Messages of Shame

And where they need to go

Photo by simon wood on Unsplash

I was in my early 20’s, hesitantly leading a women’s Bible study full of young, fabulous thinkers. One that I was asked and then encouraged to teach, when I really just wanted to be a student. We were learning and discovering so much together. Growing. My pastor would check in every now and then and that is when I’d ask him some questions I was stumped on. One time, I asked a question concerning a contradiction I couldn’t reconcile in the Systematic Theology book he recommended. When I asked, he giggled a bit, and said, “Aimee, this is the women’s Bible study…” Much was inferred with that laugh and statement.

Jesus is in the tomb with this.

I was in my early thirties. Different church. I entered with excitement to tell my pastor that a certain website I knew he read faithfully was adding me as a contributor. Letting that longing for encouragement surface. Until he responded, “Well it certainly helps to have your picture next to all those old, bald guys on the website.”

Jesus is in the tomb with this.

When I began cohosting a podcast with a professor and a pastor, the parachurch organization that hosted it received letters of “concern.” Over a woman at the table talking theology with these men. One of my cohosts got a letter from a well-respected pastor friend, which said, “It would be different if she weighed 300 pounds and had a mustache.

Jesus is in the tomb with this.

I’m walking out of a restaurant at night in a city which I traveled to for work. Parking was scarce, so my car was several blocks down in an ally. It was raining. There were some wives at the dinner, but I was traveling alone. One of the men I walked out with offered me an umbrella as he was headed to his close parking space right there in the small lot. Yeah, no thanks, I’m not going to let you feel better by giving me an umbrella instead of a ride. The men got in their cars as I walked down creepy allies, at night, in a place I was completely unfamiliar with, in the rain, alone, to my car. Feeling the shame of the threat I am to a man’s reputation if he did the respectful act of giving me a ride.

Jesus is in the tomb with this.

A male pastor friend told me that he recommended my second book that recently came out to the women’s ministry in his church. I mentioned that this book isn’t only for women; I wrote it for a coed audience. He and his pastor friend standing beside him exchanged a glance and a laughing snicker. Isn’t that cute. If the snicker could talk, it said, “Fat chance we will recommend the men in our churches read from a woman about theology.”

Jesus is in the tomb with this.

I’m at a seminary, where I was going to be sitting on a panel for a conference and doing some recordings when I was taken aside by some male friends. They were being very awkward, like they didn’t know how to tell me this. This what? Well, they say, one of the professors joining us for lunch is a real stickler about “purity” and how women dress. My dress—my beautiful dress with three-quarter length sleeves, a covered chest, and the length falling just below the knee—showed some leg. Exposing my shins of shame. We laughed at the ridiculousness of it, but I was left to hold the shame. Why did they even tell me? Let this professor be troubled, not me. I entered that room for lunch, with about 20 people, as the one who didn’t get the memo of misogyny before she got dressed that morning, thinking she was going to a safe place.

Jesus is in the tomb with this.

Once I was considering joining a women's writers’ group. A popular Christian leader was meeting with them to talk about women in Christian publishing. A man. He did ALL the talking. The women had the privilege to ask him questions. Why wasn’t it the other way around? The room was full of fabulous women writers from around the country. Think of what he could have learned.

Jesus is in the tomb with this.

“Aimee…” An elder whom I didn’t recall saying anything to me before beyond a greeting walked faster to catch up with me. “Why did you cut off all your beautiful hair?!” Reader, it as a medium-length bob. And it was fabulous. But what in the actual hell?

Jesus is in the tomb with this.

“I don’t know how to approach this, but some of the elders feel like she has been pushy with us, that she doesn’t listen well or ask for input (perhaps due to trauma in part by us), and she has been at best unwise in some situations/writings but we can’t tell her that because she is still in trauma.”

A message I wasn’t supposed to see, but it accidentally landed in my inbox.

Jesus is in the tomb with this.

“Jezebel.” “Raging wolf.” “Will she share some good sammich recipes?” “I wish her husband loved her enough to tell her to shut up.” “She is looking butch. Her femininity is drawn and she looks hardened. Sad.” These are but a sample of the loud things that I was made to publicly hold. But they weren’t the worst. The worst are like the sample of quiet messages above from men who were my leaders and friends. Men who have also have been encouragers to me.

Today, Holy Saturday, I speak these messages of shame that I felt the need to silently hold. Because I don’t. They need to go into the tomb with Jesus. Death comes before resurrection. I’m done being the holder of these messages of shame for being a woman in the church. Perhaps my readers have messages they would like to recognize that Jesus is in the tomb with. Perhaps you recognize yourself in these words, not grasping the pain they cause.

What messages of harm have I inflicted on those Christ has put before my care? Do people feel like they can tell me or are they silently holding them?

Lord Jesus, these sins are in the tomb with you. To harm others is to harm you. You held them all. You reveal to us the violence of them. And took them to the place where resurrection happens. Give us opportunities for repair. Help us face the harm we have caused, know it’s cruelty, grieve its destruction, and yet know that it isn’t the sum of who we are. Help us see ourselves and one another through your eyes. And through your life, death, and resurrection. May Holy Saturday be a day we speak our harm, see it in the tomb with you, and gain the courage to embrace the freedom of repentance for the harm we inflict. May we feel your presence while we wait. May we learn the power of love in the liminal space of Holy Saturday.