Fresh Perspective from “Beth and Traci” (since we stopped going to church)

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Okay, I still go to church on Sundays. But at least for now, Traci and I have suspended our “Beth and Traci Go to Church” women’s ministry visits.

Today at Grace Kids Camp (remember what used to be called VBS?), Amy C. asked me about the Traci adventure.

“Does she hate you now?” she asked.

I said, “Well, not because of the church visits, no.” (Har har har.)

I told her B&T go to C sort of came to a natural conclusion due to the pull of energy and time elsewhere in our lives.

And Traci and I are still friends. She’s one of my most faithful friends, actually, and she and her husband and child continue to be a lovely blessing to my family. The season Traci and I spent visiting women’s ministries together and writing about it was a marvelous moment in time and a thrilling assignment for which I’m deeply grateful. It was a gift.

And now that summer’s here and I have time to breathe, fragrant wafts of new perspectives generated by our adventure have begun to float my way. Oh so many thoughts, but the strongest one today is the impression that, in general, evangelical women are highly monastic.

“You mean we keep to ourselves?” another friend asked.

“Not exactly,” I replied. “More that evangelical women are trained to contort themselves inward. Whether it’s due to stage of life or tradition, we’re singularly focussed on developing the inner spiritual life.”

We tend to commit to an intense pursuit of knowledge to fill our heads and healing to repair our hearts, rarely allowing the love to spill outside the boundaries of our own homes or circles of friends.

Not that corporate Bible study, prayer or restoration are bad. They’re not. But I’m not sure it’s what we’re called as Christ following women to DO. At the very least, it’s just a small piece of the puzzle.

(And let me qualify what I’m about to say by telling you that I’m half-worried the God of my childhood will smite me for spewing apostasy, since I was raised to believe that all this “social justice nonsense” is reserved for the Methodists and Catholics who aren’t really saved and are bound for hell!)

In systematically perfecting the art of navel-gazing, we forfeit time and energy we could spend serving. And I don’t mean serving in our church.

I mean, what would happen in the world if a nation of weekly Bible studiers gathered on Wednesday mornings and DID SOMETHING “for the least of these” instead of looking inward and focussing on how we’re struggling with depression or illness or parenting or marital strife or money issues?

IMAGINE if we, for one morning, afternoon or evening per week, stepped outside our personal neurotic suburban dramas to discover we don’t really have it as bad as we think? I mean, hey. We’re not HUNGRY. We have SHELTER. We don’t have to stand in line for hours to receive a “gently used coat” as icy weather approaches and threatens to chill our children. We need to shift our energies from coping - with our lives, our misfortunes, our disappointments, our sin, our grief, whatever - to helping others cope.

How about for one year - instead of BSF or Beth Moore or John Eldredge or any of those other valuable studies and books - we devote our Wednesday mornings to DSF? DO SOMETHING FELLOWSHIP.

Imagine how DOING rather than (or at least moving ahead of) BEING or THINKING or STUDYING would impact a city with the love of Christ. Imagine how DOING would meet basic needs. (And hey, you can still pray while doing.)

Imagine how it would please and reflect the heart of God to mobilize five, ten, five hundred or ten thousand small groups of women to follow Jesus’s “action” commands on a regular basis? You know, feed the poor, clothe the hungry, care for the widow and fatherless and alien and outcast?

Don’t get me wrong. I’m in love with my church’s women’s ministry. I’ve been lavished with love, well taught and shepherded through good times and tough trials by the women I’ve met - leaders and participants alike.

But maybe it’s time (for me and you) to share the love.

So. DSF. Who’s on board?!