Romans 6

In two of my classes, we've been focusing on Romans 6.  In one, we are meant to memorize verses 1-14 before the end of the semester.  At first, I thought this was a chore.  Then we spent an entire class period delving into what it means, and my mind was blown!  Our assignment was to re-write Romans 6:1-14 in words of our own, and since that is a quicker way to share my thoughts, here, look!  A wild seminary assignment appears!

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“In light of what I've just said, what is the appropriate response? Should we go on living as though we are under the rule of sin as if that would increase the grace of God? Of course not! We were completely changed—we are no longer under the power of sin. How could we act as though we are still the same, still helplessly under the domination of sin? Isn't it obvious that when we identified ourselves with Christ Jesus, we identified ourselves with him entirely, including his death to the power of sin? If that is the case, and it is, we were changed with him by identifying our life with his. As a result, we have been born into a new kind of life, just as Christ was resurrected from death into life by the glorious power of the Father.

Logically, then, if we identify ourselves with one part of Christ's life, namely, his reversal of the power of sin, then we will identify ourselves with the whole of Christ's life, which includes his resurrection. We know that the power of Christ's death changed us totally, shifting the power over us from sin to God. We are no longer the same, living under the power and domination of sin. We are no longer powerless against sin!

Once we have been freed from the power of sin by identifying with Christ's death, we are free to identify with his resurrection life as well. If Christ broke the power of sin by dying and living again, the game is over. Sin has no chance of exerting any power over him. Through his victory defeating the power of sin, the rest of us no longer have to fear it either, because sin has no chance of overpowering us. 

So what do we do now? We ought to remind ourselves daily that sin has no power over us any longer because of Christ Jesus. So don't give in to temptations and live as though nothing has changed. Your life and your body is no longer made to serve sin and wickedness; you are made to serve God, to live righteously. In this way, you demonstrate the power of Christ in conquering the power of sin. So don't worry. Sin has no power over you. You are ruled by grace.”

Hello, Fellow Feminist

I made a new friend.  Actually, we were already friends, because we've sat next to each other during Bible Study pretty much the whole semester, and once we went to chapel together and discovered a mutual love for Lord of the Rings.

But.  This week she mentioned Rachel Held Evans, whose book A Year of Biblical Womanhood comes out in a couple days.  I am so excited about this.  For a year, Rachel lives out biblical mandates directed at women in their most literal sense.  She covers her head.  She calls her husband master.  It will be awesome, and I can't wait to hear what conclusions she drew from it.

I was about to gush to my classmate, but we locked eyes.  I hedged, "I tend to kind of sometimes classify myself as a Christian feminist, but--"  My new best friend cut me off.  "Oh, I'm definitely a feminist."

My eyes sparkled as I gazed at her adoringly.  "You are?  I've never met another one in person before!"  Yes, I actually said that.  She proved her awesomeness by laughing.  "Yeah, I worried I would be burned at the stake here.  But so far....it's not too bad."  We both shrugged off the lingering stench of misogyny, because really, DTS is trying.

And then we made a lunch date to discuss what it's like being a Christian feminist.  Because that is a lonely label, blogosphere.  I know many online Christian feminists.  I know many Christians in real life who hold feminist beliefs, but none who happily claim the label "feminist."  So to meet one?  You best believe I'm jumping on that friendship train.

Now I have to figure out which books I want to lend her!  (I'm thinking Are Women Human? by Dorothy Sayers and Angry Conversations with God by Susan E. Isaacs.)

Women and Theology

I meant to write a post about Dr. Kreider's view of women a long time ago, but got sidetracked by not blogging very often.  Today he reminded me why I love him so.  He was talking about revelation, and how a doctoral theology student of his worked with him on developing a better classification than "general" and "special."  He raved about this student's genius, then said, "The dissertation was brilliant.  Carissa--"  He paused.  He looked over the room, waiting for our faces to confess that we had assumed he was talking about a male student.  Then he continued, using "her" and "she" pronouns liberally.

The man never misses an opportunity to point out the contribution and work of women in the world.

The first day of class, he asked, "When the Bible refers to "man" in a general way, does it mean men only, or men and women?"  We all acknowledged that it meant men and women.  Dr. Kreider then went on to say, "So if that's what it means, why not use language that reflects its meaning?  That's why the NET Bible (which was translated by mostly DTS professors) uses gender inclusive language."

Doesn't sound all that crazy, except that I remember my mom telling me not to read the NLT gift Bible someone gave me, precisely because it said "men and women" instead of "mankind."  Granted, I don't think she'd hold that opinion any more, but that kind of ignorant prejudice (because I don't think she was willfully prejudiced) is not uncommon or unrecent.

