The Knowledge of Christ or His Character?

I have been smart for as long as I can remember. I learned to read at an early age. I did my sister's math homework in elementary school for fun. I could win every game of Clue before I hit the minimum age on the box. I have no doubt that God has gifted me with a strong intellect.

I have also always been known for my intelligence. Even when I am determined to "not act like a Bible School student," I inherently tout a vocabulary and knowledge level unfitting to my location. I have, in fact, requested a Greek New Testament during a study of Galatians and mentioned Kierkegaardian existentialism in a cozy conversation about contemporary culture. I am a nerd in the finest sense.

Knowledge is a wonderful thing. With my particular field of study, I am blessed with an opportunity to grow in knowledge that grows my faith and helps me understand the complications of my religious heritage. I am able to study seven perspectives on sanctification in their minute details and synthesize it for people who are not taking graduate coursework in theology. I am growing in the knowledge of Christ with every book that I read and class that I take, and for that I am immensely grateful.

Yet, for the past year, I have been convicted that my character is not on par with my intellect. I have my favorite sins, my character flaws that I settle into on a consistent basis. I treat others in ways that do not reflect Christ and I boast in unworthy things within my own life and about my friends. My character still needs conforming to the image of the Son.

In this past year, I have grown as a Christian. I am a more loving and humble person than I was a year ago, even if I still have a significant amount of work to do. I am more aware of my impatience and my ungratefulness. I am striving to be a more thoughtful and truthful person. I am seeking out a life that looks like Christ alongside of the knowledge that I am gaining.

Two weeks ago, I got into a lively conversation with a few of my classmates about complementarianism. One student, a female minister in the Seventh Day Adventist church, was unfamiliar with the term. Another student, from an ultra-conservative Bible school, explained, "Basically, complementarians think that women can't have any involvement in the church and should be submissive to their husbands." As a complementarian, this definition bothered me. It seemed tantamount to egalitarianism being described as "women who want to displace men from the church and who are defiant in the home." While you may find a complementarian or egalitarian who thinks that way, it is a gross error to describe the movement that way.  So, true to form, I spoke up. "I'm not sure that's a fair interpretation. I'm a complementarian, albeit, a soft one. I would say that women are able to serve the church in many ways. Spiritual gifts are given without regard to gender. However, women are unable to serve in the positions of pastors or elders. Likewise, women are to submit to their husbands but as one submits to an equal. They are not to be subservient."

In the context of an academic conversation, what I said was fully appropriate. I offered a definition and ascribed my beliefs alongside of it. However, explaining that women should not be pastors to a female pastor is not exactly wise. She gawked at what I said and made a few mocking comments, but we both ended the conversation as class started with no further conversation.

In the time until our next class, I thought about what I had done. I realized that what I said had personal weight and was not said delicately enough for the personal implications it entailed. I did not clarify that those feelings did not mean I have a disdain for women pastors or that I think what she is doing is sinful. I thought for a long time about how what I said was valid and how maybe it was the wrong context. I did not think about apologizing.

Yesterday, we returned to class after a long break for Thanksgiving. At the end of class, my friend who is a female pastor, approached me to apologize for the way she responded to my views. She apologized for the lack of willingness to listen and how defensive she acted.

She exhibited the character of Christ. Even in a situation in which she had been wronged more than she had wronged me, she apologized for what was ungodly of her.

I am grateful that she initiated. I was grateful for an opportunity to apologize for speaking without regards to her feelings or the implications of my words. I was glad to allow the tension to sit in the air and for us to both realize that our differences in theological opinion held far more meaning in practice than on the page. Thanks to her initiation, I was able to model Christ a bit more, to love with a character of a Christian.

For most of my life, I have led with my knowledge. Before you know my Christlikeness, you will know my knowledge of Christ. I long for things to be the other way. Rather than needing to backtrack over my words with a humble apology, I would like to lead with a spirit of humility in order to introduce my knowledge. I want to have the character of Christ be what I am known for, not my knowledge.

Lord, teach me how to live like you. Let my life points to you more than my words are able to. May you be glorified in my actions. Teach me how to exhibit the fruit of the Spirit so that I may truly conform to your image day by day.

Cashmere Security Blanket

My wardrobe is my security blanket.

Volunteering in the toddler nursery at church, I come across children who have an unusual attachment to a particular item. Charlie carried around his Thomas the Train t-shirt and is only comfortable talking to me if he is speaking on behalf of Thomas. Nathaniel sits on a blue mat holding a hard plastic bus and insists that he needs his bus if he cannot have his mom.

I have a closet.

I recently was offered a teaching position at a local undergraduate school. For various reasons, the decision of whether or not to accept this job was overwhelming. The changes it would force on my life for the next six months would be stressful, however, opportunities like these are not to be ignored. Instead of addressing these pros and cons, however, I talked about wardrobe.

"I don't know if I should take this job, Andy."
"Well, let's talk about it. What things are concerning you?" asked my sweet boyfriend who is especially good with handling with toddler-esque breakdowns.
"I don't have any teaching attire." I said, my words muffled by a blanket I had recently buried my head underneath.
This was met with a "you can't be serious" stare which I knew was focused on the blue fleece where my eyes should be. I pulled my head out of the blanket long enough to say, "But I don't!"

This is how all difficult decisions are made. When I do not know what to do, or how to handle a situation, I run through my dresses and shoes and conclude that they are simply inadequate. I think through my collection of cardigans and skirts and try to conclude what in my wardrobe fits the upcoming task.

Today, I attended the funeral of a fourteen year old boy in my church whose family frequently volunteers with me at church events. Their son died unexpectedly from a heart attack last week and I am at a loss for words on how to express my sympathy. I have no words, no actions which are adequate in the face of this tragedy. No tangible service I can render them in order to feel like I have sufficiently shown my condolences. I feel utterly incapable of caring for this aching family.

I spent the past 4 days debating my wardrobe. Are heels too sophisticated for a morning funeral? If I wore this black dress, would I have an appropriate sweater to accompany it? Is it wrong to wear purple tights to a funeral? Should I remove my neon nail polish to express my sadness?

It's not that these things matter. If my sweater didn't match and my tights were neon green, no one would think twice about my appearance. Nothing I wear or do not wear will change the focus of the day nor will solve the despair in the room. But it helps me. It helps me process the events without belaboring my emotions. It gives me something tangible to work on so that the overwhelming stress of reality might be mitigated momentarily.

Today I chose to wear a black sheath with a charcoal wool cardigan and a pair of nude flats. I wore waterproof mascara and put tissues in my purse. These are things I could prepare for and control. As I sat towards the back of the sanctuary, I could not have prepared to hear a fourteen year old boy crying as he told us all the things he would miss about his best friend. I could not have prepared for a mother's honest words as she told the whole church that she would give thanks for her son's life at Thanksgiving, but would still be angry at God for taking him away. I could not have controlled the tears which streamed down my face.

Choosing the right cardigan, like talking to your Thomas the Train t-shirt, does not make the scariness of the moment go away. Thomas can't change the fact that Mom and Dad have left you with strangers in the church basement. Likewise, my cardigan can't take away the sorrow that filled the church this morning, but it did make it a little easier to walk in the door. It made it a little easier to look at a picture of a handsome 14 year old resting on top of his casket and it made it a little easier to face the difficult reality that is death.

Security blankets don't change the situation at hand, but they do give you an opportunity to step back from it. So as long as there are difficult choices and painful days, I will continue running through every item of clothing in my closet in hopes of having some answer on days swarmed with unanswerable questions.