but there is no record of children. And someone else was likely helping with her household duties, since Deborah spent her time righting others' wrongs, prophesying of God's faithfulness to Israel, warring in battle, and trying to convince a man like Barak to find his courage. All in a day's work--right, ladies?
In the last month, I have temporarily joined a church staff during an interim period. It was a natural progression after serving as a pastoral intern at our church. This happened when two of our lead pastors moved on to another call and holes sprung up, desperately longing to be filled, at least that is what my heart said.
So now when I go to work, people call me pastor. This is shocking and crazy to me, but as one friend said in an email: "Of course you would struggle with a title that's been so male-dominant. Only with time will you (and frankly, others) get used to it. But pastoring is the gift you have. Teaching. encouragement. spiritual leadership. These are the giftings of a pastor, and that you are."
So I gulped and dove in and for the most part, nothing could be more natural. I have wondered where this is all going in terms of my future, but no matter what the future holds it will include teaching, encouragement, and spiritual leadership. Along the way, something surprising is happening.
The focus in my life is not on my barrenness and my monthly cycle, but on the fruit that can be born for God's Kingdom. I pastor, and I have the privilege of watching God work. I encourage, and God gives the increase. Ministry is becoming much less frightening and a thousand times more life-giving. And the other day I had a eureka moment: I was in the office and making hospital visits and counseling and preparing to teach, and I thought to myself, this is what mothering is all about. No matter what turn my fertility takes, I am a spiritual mother.
Truthfully, I answer to almost anything. But if the shoe fits--and the spiritual giftings, too--perhaps we should start calling each other who we are, regardless of our job titles. The occupation blank on my next medical form just might be filled in "spiritual mother." And it would be a high privilege to be lumped in with Deborah, a woman with a song in her heart and a God-ordained purpose guiding her every step.
Read Deborah's story and song here.
Your turn. What is your occupation at present, whether homemaker, business person, pastor, caregiver, seminary student, etc.? And based on your spiritual giftings, what is your spiritual occupation?
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| Gustave Dore's interpretation of the prophetess Deborah from wikipedia.com |
But barrenness is the place from which I can truthfully speak, and so I sometimes do.
Tonight, this struggle points me to a woman I have never met but hope to chat with one day. Her name is Deborah, and her story is recorded in the Bible in the book of Judges. She was married, but there is no record of children. And someone else was likely helping with her household duties, since Deborah spent her time righting others' wrongs, prophesying of God's faithfulness to Israel, warring in battle, and trying to convince a man like Barak to find his courage. All in a day's work--right, ladies?
In the last month, I have temporarily joined a church staff during an interim period. It was a natural progression after serving as a pastoral intern at our church. This happened when two of our lead pastors moved on to another call and holes sprung up, desperately longing to be filled, at least that is what my heart said.
So now when I go to work, people call me pastor. This is shocking and crazy to me, but as one friend said in an email: "Of course you would struggle with a title that's been so male-dominant. Only with time will you (and frankly, others) get used to it. But pastoring is the gift you have. Teaching. encouragement. spiritual leadership. These are the giftings of a pastor, and that you are."
So I gulped and dove in and for the most part, nothing could be more natural. I have wondered where this is all going in terms of my future, but no matter what the future holds it will include teaching, encouragement, and spiritual leadership. Along the way, something surprising is happening.
The focus in my life is not on my barrenness and my monthly cycle, but on the fruit that can be born for God's Kingdom. I pastor, and I have the privilege of watching God work. I encourage, and God gives the increase. Ministry is becoming much less frightening and a thousand times more life-giving. And the other day I had a eureka moment: I was in the office and making hospital visits and counseling and preparing to teach, and I thought to myself, this is what mothering is all about. No matter what turn my fertility takes, I am a spiritual mother.
Truthfully, I answer to almost anything. But if the shoe fits--and the spiritual giftings, too--perhaps we should start calling each other who we are, regardless of our job titles. The occupation blank on my next medical form just might be filled in "spiritual mother." And it would be a high privilege to be lumped in with Deborah, a woman with a song in her heart and a God-ordained purpose guiding her every step.
Read Deborah's story and song here.
Your turn. What is your occupation at present, whether homemaker, business person, pastor, caregiver, seminary student, etc.? And based on your spiritual giftings, what is your spiritual occupation?
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Psalm 91 sermon audio by Suzanne Burden
A few weeks ago I preached a sermon on my church to remind us all of the powerhouse of promises given to us in the psalm of protection, Psalm 91. Hope you'll listen in and comment!