Dr. Kreider didn't stop there, though.  "So when I say the Bible was written by men, do I mean men only, or men and women?"  We all acknowledged that this time he meant men only.  "Really?" he asked.  We stared at him.  "Alright, so probably the actual authors were all male.  But who knew the stories of Ruth and Esther?  Who told Luke about Mary's conversation with the angel?  Is it too extreme to suggest that God worked through those women in the same way He inspired the men who wrote books of the Bible?"

At that, I sat up straight.  I tried to convey with my expression that Dr. Kreider had won my loyalty, that I was now ready to leap on a grenade for him.  I tried to telepathize, "I think it's perfectly lovely how you talk about women."

One class period, he flat out told us, "I'm a complementarian," he said.  "I believe women can have babies and men can preach at church."  I frowned.  Men get the powerful position, and women get the painful one?  But he continued, "I think that's what the Bible teaches.  But should women speak in church?  Of course!  The Bible assumes that they will be be speaking and prophesying in the church.  They just have to cover their heads, whatever that means.  Paul met a man with four prophetess daughters, which means they literally spoke for God.  To a man.  And nowhere does the Bible condemn them.  And let's be honest.  I go to a Baptist church, and I support the International Mission Board.  They say that women shouldn't preach.  But if they made every missionary woman stop preaching and leading churches, the entire board would collapse.  So...think about that."

That man.  I don't understand him.  I don't fully know what he believes.  But I LOVE that he is showing two sides to this complex issue.  I love that he regularly speaks of women with affection and admiration and respect.  I love that he makes me feel as if I belong in his class, belong in a seminary, belong in a school that only allowed my sex to study here thirty years ago.

I think it's perfectly lovely how he talks about women.

INFJ

We talked about personality types today in class, and I remembered that I am an INFJ (rarest of them all, baby!  Only 1%).  Turns out INFJs are particularly suited for religious work, psychology, counseling, and child care.  That is...my life.

Also, while Dr. Barnes was discussing different personality types and why knowing people's personalities is valuable, my thoughts were rambling something like this.  "I bet work teams would all want an INFJ to be with them.  We are so valuable!  Everyone wants to be an INFJ, and to marry an INFJ, because we are the best."

Literally right then, Dr. Barnes said, "There is no 'best' personality type.  Each has it's own strengths and weaknesses."

I laughed out loud.  Which was kind of embarrassing, but it was only a little laugh.  My pride, y'all.  It's ridiculous.

Crushes on Boy Bands

Anju and Ketan have become quite obsessed with asking whether or not I have a crush.  I told them I don't, that I just moved here, and hadn't found anyone yet.  (Lie!  I have a lovely crush on a guy who sits two rows ahead of me across the aisle in my Bible Study class--he's a snazzy dresser, has a Jeremy Renner face, and wears the best short khakis that cause me to stare at his ankles for an hour and a half each day.  No, I've never talked to him, and no, I don't know his name.  I call him "Sergei.")

When I asked the kids if they had crushes, they gigglingly fessed up.  Aside from their classmates about whom I couldn't care less, they have a healthy mix of celebrity crushes.  Anju wants to marry Justin Bieber, and Ketan likes Selena Gomez.  I jumped on that train, and gushed about how cute Louis Tomlinson is.  (Google him.  You're welcome.)

Anju was silent for a moment.  "But you're too old for him."  OH NO YOU DIDN'T.  Ahem.  What I said was, "I'm like, four years older than him.  That's totally fine."  And then Ketan backed me up.  "Mom is five years older than dad.  You can like Louis Barden."

"Thank you.  Who in the world is Louis BARDEN?  I like Louis Tomlinson, thank you very much."

Now they frequently ask me about my crush on Louis, and I say, "He's still cute.  How's YOUR crush?" and they fall apart from the embarrassment.  So glad I am now old enough to confidently proclaim my love for a boy pop star.  Yikes, I mean, mostly.  That does sound pathetic, doesn't it?

The World is Getting Worse?

I get kind of tired of hearing things like, "America is becoming a secular nation" or "The whole world is falling apart" or whatever.  For one, this seems like a very depressing outlook on life.  I believe there is both bad (sin) and good (redemption) in life, and I'd think most everyone would prefer to focus on the good than the bad.  Apparently not.

