Who's Telling the Old, Old Story?: Women in the Story of Redemption

Our sense of the biblical story is shaped by who has told us the story. Our narrators have lingered over particular details. They've skipped over others. We see what they tell us to see. As a consequence, sometimes the truth is right under our noses, but we've missed it entirely.

I know this because my students tell me so. Last night at an event on campus, a few of my students told me what a huge difference it makes to have a Bible class with a woman. They are hearing different things. The text is framed in fresh ways. 

It's the same text, of course. The truth is still the truth. I bring nothing new to the Bible except a new set of questions to investigate what has always been there. The text yields different answers when we ask different questions. 

Is the Bible good for women? Whose has power in this story? Who is doing the telling? Where are the women?

I have not always asked these questions. I was already in my 40s the first time someone asked me to read the Bible as a woman. I'm not new to biblical studies. I attended a private, Christian school with regular Bible classes from Kindergarten through high school graduation. Then I headed to Bible college for four years of robust training in engaging the biblical text, followed by five years (part-time) in seminary and five more years (full-time) in graduate school, where I earned a PhD in Biblical Theology with a concentration in Old Testament. I had a grand total of one female instructor for a Bible class, a grad student who worked under the male professor of record (both of whom were wonderful). I was blessed to have two female Bible scholars on my dissertation committee, but I never had a class with either of them. I have never studied theology with a woman professor. Only once in all these years of school (that I can recall) did a Bible or theology professor ask me to read a book written by a woman. 

Then suddenly at 43 years of age in the space of a few weeks not one but two Christian publishers asked me to contribute textual notes for women's study Bibles. I have never read a woman's study Bible. I wondered whether women even need their own Bibles. But as I prayerfully considered these opportunities, I felt the Spirit of God nudge me to say "yes" to both projects. I'm so very glad I did.

Both projects -- one for Tyndale House and one for Lifeway -- envisioned a Bible that would meet women where they are, addressing their questions and concerns and helping them encounter God in a fresh way. It was a powerful experience for me to return to the pages of Scripture with this goal in mind. What will women wonder when they read this text? What will bother them? What will encourage them? How do women contribute to the storyline of the Bible? How does this text call women in particular to respond faithfully?

I have always held a high view of Scripture. I believe it is the word of God for the people of God. I believe it is inspired and authoritative. I believe the Spirit of God works through Scripture as we read and helps us to respond to it. I even believe that the meaning of the Bible is tethered to the author's intent. However, as I read Genesis and Exodus with these new questions in mind, I noticed things I had never seen before. I encountered God in powerful ways. I wrestled more deeply, and as a result I came away with a deep conviction that the Bible is good for women. When we only ever hear the Bible taught by men, whose questions and contexts are in some ways different than those of women, we risk not seeing the whole picture.

Intentionally reading the Bible as a woman and for women felt like finally slipping into an outfit that fit after a lifetime of hand-me-downs that were too tight in some places and baggy in others and which didn't quite match the rest of my outfit. I began to wonder if I needed to write a whole book about the experience. After all, since most pastors are men and most sermons are by men and most Bible teachers are men, a lot of other women (and men!!) might be missing out on these insights, too. 

About that time, I sat down to read Kat Armas' book Abuelita Faith: What Women on the Margins Teach Us About Wisdom, Persistence, and Strength. I read it because not only do we have a lot to learn from women, we have a lot to learn from the global church. 

As her website explains, 

"Kat Armas, a second-generation Cuban American, grew up on the outskirts of Miami's famed Little Havana neighborhood. Her earliest theological formation came from her grandmother, her abuelita, who fled Cuba during the height of political unrest and raised three children alone after her husband passed away. Combining personal storytelling with biblical reflection, Armas shows us how voices on the margins--those often dismissed, isolated, and oppressed because of their race, gender, socioeconomic status, or lack of education--have more to teach us about following God than we realize."

Writing as a Cuban-American woman prompts Kat to ask a different set of questions of the biblical text. She invites us to listen in and pay attention to a broader range of voices and experiences in the biblical text. Her book is magnificent. I closed it and said, "I don't need to write the book. Kat has already done it!"

Armas amasses mountains of evidence that God calls and equips women. God honors women. God commissions women to participate in kingdom work. For Armas, the biblical narrative disrupts the status quo and points to women on the margins as a source of wisdom, persistence, and strength. Not only does Kat write beautifully, she exegetes Scripture faithfully and calls the church boldly to turn our gaze outward and learn from new voices. I'm so grateful for her work and  I'm excited to share it with my students. 

