The Radical Reformission - A Book Review

Introduction

            The Church has long been a passion of mine. Her relationship to Christ is an enthralling mystery; Her relationship to the world is a tragically misunderstood role. It was not until I grasped the true essence of femininity that I developed a deeper comprehension of Christ’s love for Her and Her mission to a lost world. The true nature of the virtuous Bride is well depicted in Proverbs 31 - a passage we forget when applying it to the Bride of Christ. She is an astute business woman, a lover, mother, provider, and the embodiment of wisdom and compassion. It is not only a relationship of inner intimacy with Christ, she is tasked to minister to the needs of her own and to the world.

            This perspective has largely shaped how I view the Church and Her image. The manner in which the Church has behaved over the past two thousand years takes on many forms. She has played the harlot and the performer, but none of this changes the ideal of what She is meant to be. The ideal remains pristine and a standard to which She must be held. If Christ is the image after which we strive to be, however imperfectly, then the virtuous Bride remains a proper image towards which the Church should aspire. This paper is an analysis of Mark Driscoll’s The Radical Reformission and his interpretation of the Church’s mission in the world.

The Radical Reformission

            I will begin by saying that the overall undertone in this book towards anything feminine is radically atrocious. Terms that Driscoll employs to depict femininity are degrading and a violent accost to any female. Terms such as cow, prostitute, dumb meat, strip club, strip poker, Victoria Secret, analogies of dogs and cats, whore, “Hefneresque”, beauty queens, naked, slut, trashy, easy, dirty, pornographic, and I kid you not - “junk in her trunk” - to name a few. These terms are used to describe a variety of different concepts including direct references to women, but each evokes violent imagery. If this is meant to depict a Church gone awry then that is fine. We have had our eras of immorality. But some redemption must be offered for an image of the Church that is clearly defined as a feminine entity. This does not happen. Instead of redefining a Godly image of femininity, Driscoll takes the role of the Church and transforms it into an aggressive, hotheaded, and aroused portrayal of masculinity. In essence, Driscoll turns the Church into himself.

            Driscoll’s depiction of a strong pastor on more than one occasion involved the capacity to kill another human being in self defense.^[1] I applaud the distinction of self defense, but it scarcely makes a difference. Unfortunately a class in self defense is not part of my M.Div. program. Perhaps it should be? Driscoll identifies himself as acting in one of two modes: angry and asleep. Perfect. Just the person who should be defining the Church’s mission to the world. His understanding of sin further complicates matters as he describes his identity as sin. In his words, “I thought sin was something you do not something you are.” ^[2] Firstly we are not sin. We are God’s image bearers and we are fallen, therefore, we sin. Secondly, this explains a lot of Driscoll’s seeming self hatred and inability to see true masculinity and femininity as reflections of the image of God. Driscoll’s words seemed to scream from the page, “I hate femininity, and even worse, I hate masculinity if it is not raping or killing something, or at least entertaining the possibility of such acts.”

            Driscoll’s understanding of the intimate relationship we share with Christ was loudly assaulted as a “thinly veiled homosexual relationship.” This is never explained, but neither are any of his “limp-wristed” references either. While I do not condone a homosexual lifestyle, I also cannot condone the manner in which Driscoll objectifies effeminate males and bends them over to suit his literary lust for attention. How’s that for conjuring violent imagery? He also seems to have an affinity for underwear and body hair.^[3]

            Finally after the onslaught of vicious imagery, Driscoll arrives at his first definition of Reformission. Reformission is “a radical call to reform the church’s traditionally flawed view of missions as something carried out in only foreign lands and to focus instead on the urgent need in our own neighborhoods, which are filled with diverse cultures of Americans who desperately need the gospel of Jesus and life in this church.”^[4] Where the hell did that come from? I am still trying to figure out if finding that gem was worth all the smut I had to wade through to get to it. I did not have far to go before he ruined it again. On the very next page Driscoll identifies varying cultures as “urban homosexual artists and rural heterosexual farmers.”^[5] I heaved a deep sigh. Of all the definers of culture in the world and he resorts to sexual orientation? Of course this makes sense in light of his view that “culture is an old whore, and modernity and postmodernity are simply her old and new dresses.”^[6] Niebuhr would be rolling in his grave if he could read this. What of the Christ of culture? The Christ who created culture at the foundations of the earth, was born into it, grew in it, loved it, and redeemed it? Enough of culture. What of the Church and Her mission?