But also, I don't actually believe that things are getting worse?  I could never quite formulate why I thought that until I read an essay by C.S. Lewis in God in the Dock (which, sidenote, refers to a court room dock, like God is on trial--there's no maritime connections, as I previously assumed).  Lewis talks about the worries of his day, that England was becoming less Christian.  But he gave a very specific reason why that was false.  When chapel attendance suddenly dropped at Oxford, it wasn't because people started hating Christianity.  It was because chapel stopped being mandatory.

Maybe that's what's happening.  The Christian culture at large is declining in power (and thank goodness!), but I would wager that the number of committed followers of Jesus is roughly the same as it's always been.

If someone wants to bemoan the fact that a "Christian" layering of ideals is absent from our nation, then okay.  That might be true, and if that's where someone's hope is found, then people have cause to worry.  But my hope is found in Jesus Christ, the redeemer of children, women, and men, who is not bound by nations or policies or the internet.  His Spirit is going to keep working in every country and tribe and tongue, and I'm very excited to live right here, right now, and see it happening.

Lawn Therapy

I have regressed to a lonely panic on Sunday mornings.  After hours of confused contemplation, I realized that I'm having commitment issues.  I've now finished the new members class, and all that's left is to sign a paper and....jump full in.  As much as I truly adore Trinity, it's a little terrifying.

During our last membership class, I sat beside Laura, internally screaming from a then unknown feeling, and I glanced longingly at her out of the corner of my eye.  "I just want to ask her to hug me," I thought.  Laura has a very loving maternal type vibe.  Then I caught myself.  "I'm in class.  With people.  I can't be a child here."

Luckily, I could be a child elsewhere.  Laura and I chatted as we walked outside, then paused on the sidewalk before separating to our cars.  "That's a nice bit of grass," she said.  "It looks perfect for laying on."  We stared each other down.  "Okay!" I exclaimed, and we fell on our stomachs and sprawled on the green carpet.

It was the best therapy.  Something about the silliness of lying on lawn while my future church family walked behind us, and the nature smells and feels and calmness, and just talking with a friend with grass prickling my cheek.  It was glorious, and I felt instantly better.

Maybe I should install a 6x6 square of yard into my future counseling office.

Operation Christmas Child

Nanny Mother told me that their family is Catholic, and occasionally spiritual.  She also told me to raise her kids however I'd want to raise my kids, and to please turn them into good, people-loving Christians.  I don't know quite how to deal with that, but it's fun to interact with the kids and to live intimately with a family outside the DTS norm.

For instance.  At dinnertime, I always ask the kids who wants to pray.  They fight about it, and Ketan inevitably starts snapping his fingers in the sign of the cross and chanting, "Father, Son, Holy Ghost--He's the one we love the most!"  At that point, Anju shrieks, "That was my prayer!  I was going to pray that!"  I assure her that God won't mind if she says the same thing, so she does.  The kids have taught me the sign of the cross, which I do before saying my own short prayer about how much I like them even when they are obnoxious.

Today at chapel someone talked about Operation Christmas Child, and boxes were available for the taking on our way out.  I had a brilliant idea!  I could fill up two boxes, one for an Anju-aged girl and another for a Ketan-aged boy.  I found some pictures of me giving boxes to kids in Senegal, and took it all to their house after school.

Nanny Mother and kids LOVED it.  Immediately Ketan slid his iTouch into the box, saying he wanted to give it to the kids in Africa.  I had to tell him his $150 toy wouldn't do much good in a place without electricity.  Undaunted, he vowed to convert all his points into allowance and use all that money to buy something for a box.  Anju agreed.  Then she disappeared, and a few minutes later came out with a hand-drawn card that she put in the box.  Ketan made origami.  Anju pulled books from her shelves that she wanted to put in, but balked at giving up her favorite, even when I told her we would probably try to buy new things anyway.

I showed them an OCC video on my phone, and hours later, Ketan sneakily slid into the computer chair.  I was about to chastise him (no technology except for Fridays), but he googled OCC and pulled up a five minute video, which both he and Anju watched rapturously.  Nanny Father came home, and the kids regaled him with their plans.

It was.  Adorable.  I can kind of see the appeal of kids, I guess?  Passing down your beliefs to younger people, hoping they will continue to love the destitute of the world after you've died.  Squinch them.

First Counseled Experience

Jess is learning a new therapy called EMDR, and she had to try it out on three people.  One night she knocked on my bedroom door at 10 p.m. and asked if I was available.

Casual acquaintances might not know this about me, but I've been dying to go to counseling for a long while.  One of the highlights of studying counseling is that in my second year I undergo free (HAHA by which I mean $1,000 per class) therapy sessions.  So naturally, when Jess asked, I leaped down the stairs and took the second of our fancy chairs.