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Church Internship 101
"Your job," she said, "is to know Jesus."
I stared back at the Skype screen on my computer and nodded. Forget teaching Sunday School and giving morning announcements in two services, counseling with new believers and the hurting, planning our church's annual fall festival, or preparing for a Sunday night sermon.
My job: to know Jesus.
All else would flow out from there, my mentor said, from her perch in the UK, where she was working on her doctoral dissertation. If I would spend time with him each day, she said, I'd be OK no matter what came. And come it did.
In the first week of the internship, my mother-in-law passed away. We were making almost daily trips while she was under hospice care, we were there when she peacefully passed, and I was commissioned to help with the funeral. The same weekend she died, I gave announcements at church for the first time and delivered the details of her funeral arrangements to the congregation. "God will provide," my mother-in-law, Laura, had a way of saying, and so I clung to that.
A few weeks later, after the fall festival was mercifully wrapped up and the many details of the church's 75th anniversary service were behind us, our senior pastor delivered a stunning blow: he and his associate pastor wife (my mentor) were being appointed as district superintendents in our denomination, one state over. The final confirmation came a week and a half later as the staff mourned and hoped for a change of mind as they prayed together. No change came.
Last Sunday, the congregation found out as Pastor Chuck delivered the news with great tenderness and some pain in his voice. After a collective gasp, I heard people crying. I have never known a pastor with a higher shepherding gift. This couple have modeled tenderness with the broken and hurting, and as they are called on to other things, there is a collective "Why Lord?" and an understanding that God does not always tell us why. Instead, God simply offers us intimacy with himself.
I tried to focus on that as I walked into my mentor's Sunday School class after the news was given. I looked at the loss on their faces and the questions in their hearts, and all I could really do was offer up the psalm we turned to, psalm 46: "God is an ever-present help in trouble."
My job: to know Jesus.
This week at the church another stunning blow. A faithful woman of God who was in prayer meeting just last week and plans the funeral dinners for our congregation, developed a brain aneurysm and died. Still young, leaving a husband behind and two children, her absence creates a void that makes our heads spin and our hearts cry, "Why Lord??"
My job: to know Jesus.
Perhaps all of this is par-for-the-course in ministry: upheaval, tremendous loss, deep pain, questioning, feeling hurt and burdened for those left behind. Or perhaps there is something more at work here, and God longs to show me his strength perfected in my weakness. I am reeling, seeking rest, clinging to my Savior's promises, and remembering his track record in times of struggle. I stand in need of His grace, just as each one of us does.
My job is to know Him, the Savior who died and lived for me, who is seated at the Father's right hand, and who intercedes for me. What a blessed promise. And now, I'm about to wrap up this blog post and open my Bible and journal, so I can get back to my job. He is waiting for me. And by the way, He's waiting for you, too.
No matter your occupation, is your #1 job to know Jesus, believing all else will flow out from there? Do times of great struggle push you into the arms of Jesus--or away from him?
I stared back at the Skype screen on my computer and nodded. Forget teaching Sunday School and giving morning announcements in two services, counseling with new believers and the hurting, planning our church's annual fall festival, or preparing for a Sunday night sermon.
My job: to know Jesus.
All else would flow out from there, my mentor said, from her perch in the UK, where she was working on her doctoral dissertation. If I would spend time with him each day, she said, I'd be OK no matter what came. And come it did.
In the first week of the internship, my mother-in-law passed away. We were making almost daily trips while she was under hospice care, we were there when she peacefully passed, and I was commissioned to help with the funeral. The same weekend she died, I gave announcements at church for the first time and delivered the details of her funeral arrangements to the congregation. "God will provide," my mother-in-law, Laura, had a way of saying, and so I clung to that.
A few weeks later, after the fall festival was mercifully wrapped up and the many details of the church's 75th anniversary service were behind us, our senior pastor delivered a stunning blow: he and his associate pastor wife (my mentor) were being appointed as district superintendents in our denomination, one state over. The final confirmation came a week and a half later as the staff mourned and hoped for a change of mind as they prayed together. No change came.
Last Sunday, the congregation found out as Pastor Chuck delivered the news with great tenderness and some pain in his voice. After a collective gasp, I heard people crying. I have never known a pastor with a higher shepherding gift. This couple have modeled tenderness with the broken and hurting, and as they are called on to other things, there is a collective "Why Lord?" and an understanding that God does not always tell us why. Instead, God simply offers us intimacy with himself.