            “Reformission is a radical call for Christians and Christian churches to recommit to living and speaking the gospel, and to doing so regardless of the pressures to compromise the truth of the gospel or to conceal its power within the safety of the church.”^[7] Another excellent point. Driscoll sees the Church as the primary minister of God’s grace in the world. It does not last long, however, as Driscoll goes on to attack parachurch ministries, liberalism and fundamentalism.^[8] I would like to point out that the presence of all three of these entities would be nonexistent had the Church been conducting Her mission in the first place!

            Parachurch ministries became a necessity when the Church withdrew from culture. It was still our mission to deal with societal ills and deliver the gospel through evangelism. As far as I can see, the Church continues to ignore the poverty and suffering around Her in various communities. The Parachurch is not some evil construct; it was a supplement where the Church failed. Driscoll does not seem to understand the nature of the parachurch and believes it serves in place of church for community. This is an inaccurate understanding of parachurch. It is an organization, not a fellowship. Those who work for parachurch organizations still attend church where there are a variety of ages, cultures, and traditions. They do not believe themselves to be a replacement for the community of believers; they are fulfilling a task that the Church is not. This portion of Driscoll’s book made no sense whatsoever.

            Driscoll commits the same fallacy with liberalism and fundamentalism. He attacks the liberal understanding of sin which actually addresses a real deficit in the church. People believed that their sin was a private matter between them and God and did not grasp the impact of sin on an entire community and culture. There is both personal sin and institutional sin and both must be condemned. The Church was dealing with personal sin, but failed to confront institutional sin. Likewise with fundamentalism, it confronts cultural sin. Fundamentalism stepped in when the Church forgot that while She is the embodiment of Christ in and above culture, She also has a task to be Christ against culture when the need arises.

            As Driscoll writes of his “love” for culture, it is full of references such as, limp wristed gay men and cowboys, skinny, feminine gay buddy, and reference to killing himself. What Driscoll does then is truly appalling as he takes a text and bends it over, proverbially raping it for content that is not there. Way to treat the Word of God. Gay indeed. He describes the Samaritan woman as a “dirty, leathery faced town whore who traded sex for rent.”^[9] I scoured my commentaries for any reference to this and came up with none. Firstly, prostitutes do not marry and this woman had been married many times and was currently living with a man. This does not make her a whore in that culture. It made her a wife, many times discarded. She had been married to these men and they divorced her. There is no reference here to her being a town whore, let alone dirty and leathery faced. But Driscoll does not stop there, he goes on to describe this woman’s body as “smelling of cheap liquor and men.”^[10]

            I take exceptional offense to this part of the book since it was the topic of a research paper I wrote. In my research I analyzed the culture and beliefs of Samaritans versus the Jews. Their law was not much different. It was common practice to divorce a woman who was barren in order to marry another wife who could potentially yield offspring. There is no mention in this text of the woman having any children which would make her a disposable commodity in that culture. She was not a whore, she was a brokenhearted woman who longed to be embraced and loved. Having recently been through the horrors of divorce myself I felt for this woman who was so easily discarded. She was probably a very beautiful woman which accounts for why so many men pursued her in marriage. Men do not marry whores. It’s a money sink. No one in their right mind would do that. Epic Driscoll fail. There are plenty of passages in Scripture that refer to Jesus dining with sinners and prostitutes. If Driscoll needed content he could easily have referred to one of those passages. Instead he mutilates an affirming text for women who are theologically minded.

            One pertinent truth is nestled in between talk of oral sex and teenage pornography fascination - “Innovation when not tethered to the truth of the gospel, leads to heresy.”^[11] However, Driscoll ruins it by completely disregarding innovation as being motivated in a lack of identity. That made no sense whatsoever. Innovation is the product of being human and created in the image of God. We are finite beings who serve an infinite God. It is within our nature to seek out and know this God which makes our pursuit of discovery and innovation relentless. It is not lostness. It is a love of knowing the One to whom we belong.

