There has been a delightful movement started among the clergy women
of the North Texas Conference whereby they are asking all clergywomen to
wear red high heels on the Monday of Annual Conference as a sign of our
connection and our solidarity with one another. One quote,
apocryphally attributed to Kathleen Baskin-Ball reads, “you haven’t
preached until you’ve preached in a pair of red heels.” The tradition
apparently dates to wonderful memories of Cathy Bingman’s ordination.
But I won’t be wearing red high heels on that day and I want to say why.
Two Reasons: The Practical and The Theological
The first reason is simply practical: I have
difficult feet, never, ever wear high heels, must buy expensive shoes to
keep my feet healthy and pain-free, and would prefer not to spend my
limited clothing budget on a pair of shoes that I will not wear again.
But I would quickly discard the practical and spend the money were it not for a deeper issue.
The second issue is theological, and there are two prongs to this.
The Invisible Preacher
First, when I preach, my goal is to become such a powerful conduit
for the Word of God that I become utterly invisible to the congregation
as their attention moves fully to God. Time after time, when I read in
Scripture of the Presence of God descending upon humanity, I see that
such Presence deserves full attention—and is so glorious that nothing
else matters anyway. The words I most prefer not to hear at the end of
worship, “You did a great job today, Preacher” (or,” what color IS your
hair today?”). The words I most desire to hear, “I met God today in
worship.”
Over and over, I have told my worship team, everyone from the
director, to the Communion stewards, to the musicians and singers, to
the people who run the sound booth: “The better you are, the less
people will notice you. Leading in worship is not a performance, but is
a window through which glory is glimpsed.”
So the idea that I have not preached until I have preached in red
shoes is a bit problematic to me. But I also understand how it works
for others and I really do celebrate that and support that tradition for
them.
Solidarity With Other Clergy
Second: the issue of solidarity with other clergy. If I understand
rightly, the purpose behind the movement is to express the solidarity of
our female clergy connection. That is a wonderful, wonderful thing.
I’m deeply grateful for my female clergy colleagues. But I am also
deeply and equally grateful for my male clergy colleagues.
I came to age in a theological world that is foreign to almost all
other women in this clergy connection. The world I knew was the one
that said that a woman hearing a call to preach is hearing a lie, for
God would not call a woman. Therefore a woman who hears such a call is
deceived and must be kept silent.
I know by heart all the textual arguments used to deny women a place
in the pulpit or other ecclesiastical leadership roles that exercise
authority over men. At one point, I could even quote the Greek and
Hebrew texts to support those arguments.
Eventually, by my own diligent study of the Holy Scriptures, I began
to believe that such arguments have a deep and fatal flaw: they elevate
human interpretation over the very nature of God and the liberating
power of the gospel.
Eventually, I became one of those who fought the fight and said, “This is wrong.”
I also became one of those who paid a horrific price for my willingness to speak out.
I know this: there are women who are serving freely because I did pay that price. I do not regret it.
What I regret is that they were willing for me to pay the price for
them, but they were not willing to pay the price for others. I was
eventually expelled from that world and what little I had been able to
accomplish there has long since been wiped away.
When I finally found the world of The United Methodist Church, I
learned that I had been a Wesleyan long before I ever read John Wesley.
I also knew that doors were open here because other women AND men had
fought the same fight I had been fighting, but, thanks be to God, with a
different outcome.
All this brings me, finally, to the important conversation the female
lead clergy had with Bishop McKee on Tuesday, April 9, 2013. I heard
him voice profound theological and practical support for women in
central and influential lead clergy positions. I also heard him say
that at this time, he does not wish to place a woman in a position where
she will most certainly fail because the ground has not yet been plowed
for her, or that which had once been rich and welcoming soil has now
become hard-packed and rejecting.
As the Bishop spoke, I started thinking of Ghandi’s great salt march
in India. The mining and distribution of salt, that mineral essential
to life particularly in a hot humid country where heavy perspiration is a
way of life, was restricted to the British. And they made everyone
else pay, and pay dearly, for that which was needed to stay alive.
At the culmination of the great salt march, man after man was clubbed
down by British soldiers. Read these words from a live press report:
Not one of
the marchers even raised an arm to fend off the blows. They went down
like ten-pins. From where I stood I heard the sickening whacks of the
clubs on unprotected skulls. The waiting crowd of watchers groaned and
sucked in their breaths in sympathetic pain at every blow. Those struck
down fell sprawling, unconscious or writhing in pain with fractured
skulls or broken shoulders. In two or three minutes the ground was
quilted with bodies. Great patches of blood widened on their white
clothes. The survivors without breaking ranks silently and doggedly
marched on until struck down….Finally the police became enraged by the
non-resistance….They commenced savagely kicking the seated men in the
abdomen and testicles. The injured men writhed and squealed in agony,
which seemed to inflame the fury of the police….The police then began
dragging the sitting men by the arms or feet, sometimes for a hundred
yards, and throwing them into ditches.
That is solidarity. And such solidarity eventually led to the end of British Colonial rule in India.
We Have it Very, Very Good
Again, I want to say I appreciate red high heels. I appreciate the
symbolism, the solidarity and the power expressed there. I appreciate
their beauty, and the empowerment they represent. This is important.
I also say: Clergy women of the North Texas Conference, we have it
very, very good. While I personally disagree with the Bishop’s decision
(I think we are going to have to have more martyrs rather than already
plowed ground before substantive change takes place), I also trust that
this man is for us, not against us.
My own solidarity now goes to those who don’t have the kinds of
privileges and support I have. I am thinking of the women who are
routinely shrouded and kept silent. Who have brutal operations on their
genitalia in order to destroy sexual pleasure and ensure their
chastity. Who are shot when standing up for the right to educate girls.
Who are forced into sexual slavery or into unwanted marriages. Who have
bought into a world of generational poverty exacerbated by multiple
baby-daddies who offer only sperm but nothing else.
Were I to don footwear that expresses such support, I would actually
be barefoot. I would have to walk on hot sidewalks with no foot
protection, none of the expensive cushioning and fine workmanship with
which I pamper myself. No more pedicures, no more smooth well-cared for
skin, for the calluses would be my only protection from sharp stones
and pieces of piercing glass.
But I won’t. I shall stride into Annual Conference in my
unfashionable shoes, grateful for every step without pain. I shall
admire every single pair of red high heels I see and cheer each one on.
I shall pray diligently for those who are barefoot, either in actuality
or symbolically, and know our work paves the way for them.
And I will breathe a silent “thank you” for all those women and men
who have already fought the fight, paid the price and made a way for me.