I tried to focus on that as I walked into my mentor's Sunday School class after the news was given. I looked at the loss on their faces and the questions in their hearts, and all I could really do was offer up the psalm we turned to, psalm 46: "God is an ever-present help in trouble."
My job: to know Jesus.
This week at the church another stunning blow. A faithful woman of God who was in prayer meeting just last week and plans the funeral dinners for our congregation, developed a brain aneurysm and died. Still young, leaving a husband behind and two children, her absence creates a void that makes our heads spin and our hearts cry, "Why Lord??"
My job: to know Jesus.
Perhaps all of this is par-for-the-course in ministry: upheaval, tremendous loss, deep pain, questioning, feeling hurt and burdened for those left behind. Or perhaps there is something more at work here, and God longs to show me his strength perfected in my weakness. I am reeling, seeking rest, clinging to my Savior's promises, and remembering his track record in times of struggle. I stand in need of His grace, just as each one of us does.
My job is to know Him, the Savior who died and lived for me, who is seated at the Father's right hand, and who intercedes for me. What a blessed promise. And now, I'm about to wrap up this blog post and open my Bible and journal, so I can get back to my job. He is waiting for me. And by the way, He's waiting for you, too.
No matter your occupation, is your #1 job to know Jesus, believing all else will flow out from there? Do times of great struggle push you into the arms of Jesus--or away from him?
Monday, August 29, 2011
Beautifully flawed
I was reading Donald Miller's blog the other day, and I read his post Learning to Love Your Flaws, and I felt my soul take a deep, cleansing breath. It felt like an inaudible sigh of relief, actually.
Don posted a picture of himself--150 lbs. heavier--and talked about the value of flaws. I especially liked this sentence:
"It's true we impress people with our supposed perfections, but we connect with each other in our flaws." -Donald Miller
I am a person of contradictions, you see. Those who meet me dressed up on Sunday mornings often view me as solid, put-together, and eloquent. (At least that's what they tell me.) Then I change my clothes in the evening and proceed to a Bible study for women in recovery where brutal honesty is the rule of the day and brokenness is a gateway to freedom.
I don't look very perfect there, as I share battle-wounds from my bouts of depression and anxiety, what it's like to trust God with a daily physical challenge in my right leg that limits my activities, how heartbreaking loss pushes me into the arms of my Savior, and the tug-of-war I experienced as I strove to live sexually pure as an unmarried Christian.
In both settings, Jesus is the answer. My struggle, then, is how to be more honest--and yes, more flawed--in a church setting, how to let people see that I don't have it all together while sharing with them the life-changing truth of the gospel of Christ. I look at the example of our Savior, and I see that he was the same as he overturned tables in the temple, as he talked with the Samaritan woman, as he healed the masses, fed the 5,000, and delivered the Sermon on the Mount.
He was the same, yet he talked directly to those he ministered to, meeting them at their point of need. I can't say that Jesus was flawed, but I do know that he was human. My challenge, then, is rejecting perfectionism to embrace brokenness, letting the weight of my personality breathe in whatever situation I am in, and letting the love of Christ flow through me--and through my imperfections. As grace seeps in and changes me, I want to find joy in living beautifully flawed.
How do you believe God views your flaws? Do you hide them--or celebrate them?
Don posted a picture of himself--150 lbs. heavier--and talked about the value of flaws. I especially liked this sentence:
"It's true we impress people with our supposed perfections, but we connect with each other in our flaws." -Donald Miller
I am a person of contradictions, you see. Those who meet me dressed up on Sunday mornings often view me as solid, put-together, and eloquent. (At least that's what they tell me.) Then I change my clothes in the evening and proceed to a Bible study for women in recovery where brutal honesty is the rule of the day and brokenness is a gateway to freedom.
I don't look very perfect there, as I share battle-wounds from my bouts of depression and anxiety, what it's like to trust God with a daily physical challenge in my right leg that limits my activities, how heartbreaking loss pushes me into the arms of my Savior, and the tug-of-war I experienced as I strove to live sexually pure as an unmarried Christian.
In both settings, Jesus is the answer. My struggle, then, is how to be more honest--and yes, more flawed--in a church setting, how to let people see that I don't have it all together while sharing with them the life-changing truth of the gospel of Christ. I look at the example of our Savior, and I see that he was the same as he overturned tables in the temple, as he talked with the Samaritan woman, as he healed the masses, fed the 5,000, and delivered the Sermon on the Mount.
He was the same, yet he talked directly to those he ministered to, meeting them at their point of need. I can't say that Jesus was flawed, but I do know that he was human. My challenge, then, is rejecting perfectionism to embrace brokenness, letting the weight of my personality breathe in whatever situation I am in, and letting the love of Christ flow through me--and through my imperfections. As grace seeps in and changes me, I want to find joy in living beautifully flawed.