            The meat of Driscoll’s message lies in the following seven points: 1) the gospel connects to this life, 2) the gospel infuses daily activities with meaning, 3) the gospel names sin and points the way to forgiveness, 4) the gospel transforms life, 5) the gospel builds a spiritual family, 6) the gospel is about participation with God, 7) the gospel is about Jesus as the means and end of our salvation.^[12] This is an excellent description of what the gospel is and what it accomplishes.

            Driscoll goes on to talk of the concept of dating Jesus before we hop into commitment with Him.^[13] This portion was not as offensive. Driscoll took a few stabs at erectile dysfunction, incontinence, and feminism.^[14] I am guessing he has ageist issues on top of his struggles with masculinity and femininity. (Oh, and minivans, but they don’t have feelings so I won’t belay that point.) Driscoll’s best work in the entire book centers around community and loneliness. Unfortunately he did not really write it and it is mostly cited from Robert Putnam’s work Bowling Alone.^[15] I think this may be telling. Driscoll seems to do well if he can just stay centered on the research and grounded in fact.

            I would love to stop there because it would end on a good note, but I really have to talk about the beer. And beer is also an excellent note to finish on. Driscoll ties the temperance movement to feminism in his book.^[16] I have no idea where he got this connection but it is entirely false. The women’s suffrage movement came long after the temperance movement and temperance had nothing to do whatsoever with any feminization of the Church. The temperance movement, regardless of what poor theology may have emerged in conjunction with it, most likely saved the nation from a sure plummet into dependency. As we have seen time and time again, the ramifications of war on returning veterans are overwhelming and immobilizing. Healing and time are required before soldiers can effectively reintegrate into family and society. Rwanda is a modern example of a country recovering from genocide through the efforts of women, while men take the needed time to rediscover and reinvent vision. Rwandan women lament the depression their men have fallen into and the passivity to which they have succumbed. They would do anything to pull their once stoic warriors away from the bottle and back into the present realities of rebuilding a country. The post war contributions of women worldwide to replenish, nurture, rejuvenate and sustain cultures are infamous throughout history and our story of civil war is no different. The temperance movement was an endeavor to save our men from the same fate. That Driscoll would try to demonize feminism for this is ridiculous. 

Conclusion

            I love beer. Not just any beer - I love stouts and porters - none of the light stuff. I hate this book though and almost everything in it. If there was some profound merit in it, I missed the forest for the trees. Driscoll understands nothing of what it means to be the Church. He does not understand her divinely gifted femininity. He does not understand masculinity or femininity and has resorted to false images of violence and sex. Mark speaks out against those who would deconstruct gender and yet this work is the greatest assault on femininity and masculinity I have read yet.^[17] He has completely deconstructed anything honorable and image bearing about either gender. I could not figure out who Driscoll’s audience was. I know it is not me, or any other woman for that matter. It is not meant for sinners. It is not meant for the elderly. It is not the liberal, or the fundamentalist. That leaves only one demographic really - young “emerging” males. My soul cringes inside of me that this is what will guide our young men in mission if other voices do not speak out louder and stronger to portray the beauty, grace, and strength of the Church, the Bride of Christ and Her mission to the world.          

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            ^[1] Mark Driscoll. The Radical Reformission: Reaching Out Without Selling Out. (Zondervan: Grand Rapids: MI. 2004), 15.

                ^[2] Ibid.,12.

                ^[3] Ibid., 16.

                ^[4] Ibid., 18.

                ^[5] Ibid., 19.

                ^[6] Ibid., 161.

                ^[7] Ibid., 20.

                ^[8] Ibid., 20.

                ^[9] Ibid., 36.

                ^[10] Ibid., 38.

                ^[11] Ibid., 53.

                ^[12] Ibid., 58-60.

                ^[13] Ibid., 67.

                ^[14] Ibid., 75.

                ^[15] Ibid., 78-82.

                ^[16] Ibid., 146.

                ^[17] Ibid., 169.

Layers of Community

A friend blogged yesterday about pain. I thought it insightful since I have been going through similar painful experiences and have been reluctant to write.

No.

Reluctant is the wrong word.

