How I am a feminist

by Meg Jenista, Staff Writer

(Editor's note: This is the second of a two-part series.)

In my last article, I wrote that from a perspective of Reformed anthropology, I am constrained to be a feminist. The question for this article then is, “How I am a feminist?” In other words, how does an ideological, theological presupposition uniquely affect the way I interact with my world?

This morning I woke up to the BBC on NPR, an admittedly therapeutic way to be roused into consciousness. The BBC was covering a news story from South Africa; Johannesburg International Airport is being renamed O. R. Tambo International Airport, in honor of Oliver Tambo. Tambo served as the leader of the African National Congress for 30 years under apartheid, but died before the first democratic elections in South Africa – the fruit of his labor – were held.

As I processed this story, I thought to myself, “What a wonderful way for a people to reclaim their dignity and the importance of their voice in the history of their nation.” Almost as I was thinking these words, the reporter began talking to people opposed to the renaming project. The opponents, majority white Afrikaners, see these movements as “unnecessary meddling and a waste of money.”

I thought to myself, “Of course they do. If you’ve never been invisible, what difference does a name, does inclusive language, make to you?”

My experience as a feminist in conservative Christian circles is hardly comparable to the experience of people subjected to systemic marginalization, denial of education and medical attention – essentially physical and spiritual death – for 55 years. I don’t dream of saying that my experience has been the same except in this particular: in attempting to correct an errant system, in standing up for one’s own dignity, I have been felt the sting of being characterized by “unnecessary meddling.”

In his book Not the Way Its Supposed To Be, Neil Plantinga writes, “The same tradition that held pride to be a sin and humility a virtue has often been dominated by whites who have preached humility to blacks, by men who have preached submissiveness to women, by rigid and unimaginative people who have regarded every creative impulse, every struggle for personal dignity, as a shameful show of arrogance. In the eyes of such persons, anyone who wants mere self-respect was cheeky.”

There are two causes I feel strongly about because I am a feminist. The first is that the curse is still operative and, therefore, feminism is still necessary. All around the world, women are raped, beaten, denied education, killed, mutilated, kept locked in the prisons of their own homes for the simple reason that they are female. And it’s not only in other countries. These abuses happen in our own congregations, in our families, in our neighborhoods, and in our schools.

As a Western, white, middle-class woman, I have a responsibility to use my invisible power to reach a hand out to others. I learned this lesson by observing the men of the Christian Reformed denomination who, long before it was popular and long before I knew them or they knew of me, decided to use their invisible power to fight on my behalf. Today I am a student, pursuing candidacy in the CRCNA at Calvin Theological Seminary, and I applaud their stewardly use of headship.

The second cause is much less global but definitely affects my daily life in the community of CTS. In many ways, the first wave of women who bushwhacked a trail through seminary into the pastorate recognized the “old boys club” and figured out how to play the game. As a result of their trail blazing I hope that my footsteps land a little softer. Having said that, however, I believe we are on the cusp of a second wave. In this wave, women are beginning to ask different questions, questions about maintaining our essential femininity while pursing a historically masculine vocation and calling. I have learned that I do not need to become less female in order to succeed. Indeed, there have already been times in ministry in which I’ve discovered my gender as an asset. I can preach sermons and wear pink at the same time.

I am grieved by gender-exclusive language for humanity. I believe that we as Reformed Christians have a moral obligation to bind people’s consciences on this issue. (Insert protests of “unnecessary meddling” here.) I notice when professors use gender-inclusive language and I am grateful. I notice when students use gender-inclusive language, even inconsistently, and I am overwhelmed by the hospitality inherent in their efforts. I feel like I am finally visible as a human and as a woman in a classroom where professors include, as a part of class expectations, “Please remember to use gender-inclusive language in your written assignments out of respect for the Image of God in all of us.”

In this quest for greater awareness and change, I am blessed by friends to remind me that asking people to use gender-inclusive language is so far right of militant feminism that to equate the two is laughable.

But then, I also want to hold myself in check. Further on in the same paragraph from Not the Way Its Supposed to Be, Plantinga writes, “Then, in one of the tragic ironies of sin, the humbled sometimes reply by usurping the very pride they hated. They reach for proper self-respect but end up overreaching … In sin as on ice, people coming out of a skid tend to oversteer.”

We are a people under the curse. The best we can do may come in small, stumbling steps. I am just as likely to oversteer as others are to characterize my behavior as “unnecessary meddling.” When these misunderstandings surface, we are reminded that we build community, not by getting it right, but by lamenting how often we get it wrong.

Such a confession draws us closer to the merciful heart of God, which, finally, is where true community begins.

Want to respond to this article? Send your letter to letters@kerux.org; see the guidelines for more information.