A Wee Rant

The other day, I ran into an acquaintance whom I've known ever since my early university days. We have mutual friends, mostly through InterVarsity Christian Fellowship connections from our university days, and periodically run into one another. When we meet, we usually have a brief exchange of "how are you"s and then go on about our business.

This time, when he saw me, he said hello and mentioned that he thinks of me every time he receives his Mennonite Brethren Herald (the Canadian denominational periodical)--although, he noted, he has since moved on to another church affiliation and no longer attends a Mennonite Brethren congregation.

I said that I had also recently begun moving on from the Mennonite Brethren Church, mentioning that I was no longer willing to constantly fight against the restrictions facing women in leadership.

It was a brief comment, made only because he had initiated this stream of conversation in the first place. After all, he is well aware that I have been in seminary and in church leadership within the Mennonite Brethren Church--that's the whole reason that he raised the topic in the first place.

But immediately, he turned to his friend and said something to the effect of, "I'm not going to touch that" and then compared the conversation to a colleague of his who brings up Donald Trump every time they meet one another. This led to a lengthy exchange with his buddy about his own political leanings, his feelings about how he would vote were he an American, and so on.

I shut up, feeling embarrassed, and went on my way.

But somehow I felt guilty for the whole exchange, as if I had done something wrong.

In no way did I intend to start an awkward conversation, and it was not me who raised the subject of religion but my friend. I was, I think, trying to prevent ongoing awkward exchanges like this in the future by simply explaining that I was moving on from the Mennonite Brethren Church. And I literally offered a few words of explanation about why, carefully phrased to be as neutral as possible.

Because, let's face it, I wear my position on the 'women in ministry leadership' debate on my sleeve. I have to. In order to be faithful to my vocation, I have no choice. And the denomination's position on the 'issue' (and I have a huge problem with the fact that we refer to 'women in ministry leadership' as an issue in the first place--when we refer to any group of people as 'issues' when they are in fact persons created in the image of God) is also hardly front page news.

Nothing I said was intended to be offensive or controversial. I was just attempting to name my reality--and, in fact, doing my very best to summarize a painful personal journey in such a way as to be as sensitive and as matter of fact as I could.

If I had wanted to start a debate, I certainly am capable of doing so. Goodness knows, I have studied and reflected on and lived this conversation enough.

This is hardly the first time such an exchange has happened, either.

But today as the guilty feeling lingers and I find myself fingering the wound, wondering what I should have done differently, I am wondering if I've got things mixed up.

You see, I've spent a lot of time over the past decade trying to make myself small enough to be non-threatening, trying to stick as close to the box as possible even when I clearly couldn't wholly embrace life within the box.

And the fact is, my friend, unintentionally I'm sure, didn't only name the conversation as being potentially offensive and inappropriate for polite conversation--but also made me feel like who I am is offensive and needs to be kept under wraps in polite company.

That's not fair. But it happens--too much.

And one of the hardest things for me right now is recognizing how very often I find myself apologizing for, essentially, taking up space in the world. For having opinions. For having gifts, and wanting to find ways to use them. Even, sometimes, for physically taking up space in the world.

So, if you've made it this far, thanks for hearing my rant today. I needed to speak this out loud--to give myself permission, at least in this space, to speak my truth, to voice my opinions, and to take up space.

And to remind myself that in God's eyes, I'm fearfully and wondrously made, and named as beloved. That nothing about who God has created me to be is not fit for polite company. That I don't need to apologize for my existence or try to shrink into nothingness.

It will take time, but I'm learning to stand my ground and claim my space.

I hope I'll also remember to recognize the beauty in others, and to invite them to claim a space of their own, too.