 I wanted to write. I have actually sat in front of a blank screen for days now wanting to write on community, but not being able to push beyond my aching loneliness to pen a piece. Passenger's Let Her Go keeps playing through my head (and for some reason Cyrus' Wrecking Ball - don't judge me. Who wouldn't be upset over a breakup with ANY of the Hemsworth brothers?!)  It is a premise I am all too familiar with. We do not appreciate what we have in the moment, but when it is gone we realize the value it brought to us. I have moved a lot in life. Every place I ever lived had perks and value of some sort. It is hard to focus on those things in the present. We tend to reminisce about what we had, or dream about what we want, yet rarely treasure what we have. I changed that a few years ago and much more aggressively in the last year. A mentor suggested I read Ann Voskamp's 1000 Gifts. It changed how I viewed and engaged my life. I started to keep a list of all the things I experienced each day that brought value to my life. After a while it became such a regular practice that I actually looked for these joyous, unexpected encounters. It is a good practice. Not only have I lived or am I going to live - I am living.

Today I am acutely aware that I am living. My sinuses are in extreme revolt against this reality and are trying to kill me. It is rare that you will see me take a day off of work due to illness. I typically feel that because I am miserable everyone else should also be subject to my abject existence. I wish I had someone to blame for my illness but, alas, it is entirely my fault. I cried too much, overloaded my sinuses with gooey goop, and have now traded my emotional expression for mucous membrane expression. The whole mind/soul/body connection can be messy. Amidst all this misery I can still be grateful for what I have - health insurance, doctors, antibiotics, tissues, chicken noodle soup, fluffy pillows, kids in school, and silence.

Why was I crying? Community. I miss it. More specifically, I miss what I had. There are levels and dimensions of community. It is not just one large mass of humanity. There is geographic community, church community, social community, family community, intimate community. No single community is designed to support the full weight of all our needs. They each serve a purpose and meet a need. Like rings of a tree, the layers of community mark the investments we have made in life. Each layer adds strength to who we are, mitigating and buffering what losses we may suffer. This move was particularly difficult for me and different from any other because I lost it all. Each move has always entailed a transition in one part or another, but not all at once. This one changed it all. My geography changed. My church changed. My friends changed. My family changed. My relationships changed. It has been overwhelming. I lived in Denver, CO for 9 years. Next to Brazil, that is the longest I have lived anywhere. My roots were deep. And if you have ever tried to move a tree, you know that the longer it has grown the more impossible the task becomes. (Great. Now I have The Head and the Heart's Cats and Dogs stuck in my head.)

An image of a chopped down tree in my backyard from several years ago repeatedly comes to mind. The tree had been poorly trained and a mixture of snow, hail, and lightening had taken its toll as well. I took the tree apart limb by limb. It was a gruesome task. When it was done, a pathetic stump sat there surrounded by the carnage of her flourishing years. This is how I feel - like that pathetic tree stump, embedded with years, rings, layers, dimensions of community, stripped and bare. A stump, however, is an odd thing. It is not dead. In fact, as I would soon find out, it takes a whole lot of effort to kill a stump. It may look lonesome and naked, but it is most definitely not dead. Saplings gradually peek out from the layers and cracks between the rings.  Moss forms and cloaks the rugged gashes. Growth is not impossible, only gradual.  In the meantime the tree can still produce new life, bear the weight of weary travelers and nourish the wildlife. I imagine that tree stump could reminisce of the glory days, or dream of the grandness it wants to attain. Those efforts would be poorly spent if it is all done in neglect of present tasks.

It is appropriate to grieve loss. My heart is completely crushed by the weight of that loss. I am alone and  exposed. Yet, that does not mean I have nothing to give until my rings expand and grow once again. I have my intermittent tasks to sprout life and to support others. (I imagine I can grow moss too, since I seem to be producing copious amounts of green gunk at the moment). It will be gradual. It will take time. And I will be strong again. Also, less delirious. I will be more coherent in the future too. But this post is not really about coherence. It is about getting the pain out and down in writing so I can focus on other more important things - my life as it is happening right now. So while I wait on the layers of community to form once again I will focus on what I do have instead of on what I do not.