The Bible is good for women. I'm finally learning to articulate how and why.

 

Mary Comforts Eve,
by Elizabeth Rubio (prints available
by contacting the artist directly)

I'll leave you with an image painted by one of my Latina colleagues. Elizabeth Rubio reinvisioned the famous painting by Sister Grace Remington. She was selling prints at the event yesterday evening on campus, an event to celebrate Women's History Month. How appropriate!

Women are an integral part of the story of redemption. Eve's partnership with Adam in tending the garden of Eden illustrates one of the roles to which women are called. Eve's subsequent rebellion, for which she was personally held accountable, affirms the agency of women and underscores that our choices matter. Mary's willing submission to God's work suggests that women have not been written out of the story. God chose a woman to birth and nurture the Savior. From the cradle to the cross and from the ascension to the pouring out of the Spirit, Mary stands as a model for all believers, inviting us as participants in the kingdom of God.* 

Gender isn't everything, but it's something. We can rush past these women and many more, but if we do, we're missing out on part of God's beautiful story of redemption. Let's listen to new retellings of the old, old story and see what we might have missed.

*For more on Mary from an Evangelical perspective, see Amy Beverage Peeler's impressive new book, Women and the Gender of God (Eerdmans, Fall 2022).

TIME, Trump, The Death of Socrates, and The Art of Biblical Interpretation

Journalism ethics is all the rage this week (literally), with a provocative TIME magazine cover on the topic of immigration. (With apologies to readers interested in the politics of immigration and assurances to those weary of the debate, this post is not about immigration, but rather the relationship between art and truth). Are the facts at odds with the truth?

The Facts: President Trump has never met this girl from Honduras. Her separation from her mother at the border was only momentary, as her mom was searched. Afterward they were (at least temporarily) reunited as they awaited processing.

The Truth: Still, the girl comes to represent the many hundreds of children who have been separated from their parents while seeking a better life. The moral outrage following the public's realization of this is understandable, no matter how you propose to handle illegal immigration.

TIME's cover reminds me of a painting from the 1700's -- "The Death of Socrates," by Jacques-Louis David. David depicts Socrates surrounded by his disciples, on the verge of drinking his death sentence in poison. He teaches until the final moments of his life, remaining stoic in the face of death.

"The Death of Socrates" by Jacques-Louis David (1786)
Public Domain / Wikimedia Commons

Here's the connection with TIME's cover: Plato, from whom we learn the story of Socrates' death, was not present when it happened, yet David depicts him seated at the foot of the bed, slumped over and facing away.

Why include such an inaccuracy in this painting?

The Facts: David knew from Plato's own writings that he was not present at Socrates' death.

The Truth: Plato was deeply affected by Socrates' death and opposed it. By positioning him at the foot of the bed, looking away, the artist accurately captured Plato's disposition toward the death of his esteemed colleague. If Plato had been missing from the painting, we would lose this central point the artist is trying to make -- a point that coveys the truth of history creatively.

From time to time, feathers are ruffled when someone dares to suggest that the writers of Scripture  were brilliant artists. To some, this implies a disconnect with truth and a denial of divine inspiration. The second objection is easily solved. The God who created all things endows humans with creativity and invites us to participate in his work. As a prime example, take Bezalel and Oholiab, the men charged with designing the tabernacle (Exodus 31). These men were Spirit-filled and skilled creatives, in spite of the fact that their task was to construct something that already had very detailed blueprints. If their creativity was not a valuable asset for this project, God would have been better served finding an automaton. No, he chose humans, men who had spent years honing their skills in weaving and engraving and woodworking and all types of art.

But does art imply a disconnect with truth? Put another way, would the exercise of artistic license in the production of sacred Scripture get in the way of truth?

A great place to test this theory is in the Gospels. Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John each tell us the story of Jesus. With their words they paint a portrait for us of his life and ministry. They share much in common, at times even whole episodes or chapters. But there are differences, and some of these are rather puzzling. Did Jesus drive out the money changers in the temple at the beginning of his ministry (as John tells it)? or at the end (as Matthew, Mark, and Luke recount)?  Some Christians assume that Jesus must have driven them out twice -- once at the beginning and another time at the end of his ministry. But could this be an example of creative license?

Each Gospel writer introduces us to the historical Jesus by showing us something distinct about who he really is -- the Jewish Messiah (Matthew), the suffering Son of God (Mark), the Savior for all people (Luke), the Son who reveals the Father (John). To show us what is true about Jesus, in some instances they are best served by rearranging events so that everything will point in the direction they want us to look. This is not because they are trying to hide the truth, but because truth is their main concern. They arrange the details so that we as readers don't get muddled -- so that we can see what they see.

