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| Alki Beach in Seattle, Washington (original photo) |
Step, step, step, step.
Shuffles the papers, arranges them in order up there on the podium.
Breathes in, breathes out, real deep (she needs oxygen).
Feels the moment, because she's about to break some sort of rule in someone's book. Somebody, somewhere has a problem with this (but she doesn't think it's God, because the Spirit has put a message on her heart).
Jesus would want her to preach.
Looks down at her hands, way too shaky and pale for her liking, and suddenly it's there, in the most tangible and unexpected of arrivals: she knows this space is sacred.
Like those moments when you're atop a mountain or seaside along dark and stormy waters. The ocean before you is vast and neverending, beautiful and breathtaking.
Oh, it's scary though. So scary, but somehow all at once it's also good and captivating, and that's what makes it sacred.
The waters are pulling you, out, out, out. The first brave step is yours to take.
God is in this place, and suddenly it all seems surreal. This couldn't be happening, this is all just a dream, one in which patriarchy is no more and the Spirit of God defines the ways of the people. That's how my dreams are sometimes, the good ones anyway.
It feels too surreal up there for her, like some sort of made-up land or game of pretend, because if you're a girl then you know, or at least you've heard it before: you can't do that.
You can teach, but only children. You can speak, but only timidly. You can have passion, but not too much. You can express yourself, but don't get too crazy. You can minister to people, but you can't hold such a title. You can follow Jesus, but you can't be called a disciple. You can be smart, but you're not smart enough to do big, ground-breaking, important life things. Men are the world-changers, the logical thinkers and the go-get-em seekers.
You're a girl, so here's a pat on the head and aren't you cute?
You can't be a deacon.
An elder.
A pastor.
Or a preacher.
You definitely, definitely cannot be a preacher.
That girl up there though: that girl can preach.
And who would've thought? We always ask the men, we always assume they can or even want to. From the time our children are littles, we engage the guys in service. Hey son, will you serve communion, and you're becoming a man now: would you like to practice a sermon? God wants you to serve your Church and family, so let's get you practicing early.
We too often forget that the girls are God's children, too, and God has made all of these children for service. We are all made to bring the kingdom.
We are daughters of Abraham, because Jesus spoke it out.
We are vessels for the kingdom to spread through, because God has always made it so.
From Hagar to Deborah to Naomi to Ruth, from Esther to Tamar to Jael to Rahab, all of these women and more have been vessels in which humanity existed yet the spirit of God worked in and through, because here's a truthful reminder: women are people, too.
Mary, Martha, Junia, and Lydia. The Canannite woman and the woman at the well and the girl who washed Christ's feet and the list goes on and on and on...
Because women are image-bearers of God, and hey! That makes us all one in Christ Jesus.
God works through women, and you would be theologically inaccurate to say otherwise. Besides, you'd be excluding a large part of the table of God, and aren't we all welcome at this dinner banquet? Don't we all need each other, young and old, American and not, male and female, etc. etc.?
So she's up there about to preach it out, and you wanna know a secret? She's absolutely terrified.
She's trying to catch her breath, trying to slow her mind, because when she looks up at the crowd, she sees a room full of men.
There's one girl in the audience, and uh-oh: preacher-girl didn't prepare for this part.
But she's up there now, and there's no turning back. Besides, she's wrested with the text, gotten elbow deep in mud, because this sermon is from the story of Hagar.
This story needs to be shared.
So she begins to work it out, of course with fear and trembling, and it's weird and good and all sorts of awkward, because when you've never done this before, it's weird and good and unknown. When you've never done this before, and you've too often been told that you can't: it's all sorts of awkward, because are you breaking some sort of rule?
Didn't Jesus do that, too? He broke the rules when the Spirit of God was moving Him to do so. That's a bit of comfort, but still: is this offensive?
Is she allowed to preach to men? Is she allowed to preach at all?
What is preaching, really, if not prophetic, truthful storytelling? Don't we all have stories to share? Weren't there female prophets, and can God not speak through women? It happens in the text, so why can't it happen today?
Why are we still saying that women can't preach?
Why are we still allowing patriarchy to thwart the kingdom of God?
It's been a bit of time since my sermon, and I've thought it over hard. First things first: it's some sort of sacred. The space is so sweet, and you know it is God's moment.
This is all Yours, so go ahead and speak to these people. Give them truth, tell them Hagar's story. Show them who you are: you are the God who sees.
Second realization? If you're a girl, think ahead before you preach to a room full of guys. When guys are the ones telling you what you can and can't do for your whole entire life, your first time breaking that barrier is nothing short of difficult. Even if they're supportive, even if they're your friends.
You're still a woman, and they've never been told, it's never been said: you can't do that.
At least not like this, not in this way. Probably not, or hardly ever.
Last food for thought? Don't be afraid, for I AM.
God is with you, and you've been given some amazing sort of spirit: a spirit of love and power and self-discipline and grace. This spirit is alive, and it's bursting at your body's seams.
Don't underestimate what that spirit can do. This might be new to you, and you've maybe never been allowed the chance to practice this sort of thing.
Don't let that stop you, because you are on this earth for such a time as this.
It's like when you were an infant, and you'd never learned to walk. There might be potential in that little body of yours to run a marathon or a race or some sort of Olympic something, but you'll never know how far you can go until you first: try and second: learn to walk.
Those first steps are awkward, and you'll likely need a hand to hold.
You'll stumble and fall, and you may bump your head on the corner of a coffee table every now and then.
The unknown is wobbly, and the forces trying to stop you will you aim to bring you down.
This space is really sacred though, and that has to count for something.
Preach on, girl, because God is in your midst.