Anyone Can Cook

“You must be imaginative, strong-hearted. You must try things that may not work, and you must not let anyone define your limits because of where you come from. Your only limit is your soul. What I say is true - anyone can cook... but only the fearless can be great.” Chef Gusteau

Ratatouille is one of my favorite Disney movies. I always assumed it was due to the cooking theme. I love to cook. I enjoy feeding people. And I am good at it. But now I realize it is more than just the cooking. It is the idea of succeeding in a world that tells you that you are different; that because of your race, gender, or ethnicity you cannot accomplish tasks for which you have been gifted. Ratatouille is the story of a rat who desires to be a chef. This is a story of a woman who desires to be in ministry.

I had two favorite stories as a young girl. The first, Amy Carmichael - a missionary to India. The second, a woman in the Bible named Deborah. I love the story of Deborah because it is my name. She was strong, confident, and decisive. The name Deborah, while meaning “bee” comes from the Hebrew root meaning “to speak” and speak she did. She was the voice of God to the people. It is not uncommon for the Word of God to enter the world through a woman. In fact, it is entirely logical considering the Incarnation. Why do we seem to struggle with it so much now?

In the 16th century theologian John Knox spoke out against the suitability of women (Queen Mary) in leadership and in so doing wrote of Deborah, “She was exempted from the common malediction given to women...and made prudent in counsel, strong in courage, happy in regiment, and blessed mother and deliverer to his people.” That does not quite seem the proper apologetic necessary to ban women from leadership. Essentially it means that God is sovereign. It means that if God sees fit, He is able to gift and call a woman into ministry if it suits His purposes regardless of the circumstances surrounding the cultural phenomenon. Based on the Biblical precedent set by Deborah’s story, it is not outside of God’s character to perform this function whether it is the norm or not if He so desires. Now the question becomes, “Does God desire that women lead?”

It would seem from my experience that there are women gifted to lead in ministry. They do not lead because there are either few to no opportunities to do so or they have been told that God does not allow it. Based on the aforementioned logic, God does allow women to lead even when it is not the social norm. It is not for us to speculate why He allows it, simply that He does allow it. For if we speculate in Deborah’s case as to why she was allowed to lead, then we must also speculate in the NT case of Paul’s prohibition for women leading. And since we cannot question one, then we should not question the other. It suffices to say, it is allowed. But if we were to speculate, an image comes to mind. 

The rat, Remy, in Ratatouille, watches outside the kitchen one evening after stumbling on Gusteau’s restaurant. He sees the newly hired garbage boy, Linguini, fumbling around the kitchen clumsily. Linguini knocks over the soup and spills some onto the floor. Quickly mopping up the mess, he turns to the soup and tries to replace ingredients in a frenzied hurry. Remy watches closely before panicking, “He’s ruining the soup!” Linguini was not a chef you see. He was not trained as a chef. He could not cook. Oh sure, he could scrounge up some hamburger helper perhaps, but he could not offer the 5 star fare customary at Gusteau’s restaurant. Linguini, as we find out later, is the son of the chef; by birthright the owner of the restaurant, but he could not cook. Some commentators are of the opinion that Paul’s words that women should not lead in ministry were a result of their inability to “cook”. Quite frankly, I do not blame him. I would not come to a five star restaurant and be happy leaving with a sloppy soup. If you do not know how to cook then you should not be cooking! Remy, however, can cook, but he is a rat. So, the question arises, “Can anyone cook?” And if anyone can cook, then is not everyone a cook? 

Luther argued so when he taught the priesthood of all believers. I do not imagine the issue of ministerial gifts exercised by all was in mind when he began. Luther’s emphasis was a matter of mediation. However, in so stating, the possibilities toward spiritual equality swung open. As theology developed and evangelicalism grew, the case solidified. Stanley Grenz writes that “the evangelical emphasis on the shared responsibility of all people of God for the work of the congregation leads quite naturally to an egalitarian view of the pastorate...the principle of the universal priesthood implies that the Spirit’s call of some to the pastorate arises fundamentally out of his call to all believers to be ministers of Christ.”