Matthew, Mark, and Luke may have saved this story until the end to illustrate how the opposition to Jesus gained momentum, resulting in his crucifixion. On the other hand (I suspect this is the better explanation), John may have chosen to tell us about the temple cleansing earlier because he's arranging the episodes of Jesus' life topically. The temple cleansing fits a string of stories illustrating Jesus' redefinition of Jewish institutions (sacred vessels, temple, rabbis, and sacred sites; John 2:1-4:54).* The cluster of stories among which the temple cleansing sits is followed by a series of stories in which Jesus redefines Jewish festivals (Sabbath, Passover, feast of Tabernacles, and feast of Dedication). Together, these two clusters make up the "Book of Signs," where John presents 7 signs that reveal Jesus' identity and call people to faith, setting us up for the "Book of Glory," where Jesus is glorified by offering his life on the cross.

However you slice it, artistic license is clearly at work. Either somebody moved this event out of chronological order, or all four gospel writers chose to omit a second occurrence. In my opinion, the truth has been gloriously served.

*For a fuller discussion of John's arrangement of material, see Gary M. Burge, Lynn H. Cohick, and Gene L. Green, The New Testament in Antiquity (Zondervan, 2009), 216-219.

compelled to create: art and faith

What must you do?
I'm not referring to your to-do list.
What are you compelled to do?
(besides eat chocolate)
What can you not help doing?

Asher Lev could not help but draw. His eyes would follow the contours of windows, of trees, of faces and their bodies. His fingers would trace shapes over and over, practicing. He filled reams of paper and acres of canvas. He dulled pencils and emptied tubes of paint. When he should have been studying Torah or mathematics, Asher drew. When he should have been listening, he absorbed himself in shadow and light, wondering how the effect could be achieved on paper.

What is it for you?
What were you born to do?

Asher's poor father could not understand him. He called drawing "foolishness" and chided his son repeatedly, angered by his distraction. But Asher could not shut off his fount of creativity. He even drew in his sleep (on the wall! with red crayon!). Asher's Hasidic Jewish community could not understand him. His classmates jeered at him, calling him "Picasso."

A dear friend of mine is an artist. After years of chronic pain, she's made a profound discovery—art is a form of praise. Pain has become the crucible for some of the best art she's ever birthed, more original and more meaningful, and therefore a part of her healing journey. Somehow her finger-gripped pencil bypasses the toxic cesspool of her own complaints, words that only drag her down. It liberates the praise-filled perspective she longs to have. She reminded me that the same has been true of my writing.

Enter the Rabbi—the most powerful figure in Asher's world. As his father's boss, the Rabbi's word was canon. He was never disobeyed. I expected him to come crashing down on the young artist, to forbid him to draw or paint. But in a remarkable plot twist, he doesn't. I won't spoil the rest of the story. If you haven't read the book yourself, put it on your list right now: My Name is Asher Lev, by Chaim Potok.

The friend I mentioned took a risk yesterday, showing her drawings to her parents. One brusque comment could have destroyed her, but by the magnificent grace of God, they gushed, awed by what she had created.

Providentially, after finishing the novel, I picked up the summer magazine of Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary, my alma mater. The theme? "Arts in the Church"—page after page of beautiful reflections on the place of art in our faith journey. Truly refreshing.

One article in particular struck me as appropriate: "Made by a Maker to be a Maker," by Bruce Herman, an artist and professor of art at Gordon College in Massachusetts. Herman's reflections mimic Asher's journey as an artist into adulthood. He says, "the child creates art from a place of fearlessness and natural freedom. Art and fear are not good bedfellows." (Fear makes a lousy bedfellow for dissertations, too, by the way.)

Night by Bruce Herman (1991)
www.bruceherman.com

According to Herman, "The artistic act is one that can only be wholehearted."As soon as Asher Lev discovers this, when he gives himself fully to the artistic process, he creates his greatest masterpiece. But it may cost him everything. Art is not easy. It is a massive risk.

In some cases, so is a blog post. Or a meal for honored guests. Or an academic paper. Or a remodeled kitchen. Or a counseling session. Or a sermon.

Quoting Tolkien, Herman says, "we put the thought of all that we love into all that we make." As I contemplate my next major writing project, I hesitate, but only for a moment. Just as Asher must paint, so I must write. I have no other option. All that I love will find expression on the pages of my next book. Fear has no place, only a complete devotion to the craft of writing until the project is birthed.