How do you believe God views your flaws? Do you hide them--or celebrate them?
Thursday, August 18, 2011
The Gift of Presence: ministry with fewer words
I've been the "chaplain" at times, and now I'm the "pastoral intern," and what I am gathering in all of this is that I do not have the power to change a situation for someone. Only God has the power to change their perspective in it.
The gospel, the true hope of the world through the cross of Christ, has been packaged and taught in easy steps; it's been downsized and minimized into commitment-light; it's presentation is sometimes given with no thought for the physical and emotional welfare of the image-bearer who's receiving it. Some have even delivered it with a literal bullhorn.
In the past, I've been guilty of trying to make the gospel palatable--of trying to sell half-hearted Christianity to a soul who can't see how he could buy the whole package. Once when a friend sat across from me and told me he just couldn't believe in Christianity because he wasn't raised in a Christian home, I took his rejection of the gospel as a personal failure. As if my evangelistic fervor could have won him into the Kingdom. As if I, and not the Holy Spirit, woo people to faith in the Carpenter who turned the world upside down.
The truth is: I've made more than my share of blunders. Author Jerry Bridges was right: "Grace stands in direct opposition to any supposed worthiness on our part."
Jesus, the most eloquent truth-teller of all, delivered it first and foremost through the ministry of presence...followed by words of extraordinary significance. He was hanging out with the shady Samaritan woman, his feet were being anointed with oil by a female known for her sin, he ate with fraudulent tax collectors and broken prostitutes. The sick and diseased hung on him; the demons he cast off shrieked at his presence; those who touched the very edge of his garment went away rejoicing.
And when he did speak, when he did open his mouth, he tended toward stories and questions, parables and paradoxes. This was the upside-down Kingdom he ushered in. The last shall be first, the least of these are worthy of extraordinary kindness and generosity, the meek shall inherit the earth.
The way Jesus communicated goes against my natural bent, on so many levels. If I am talking to a young woman battling addiction about Jesus, and her eyes glaze over, I am tempted to talk faster and louder to see if she gets it. If I am counseling someone on entering a vibrant relationship with Christ, I am tempted to rush to the sinner's prayer, instead of helping this person understand the enormity of Jesus' love for them and the cost of following him. This goes against the very teachings of Jesus and his way of loving and engaging people with truth.
But I do not have to give in to my temptations. 1 Corinthians 10:13 says so.
The other day something out-of-the-ordinary happened that awakened me to how well I love. My neighbor of three years stopped by and offered words of comfort for us, as my mother-in-law is now in hospice care and will be gone soon. She was so understanding and kind and supportive, and before she left, she hugged me and said, "We love you guys." And I was caught off guard. Although this woman believes in God, she doesn't attend a church. I know her through "over-the-fence" conversations and a few backyard get-togethers.
But she has shared bulbs from her garden with me.
She has comforted me in my infertility.
She celebrates with me in my joys.
Her gift of presence has spoken volumes. Now her words mean something as well. This disciple of Jesus was moved by her kindness, her simple generosity.
What does the phrase "the gift of presence" mean to you? Do you tend to love others with many words or few words?
The gospel, the true hope of the world through the cross of Christ, has been packaged and taught in easy steps; it's been downsized and minimized into commitment-light; it's presentation is sometimes given with no thought for the physical and emotional welfare of the image-bearer who's receiving it. Some have even delivered it with a literal bullhorn.
In the past, I've been guilty of trying to make the gospel palatable--of trying to sell half-hearted Christianity to a soul who can't see how he could buy the whole package. Once when a friend sat across from me and told me he just couldn't believe in Christianity because he wasn't raised in a Christian home, I took his rejection of the gospel as a personal failure. As if my evangelistic fervor could have won him into the Kingdom. As if I, and not the Holy Spirit, woo people to faith in the Carpenter who turned the world upside down.
The truth is: I've made more than my share of blunders. Author Jerry Bridges was right: "Grace stands in direct opposition to any supposed worthiness on our part."
Jesus, the most eloquent truth-teller of all, delivered it first and foremost through the ministry of presence...followed by words of extraordinary significance. He was hanging out with the shady Samaritan woman, his feet were being anointed with oil by a female known for her sin, he ate with fraudulent tax collectors and broken prostitutes. The sick and diseased hung on him; the demons he cast off shrieked at his presence; those who touched the very edge of his garment went away rejoicing.
