Women and Slaves
As we wrapped up the conference I recently attended, a colleague was asked to share what she had observed during the few days we were together. The theme of the conference had been “Mission in the New Reality,” by which the organizers intended for participants to offer presentations and reflections on the post-pandemic challenges and opportunities that we face in ministry. We had heard about changes in worship habits, the importance of physical connection, and new opportunities for community engagement. The topics and styles of presentations had been wide-ranging, and it was this final presenter’s job to pull everything together and send us home with a clear and cogent sense of what we had discussed.
Instead of recapping what each person had contributed, the Rev. Emilie Finn went in a different direction, reminding us that, no matter what new realities we face, the foundation for our ministry is always the same. As she put it, because the Christian faith is the Way of Jesus, it will always be a religion for women and slaves. With timeless analysis, she stressed that, whenever the church has forgotten that it is a church primarily for women and slaves, we have not only lost our true identity but also our relevance in the world.
During her fifteen-minute talk, she used that phrase over and over—women and slaves—without qualification or explanation. She offered no contemporary analogue, nor did she invite us to consider what that designation meant in our own contexts. Thus, in a powerful and refreshing way, she asked us to return to the historical roots of the Christian movement in order to remember what ministry in any reality must look like.
In the early church, the Way of Jesus appealed to those who had no social or political standing. As N. T. Wright describes it in his biography of Paul, to proclaim Jesus as kyrios or “Lord” involved two distinct and radical statements: first, that Caesar was not the true ruler of the world, and, second, that the one who had been crucified and raised from the dead was. Rejecting the authority of the emperor was one thing, but attributing ultimate authority and power to one who had been executed at the hands of the empire was quite another.
Death on the cross was reserved for slaves and insurrectionists—a method of execution designed to show other would-be disruptors of society the cost of challenging the power of the empire. Jesus died as a slave and as a rebel, hanging from a tree, and his followers proclaimed that the ultimate reign of God had been established through that ignominious defeat and the divine vindication that followed on the third day. If God’s vision for the world had been communicated through Jesus’ death on the cross, those who claim to be his disciples and who wish to participate in the glorious reign of God must be willing to identify with the crucified one and to share in his suffering.
Although the four gospel accounts disagree about the precise details of Jesus’ death and resurrection, they communicate with one voice the importance of women as the first heralds of God’s victory over sin and death. The message of Easter was entrusted not to the disciples whose names are listed among the twelve but to the women whose unwavering commitment to Jesus kept them by his side while he hung on the cross and after he was laid in the tomb. God chose women to make known God’s great victory over the forces of evil at work in the world because women are often channels of power and authority that run beyond, behind, beneath, and above the corrupt powers of this world. They are the ones who can make God’s ways known to those who have not yet learned how to hear them.
Christianity is a religion for women and slaves, not just as an abstract expression of the marginalized and oppressed but as actual, real, lived people in the ancient world as well as today. Of course, no one is excluded from membership in the Body of Christ because of their race, ethnicity, gender, or social status. There are plenty of rich and powerful men who identify as Christian. But doesn’t the Way of Jesus continue to challenge traditional expressions of earthly might in ways that ask individuals and groups to yield their status for the sake of God’s reign?
Think of what Jesus says to the rich young man who asks what he must do to inherit the reign of God. Think of what Jesus says in the parable of Lazarus and the rich man. Think of what Jesus says to his host when that host silently objects when Jesus allows a woman to anoint his feet and wipe them with her hair. If we want to follow Jesus, we must become a church for women and slaves.
What would happen if we returned more fully to our roots and focused on the Way of Jesus as a religion primarily for women and slaves? What would our preaching sound like? What would our Bible studies look like? What would our Sunday-morning breakfasts and Wednesday-night dinners feel like? What would the measures of success we celebrate be like?
As my time at the conference confirmed, we continue to live in a time of great transition for the church. The role of organized religion in society is shifting, and the pandemic, if anything, accelerated those trends. We have relearned in recent years that we cannot take anything for granted. St. Paul’s is a congregation with vast resources, and its leaders continue to look for ways to meet the spiritual needs of parishioners and the wider community. If we want to continue to grow—both in numbers and in relevance—our focus must be on following Jesus. The one who came to the world to rescue the lost, lift up the downtrodden, and set the prisoners free will always be the source of our hope. As long as we seek the one whose heart belongs first to women and slaves, we will remain focused on the deepest spiritual needs of the whole community. As long as we remain true to those roots, Jesus will be with us and guide us in all that we do.
Yours faithfully,
Evan D. Garner