But there is an issue of representative character. This is the proposition that since Christ was male, then the leadership qualities for those aspiring to the priesthood/pastorate include maleness. As some have suggested, the leader representing Christ at the table cannot be female because a woman cannot fully represent God. Patrick Reardon invokes the imagery of iconography to further assist in the point and necessity of male priesthood. This calls into question the purpose of the Incarnation. Church Fathers assert that whatever the Son did not assume in the incarnation, he could not therein redeem. This is a little difficult to wrap the mind around so I will try and make it as simple as possible. Basically the plan of redemption involved Christ becoming like us in every way, yet without sin. If Christ did not fully identify with us then He could not redeem us. This has vast implications on Christ’s sacrifice for all of humanity to include women if we understand the Incarnation’s purpose to be dependent on his maleness as opposed to on his humanness. If the emphasis is placed on Christ’s maleness then he could not have redeemed women and we are still fallen. If Christ did redeem women then the Incarnation was about his assumption of human likeness and flesh irrespective of gender. Only in this manner could he have redeemed all humans. When we place soteriological value on Christ’s maleness then we negate his ability to represent all humans, male and female. Furthermore, God created man and woman in His image and if the salvific grace hinges on Christ’s maleness then he could not be fully God. But Christ is fully God, thereby making the assumption of human-likeness to be the prominent factor in the Incarnation. 

Now please do not assume that I am saying Christ was not male or that he was some sort of androgynous being. No. He was male. He was circumcised on the eighth day, for crying out loud. No one is doubting his manhood; it was historically and culturally necessary. But the implication of telling women that they cannot be “representative” of Christ because of gender has farther reaching effects. How can I then be Christ-like, bearing His image or representation to the world? I can never be Jesus to anyone. I am exempt. That would actually be a huge load off my mind. I am not sure how everyone else views Christ-likeness, but some days it can be the hardest part of existing. Being a Christian is not easy. And if it is, you are not doing it right.

Some will argue that ultimately women cannot be set apart for ministry because of the hierarchically structured Church. Men lead and women support and the church structure reflects the order of creation. I could actually buy into this one, because it sounds logical. However, there is a problem. A breakdown occurs when we acknowledge that not all men are priests and leaders in their churches. So if they are following or filling supportive functions or roles then are they filling the role of a woman? That seems rather absurd. This would mean that for a man to accept the authority of another man would be akin to homosexuality IF we are to base this function on gender and the created order. We cannot all be women in the congregation and all be men in the priesthood. The created order would dictate that men cannot lead men and women cannot lead women, because based on the created order only men can lead women and only women can support men. This is starting to look like one big chaotic episode of Hell’s Kitchen. The only logical setting in which to invoke the created order then lies in the relationship that exists between one man and one woman, not in the diversity of the Church where there are many men and many women. 

All the arguments aside, when we come down to the basics of the polarities, two truths remain. If I am called to the priesthood as a complementarian then I am extraordinary. If I am called to the priesthood as an egalitarian then I am ordinary. But in neither instance can I be construed as disobedient unless God has never and will never call a woman into leadership. But He has, and He does, therefore, I am either extraordinary or ordinary, but disobedient I am not. 

Anton Ego, a food critic, closes the script for Ratatouille with this quote, “In the past, I have made no secret of my disdain for Chef Gusteau's famous motto, ‘Anyone can cook.’ But I realize, only now do I truly understand what he meant. Not everyone can become a great artist; but a great artist can come from anywhere. It is difficult to imagine more humble origins than those of the genius now cooking at Gusteau's, who is, in this critic's opinion, nothing less than the finest chef in France.”

I did not go to seminary to become the world’s greatest chef. Half the time I do not even desire to be in the kitchen. I went to learn how to cook in order to serve those around me to the best of my ability. If the Spirit decides to endow me with gifts as the Chef de cuisine or the Sous chef then I am going to do just that - extraordinarily or ordinarily. But for now, I am just Anton Ego, I love great food and I know how to cook. 

Not Called To Be A Mother

My semester has all but finished. I have 2 finals to take on Monday and I am done until midsummer. I need the break. I am overwhelmed by the many roles I fill and hats I wear and I need rest. Today I trudged through a theology exam, willing myself to finish at whatever the cost. I wish it had been as simple as just sitting down and writing out my well researched answers to the questions posed. Had that been it, I could have finished in the matter of a few hours. But that’s not how it went down. 

I woke up at 6am and rolled over to find my three year old had snuck in my bed during the night. Normally I would have protested, but it was Saturday morning and I knew if I just stayed still he would continue to sleep. Thankful for the precious minutes of extra rest, I dozed off again. 8am. Heavenly. I needed that. My ten year old daughter heard us awake and joined the crew in the living room. Saturday mornings with my kids are my favorite. I only get one a month. They are with their father the other three weekends of the month. So Saturday breakfast is a big deal around here. Unfortunately, no one ever wants the same thing so meal preparation is a hubbub of activity as I labor away to satisfy each request.