And when he did speak, when he did open his mouth, he tended toward stories and questions, parables and paradoxes. This was the upside-down Kingdom he ushered in. The last shall be first, the least of these are worthy of extraordinary kindness and generosity, the meek shall inherit the earth.
The way Jesus communicated goes against my natural bent, on so many levels. If I am talking to a young woman battling addiction about Jesus, and her eyes glaze over, I am tempted to talk faster and louder to see if she gets it. If I am counseling someone on entering a vibrant relationship with Christ, I am tempted to rush to the sinner's prayer, instead of helping this person understand the enormity of Jesus' love for them and the cost of following him. This goes against the very teachings of Jesus and his way of loving and engaging people with truth.
But I do not have to give in to my temptations. 1 Corinthians 10:13 says so.
The other day something out-of-the-ordinary happened that awakened me to how well I love. My neighbor of three years stopped by and offered words of comfort for us, as my mother-in-law is now in hospice care and will be gone soon. She was so understanding and kind and supportive, and before she left, she hugged me and said, "We love you guys." And I was caught off guard. Although this woman believes in God, she doesn't attend a church. I know her through "over-the-fence" conversations and a few backyard get-togethers.
But she has shared bulbs from her garden with me.
She has comforted me in my infertility.
She celebrates with me in my joys.
Her gift of presence has spoken volumes. Now her words mean something as well. This disciple of Jesus was moved by her kindness, her simple generosity.
What does the phrase "the gift of presence" mean to you? Do you tend to love others with many words or few words?
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Do women have full access to God?
 |
| Tertullian, 160-220 AD |
In this study, I talk a lot about Adam and Eve, and how their sin and rebellion led to our sin and rebellion. How things are broken, and how ever since that time, God has been reaching out to set our relationships right again. Our relationship with him, and our relationship with others.
I explained how in the Old Testament times, God set up a sacrificial system--people would bring animal sacrifices to atone for their sinfulness before a holy God, with the help of priests. But that all changed, I said, when Jesus came and became the sacrifice. Now the Bible says we can all be priests, we can all approach God directly (see 1 Peter 2:9).
At that moment, a young woman looked up and blurted out: "Women, too?"
Yes! I said, more loudly than was necessary, as my heart plummeted to the ground.
An author I respect, Sarah Sumner, wrote: "Church tradition says that women are by nature lower than men. Indeed, most of the church fathers promoted this traditional belief." And then she proceeds to back it up.
Tertullian, the man who coined the word "Trinity" in the history of Christianity and defended the doctrine of original sin, said this to women:
And do you not know that you are (each) an Eve? The sentence of God on this sex of yours lives in this age: the guilt must of necessity live too. You are the devil’s gateway: you are the unsealer of that (forbidden) tree: you are the first deserter of the divine law: you are she who persuaded him whom the devil was not valiant enough to attack. You destroyed so easily God’s image, man. On account of your desert—that is, death—even the Son of God had to die.Unfortunately, many other church fathers perpetuated the same nonsense. Augustine did not believe women were made in the image of God, but they could reflect his image...if they married. Thomas Aquinas said that women are dominated by sexual appetite and men are ruled by reason. And so it goes.
So, is it any wonder, centuries later, that a young woman sits down and says "Women, too?" when taught that we can approach God directly? Is it any wonder that she does not, at face value, accept what God has said in Genesis 1:27, that both men AND women are made in the very image of God? Is it any wonder that she, too, believes Eve singlehandedly ushered sin into the world? (Where, exactly, was Adam in all of this?)
Is it any wonder that she sees the female image-bearer of God as subpar, as dangerous, as someone who holds an inferior brain and a much inferior heart? It's no mystery why she believes these things, as they have insidiously trickled down through our churches, through the very people who confess to following and obeying Christ.
It's no mystery. But it is a shame. And it's high time to set the record straight. God's intention, when creating male and female as equals who would be his representatives on earth, was that all humans might share full access to him, a full relationship with him. We screwed that up, through sin, but Jesus offers a way to make it right again. He loves us, pursues us, and empowers us to service in his Kingdom--whether we are an Adam or an Eve. Blessedly, there is no double standard with God. Ladies, we have a full access pass.
(Quotes from Sumner, Sarah (2003). Men and Women in the Church: Building Consensus on Christian Leadership (pp. 40-41). Intervarsity Press. Kindle Edition.)
Self-test: do you somehow feel that women are inferior to men in the Christian faith--even if you know the Bible says differently? In your opinion, what should the church do to help women see themselves as God sees them?
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