Herman insists, "The kind of makers we are to become involves echoing God's own character in our creative process." That involves self-sacrifice and risk, the possibility that it won't be well-received, or that we'll be misunderstood. But we were created to create. And so I must. And so must you. Let's make something good.

learning to see

Two events, miles apart and so very different, linked hands in plain view, inviting me to consider them side by side.

The first, a memorial service. I had only met the man once in church before a dreadful disease took hold of his mind and dragged him on a downward spiral that ended this New Year's Day. I knew only the severity of his illness and saw the sorrow and courage of his wife as she came alone on Sundays. We connected briefly, the day I learned of his condition, and I held her in my heart for the ensuing weeks. When I heard of his death, I had to be there. For Char.

... for Dear Life (Photo: C Imes)

In that hour I learned volumes about the man whose rich life was cut short. An optometrist by profession, Don spent decades helping others to see. And on weekends? He explored the outdoors — camping, fishing, hunting, hiking — toting heavy camera lenses everywhere he went. Before the service started we were treated to a sampling of his award-winning work. He had such an eye for beauty! Butterflies up close, wildebeests crossing muddy rivers, birds in flight. Anyone can whip out a cell phone and snap a picture of nice scenery. It takes a special "eye" (and sophisticated equipment) to get the angle and the lighting and the aperture just right so that the picture comes alive. Don possessed that special sight.

From the service I headed directly to Newberg to teach my class on Wisdom Literature. The order of the day was understanding how Hebrew poetry works, especially proverbs. We began by discussing a chapter from Leland Ryken's Words of Delight: A Literary Introduction to the Bible. One student spoke up, "I really like how he related proverbs to photography. That's such an interesting way of thinking about it." Aha! Indeed, Ryken refers to these "wisdom teachers" as "the photographers of the Bible" (316, paraphrasing Robert Short, A Time to Be Born—A Time to Die).

And it's true, isn't it? The writers of proverbs have an extraordinary eye for ordinary things. They look at the same ship, the same busy street, the same plants, but they see beyond the surface, making connections that enlighten our minds and dazzle our ears. Here's a glimpse through the eyes of a sage:

"The LORD tears down the house of the proud,
but he sets the widow's boundary stones in place." (Proverbs 15:25)

The images evoked by this proverb, chosen at random, are so vivid! See Yahweh himself, muscles gleaming in the hot Mediterranean sun, as he demolishes a stone house. See him cross the field with stone after plaster-crusted stone and place each deliberately as a boundary, while the grateful widow looks on, tears streaming down her face. See the proud man with arms crossed and furrowed brow, sputtering frustration, but unable to defend himself.

The sage could have said, "It is inadvisable to be proud" and "You should not take advantage of the poor." But here instead we have a living image, painted in words, that joins both ideas. Yahweh himself takes action. We watch him at work. We stand at the sidelines feeling chastened or grateful or energized -- depending on the state of our own hearts.

Captured Alive (Photo: C Imes)

And as we seek to understand this picture in words, we begin to see what the wise one sees. We are overtaken by wonder.

More than one person at the memorial service told us that they had one of Don's stunning pictures on display at home. They were grateful to have been given his eyes, to experience his love of creation, and to have had their own wonder awakened. Don, a modern sage, helped others to see the wisdom and beauty of God's handiwork.

Ironically, in the final months of his life, Don's eyesight faded until he was completely blind. His caregiver spoke about the doctor's blindness. As he lost physical sight, he began to experience vivid visions of glory. He would take the hands of those around him and ask, "Do you see it? Do you see Jesus in all of his glory?" Don was learning to see in other dimensions, and his faith grew in leaps and bounds over those dark weeks and months. The eye doctor who possessed such extraordinary vision in this life far preferred his new-found spiritual sight.

May we, too, learn to see.

leap of faith

"Leap of Faith" by Jasmine May

This is the third of three watercolors that Jasmine May shared with me — and I'm delighted to have permission to share it with you. It grapples with another dimension of faith. "Falling Into His Hands" portrayed the strong hands of God that are ready to catch us whenever we let go of control. This painting — "Leap of Faith" — depicts the empowerment of the Holy Spirit to do what is far beyond our natural abilities. In this phase of Jasmine's walk with Jesus he was asking her not to sit back and watch Him work on her behalf, but to step out and take action on others' behalf with no guarantee of success. Jasmine explains,

"When we sensed God telling us to start an aftercare home for sex-trafficking survivors, it seemed impossible. God was saying, 'Jump off that cliff.' I asked Him, " ... so are You going to catch me?' But He answered, 'No. I gave you everything you need to fly. The wings are the Holy Spirit. The only way to experience how to fly by My Spirit is to jump!'"