She explained what we were going to do, just an introductory session, just kind of walking the surface of some problem I wanted to discuss.  What did I want to talk about, she asked?

And y'all.  I got so nervous.  I shifted in my seat.  I felt unbearably underdressed in my pajamas.  Why wasn't I wearing proper clothes?  Why couldn't I stop touching my mouth?

So I picked something easy--my perfectionist tendencies.  We talked for maybe fifteen minutes, but really only I talked.  Turns out counselors mostly say things like, "Alright.  What else?  That's good.  Keep going."  I wanted to say, "FIX ME," but you're supposed to learn to fix yourself.


We finished and then chatted about our lives, but all I could think about were the insecurities and the am-I-weird-for-feeling-this and the failings.  I wanted to blurt them out, but I couldn't tell her unless she asked me to, and why was I wearing pajamas?


Anyway, I'm still looking forward to proper consistent counseling sessions.  But I realize now that it's uh, not going to be easy.  Baring your soul rarely is.

Practice Makes Perfect

Nannying is the best practice for future counseling if, like me, you are fairly sure you're going to spend a practicum doing play therapy (which is therapy centered around, well, playing, focused on 3-10 year olds).  I'm not going to lie, I'm kind of a prodigy.  For instance, I've totally nailed the whole "give choices" thing.

I'm pretty adept at saying, "Do you want to eat a peach or an apple?" and "You can do either piano or Kumon--go!"  I've even upgraded to the more difficult choice-consequence alliance, "You either choose to wear your helmet, or you choose to stand beside me and watch your brother ride his bike."

And then, sadly, there are days when my normal human growth class comes a day too late.  Take yesterday, for instance, when the aforementioned bike outing took place.  Anju had already been fussy earlier in the day, and then there was a whole debacle with her helmet being itchy.  Finally we got to the road, and within two minutes she decided she wanted her bike instead of her scooter.  I said no, and she burst into angry tears.

Eventually Ketan confronted me.  "Why can't she get her bike?"  To be fair, it was like, fifty yards away.  It was not outside the realm of possibility.  But I burst out, "Because I don't deal well with crying!  Crying is not the way to get what you want!"

Immediately I had that oh-crap sinking feeling.  I didn't back down, because I also know the importance of consistency.  But I knew that an ugly part of myself was rearing its head.  I don't believe in emotion.  My family is Stoic Haven.  We don't fight, we don't yell, we don't get overly excited.  We're very modern, very British, very repressed.

Then today in class we talked about how important it is to let kids feel and process their emotions.  You don't have to accept bad behavior, but emotions shouldn't be shut down.  So.  Oops.  Next emotional breakdown, I'll be ready.

Oh the Shame

The past week and a half I've been robotically running into my culture shock wall, or maybe more accurately in this context, my "You mean this is real life and not a temporary displacement?" wall.  Nothing's bad.  I still love my roommates, my school, my job, and my church.  But I am TIRED.

I'm tired of reading seminary books all the time, half understanding the words floating through my brain.  I'm tired of thinking through the future, of what classes to take and when, and whether or not to plan for my licensure in Texas or Illinois or nowhere.  I'm tired of feeling like the new girl in social situations.  I'm tired of managing my money and waiting two weeks until I have enough saved up to buy stupid expensive Clinique face wash.

And then this weekend I got a cold.  Which is, whatever, unsurprising.  Stress and all.

Today I went to Dr. Kreider's class at 7:45 a.m. because I will not miss his class unless I am dead.  After that I thought, "I've got my chapel hours a little ahead of schedule.  I could go home for two hours before my next class.  But if I go home...there's a good chance I'll stay there."  My sneaky manipulative brain answered itself, smarmily assuring itself that "Of course I'll come back.  It's no big deal!  Just go home and rest."

So I drove home, knowing there was an 80% chance I wouldn't return.  Just in case, I refilled my water bottle and set out my books and purse for a run out the door.  Then I lay down on the couch and napped.  When my alarm went off at 12:10, I spent all of ten seconds deciding to dismiss it, and then I slept for another two hours.

THERE IT IS.  I skipped my first seminary class!  Agh, the shame!  I'm a skipping skipper who skips, and that will never change, and I spent my own money to pay for that class, and I just let it go to waste!

And now, it's like a death knoll, or something.  I don't really know what that means.  But I've skipped once.  The perfect record is tarnished.  WHO KNOWS WHAT WILL HAPPEN NOW?  But really, hopefully, it's just because of my cold.  And my life crisis.  That's all.