I finally hunker down in my favorite reading chair with my laptop and coffee. Let the writing begin. I get about twenty minutes in only to hear loud fighting over who is going to watch what on TV. I settle the dispute with a movie they both enjoy. Twenty more minutes. Restless three year old refuses to sit still and insists he must stand front and center with his little nose only inches from the screen. More yelling. By the time I regain concentration on the task at hand it is yet another twenty minutes. Lunch approaches with sunny day demands for a visit to the park. Another hour. Is it naptime yet? Finally. A third of the way through the day and I feel completely unproductive. My patience is thin and my nerves are on edge. This is an easy day.

Today is Mother's Day; it's after midnight. Posts and articles are flying left and right on social media to celebrate the day. I see no reason why I should not contribute. I have a lot of thoughts rolling around in my head on the subject. I have read many articles and books that refer to motherhood as a calling. If this is so, it pains me to say, motherhood is not my calling. I have learned a great deal on my seminary journey about the notion of calling. Calling is not a role, a job, or a task we fulfill. It is an underlying theme that utilizes my God-given gifts and weaves its way through my life, permeating everything I do. A calling is “vocationally transportable,” as one of my professors states. It finds its way into everything I do. As I analyzed the many jobs and roles I have undertaken in life, I finally grasped a clear definition of my calling. It had nothing to do with children. My calling does, however, have a definite impact on how I mother. I am gifted at communication. I take complex concepts and translate them into simple applicable information for others to use. This characterized my job as a linguist. It was a large part of my role as a systems engineer and technical writer. It motivates me to inquire into deep theological matters to construct analogies and pictures, revealing God to others. It enables me to sit down with my three year old and have a conversation about salvation, baptism, and the gift of the Holy Spirit tailored to his level of understanding.

What shocked me the most was that this is the first I had heard of this definition of a calling. And yet it finally all made sense. Motherhood is not my calling and it never will be. Being a mother is a role I signed up for in life. But not all of us get to sign up for that role. Does that make our calling any less relevant? Absolutely not. Being a wife was not a calling; it was a position I was privileged to undertake. I had high hopes of keeping that job for life, but life is full of unfortunate twists and turns. (I am still not sure whether he left his job or I was fired from mine; probably a mixture of both.) The underlying security to which I hold is that the presence of Christ in my life has never been altered by the circumstances that surround me. I still have my calling. It is always there. It is always with me.

There are so many things wrong with referring to motherhood and wifedom as callings now that I think about it. What happens to mothers when their children leave home? Has her calling left her? What of the mother who loses her child? Do we say she has lost her calling in life? What of the widow? What of the wife who is abused, abandoned or discarded? Do we say they no longer have their calling? Or the young bride who discovers she is infertile? Was there never a calling to begin with? What an absurdity! I tire of hearing the words that being a wife and mother are a calling in life that prohibit a woman from accomplishing anything else. Do we say that fatherhood is a calling? Is being a husband a calling that negates all else? Of course not. These are roles we fulfill in the pursuit of our calling in service to God. A calling will infiltrate everything we do, whether they be jobs, roles, or simple tasks.

I love being a mother. It is one of the most joyful tasks I have undertaken in life. But there are days when I think to myself: God, this job is too difficult. I am not equipped to handle this. The demands are too high. The salary is too low. I am bored, tired, frustrated - you name it!  I persevere though. Because part of what it means to be called is to be faithful to the roles I have undertaken in life. I was not born a mother. I was not called to be a mother at my conversion, nor at my baptism, not even as I approached adulthood. And yet God had placed a calling on my life at a young age and while it lacked clear definition I knew it was there. Motherhood does not constitute my calling, but it provides me with an added opportunity to live that calling out in my everyday life. I am relieved to have discovered how the notion of calling fits into being a mother before the pressures of inadequacy threatened to overwhelm me. And so today on Mother's Day I will celebrate this role. More importantly I will celebrate the fact that God's calling is always with me, facilitating my ability to carry out this task of being mother.