The rhythm of our life with God includes both kinds of trust -- both quiet waiting and taking action. Is God prompting you to take a leap of faith? Is there an impossible task that awaits you? If God is asking you to do it, He has already supplied you with everything you need.

falling into his hands

"Falling into His Hands" by Jasmine May

Today I wanted to share another of Jasmine May's stunning watercolors (with her permission). Describing this scene, Jasmine says, "Many times, in order to trust God, you have to let go of what you are holding onto. Trusting God often feels like falling into chaos and storm and losing solid ground. But only when you let go, do you find God's strong hands."

Take a few moments to think about your own life. Where is God asking you to trust Him? Does it feel like to trust you'll have to let go of everything comfortable and familiar and enter into a season of chaos?

Last fall I let go of the rope. In the chaos that ensued I felt God's strong hands cradling me, protecting me. Had I clung to the rope, trying to maintain control of my situation, I would have missed out on some priceless gifts.

Trust is easy when all is well, but it also isn't very impressive. Life's greatest difficulties are the true test of our faith in God. At the precise moment when life feels most out of control, God is inviting us to fall back into His hands. It would be easy to let go if we already felt the strength of His hands beneath us. But we can't. And that's where trust comes in — believing that He will be there to catch us, even when we can't see or hear him.

As Peter puts it, "Such trials show the proven character of your faith, which is much more valuable than gold— gold that is tested by fire, even though it is passing away— and will bring praise and glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed." (1 Peter 1:7 New English Translation)

after the storm

Art speaks powerfully. The artistry of Israel's tabernacle captured a sense of God's majesty with its gold overlays, fine fabrics, rich colors, and sparkling gemstones. Images of cherubim, lush fruits, and verdant trees evoked memories of the Garden. Aaron's fabulous clothes illustrated his role as intercessor for the nation. The design of the tabernacle and its furnishings was important enough to God that he gave Moses detailed plans to follow and set apart two men uniquely gifted in the arts to carry out the work (Exodus 30:1–11).

In a recent web article, Christian leadership guru Michael Hyatt claimed,

"Art has the power to point us to the divine, to the ultimate Artist. It doesn’t answer all the questions, but it can shine a light on questions we didn’t even know we had."

My friend, Jasmine May, author of Deep Waters, has graciously agreed to let me share some of her beautiful artwork with you. Like the artistry of the tabernacle, Jasmine's art speaks. While our journeys have been vastly different, we've both experienced pain and brokenness as well as healing.

"After the Storm" by Jasmine May

Her painting so stunningly portrays the state of my soul. The worst of the storm is over and the sun has begun streaming down from the clouds. The tree is surprised to look down and discover that she has not been destroyed. In fact, the power of the storm has stirred up deeper beauty. Her joy unfolds like a flower. Jasmine explains, "As the wind blows the leaves, it carries the seeds of the tree's beauty to the world at large, spreading life."

Thanks, Jasmine, for sharing this gift with the world and lifting our eyes to look to God!

seeing Christ in the Darkness

                                                                     Photo: Carmen Imes

One of the perks of living in Wheaton is the free museum in the Billy Graham Center on campus, with its gallery of featured artists. I hadn't paid attention to the latest exhibit until recently. The paintings of Georges Rouault (1871–1958) have been on display since November, just waiting for me to wake up and discover them. His artistic message resonates profoundly with all I have been living and learning this year. Rouault dwells on suffering and pain, but illustrates the light of Christ that draws us even in bleak darkness.

One painting in particular grabbed me. The caption reads:

"Out of the depths ...," Miserere Series, Plate 47
Etching by Georges Rouault / Photo by Carmen Imes

"Lying alone on a bed, this figure sheds dark and powerful tears. Cut off from the communion of the other figures on the background, this place is the "depths." As the person calls out to Christ, his presence is there. With a brilliant light, Christ illuminates the figure and even seems to be pulling the individual up from the bed toward the light. Rouault makes it plain that not only can we call to Christ from the depths, but that he is already there."

Even in the darkest night, Christ is with us. We never suffer alone. The life and hope of Christ overcomes death itself.

"Benediction Christ,"
Fleurs du Mal 1 Series
Etching: G. Rouault
Photo: C. Imes

"Arise, You Dead!"
Miserere Series, Plate 54
Etching: G. Rouault
Photo: C. Imes

"Resurrection"
Intaglio
By Georges Rouault
Photo: Carmen Imes