Who Do You Say That I Am?
LINDSEY MOOBERRY
It was about five years ago now, and the story for that summer Sunday morning was God choosing David as king out of all his brothers. The leader asked for kids to volunteer to act out the story. Lots of excited hands flew up. Most of my class of second-grade girls had their hands up. And then I watched numbly off to the side as the leader explained to them that he would only be selecting boys because it was only boys in the story. Their excitement dissipated as quickly as it had risen up as they sank back into their chairs.
To phrase it in a slightly different way, this instance was a male leader telling a story recorded by a man about a traditionally and predominantly masculine God who, through a male prophet, chose a boy out of all his brothers to one day be a leader. I don’t understand how those girls, or girls and women in general, are supposed to have the imagination to see themselves as leaders or embodying other strong qualities when they are shown implicitly and explicitly that they have no place.
What I said to those girls when we got back to our classroom after that story is a bit of a blur. But it was probably something about how girls can do things supported with examples of women in the bible that are rarely told. Damage control. Who knows if it was enough.
It makes me wonder how many of those moments I must have had growing up as a kid in that church. Though some of the exact experiences may have faded from memory, the lack of belonging, worth and fairness has made its mark. Death by a thousand paper cuts. I wonder how I would have been different if I heard women’s stories elevated as much as men’s stories, if God was referred to as “she” in equal measure to “he,” if I could see my inherent value reflected back to my developing self by what the church valued through its words and actions.
Before things can be made right and more inclusive, I think there has to be an acknowledgement of the pain that’s been caused. True healing requires that validation and space for stories to be heard.
The first time I heard God referred to as “she” was in a blog post found by my own digging as my faith was exploding all over the place. It floored me more than it should have for being a fully-grown adult. But I had never heard that growing up. There was only one view of God that was “right,” and that definitely was not it. That one tiny pronoun held a glimmer of freedom and wholeness — to finally see something of myself.
Little things matter. Representation matters. Our language about God matters.
Fast forward a little bit and I mostly refrain from using pronouns for God to leave it more open-ended (unless the grammar of not using them gets unbearably awkward). The only way I use “he” is if it accidentally slips out because of the way I was programmed as a child. Sometimes I will intentionally use “she” so other women will hear or to make a point and poke things. I’m definitely one of those people who will endlessly poke and question things until there is change for the better.
And it’s not easy to change the thousands of years of ingrained patriarchy in the Christian expression of faith. I’ve taken any number of hits for speaking up about such things. Those who have traditionally held the power are going to have a different view of God and what that God expects than those who have been crushed under the weight. What works for one group doesn’t always work for the other and, in some cases, is harmful. It’s made it hard for me to maintain much faith at all when it feels like holding onto broken glass. All the damage and narrowness still feels suffocating sometimes.
I’ve put many of my thoughts about God on the back burner these days as I’ve focused on my own healing. Though I will say my concept of God is exceptionally loose — maybe more of a nebulous, ethereal spirit or force rather than any sort of black-and-white gendered being. Maybe. Trying to pin it down exactly would work about as well as trying to nail Jell-O to a tree. I want something wider and more expansive and whole.
Something where there’s more space for people to breathe and be themselves.
Where it’s emotionally and mentally healthy instead of (re)traumatizing.
Where there’s an invitation to name God for oneself as Hagar did.
Where belonging is freely given.
Where people are seen and can see themselves within the story and the divine.
Lindsey feels most herself when creating — creating anything, really — and is an Enneagram 4w5. She might also have a slight newfound houseplant obsession. And she hates having to write this bio because writing about oneself in the third person feels weird.