She caught my eye just as I opened the door to my gym locker fresh out of the shower; there stood Mrs. Pharisee in all her fitness glory with pert blonde hair, a haughty sneer and an agenda written all over her face. I furtively glanced around for a place to hide, but my options were limited by the water dripping from my soaked head and a large towel that was the only thing covering my derriere.
I braced myself for the forthcoming interaction as the woman spotted me, smiled like the big bad wolf about to devour grandma, and catapulted over benches and tennis shoes to reach me.
I remembered our last conversation at the church picnic all too well. I dared to bring a male companion I had recently started dating to the event. Mrs. Pharisee pounced and sweetly commented, like icing on a butcher knife, “Wow, Samantha, you sure got over your divorce fast. How long has it been dear?”
Her glib comment glossed over the last two years of abandonment, betrayal, instant single motherhood and the onslaught of accompanying pain. Her snarky insinuation implied I should still be mourning and wearing widow’s garb for a few more years in reverent obedience to a rule she had clearly made up about appropriate post-divorce behavior.
“Well, it’s been a long journey from my end,” I replied as I tried to get my horrified date away from the “tsk- tsking,” of her disapproval.
The truth is legalists (or Pharisees in skirts as I like to call the female variety) abound in every church. Sadly, if you leave one church there will probably be seven more at the next. My neighbor recently had a run-in with a few lovelies that did some serious damage to her heart.
My neighbor is a seeker and recently began attending a local church. She tried to connect and make some Christian friends by joining a women’s Bunco group she saw advertised in the church bulletin. After a few weeks of throwing dice, my neighbor volunteered to host the game night at her house and was surprisingly met with veiled hostility by the women in the group. When she inquired about the tension, the ladies let her know that she was welcome to come to their church, but she was not allowed to host an event at her home until she accepted Jesus as her savior. In this uncomfortable discourse, it also came out that some of the women didn’t think she should be attending the monthly Bunco game either.
Now, my neighbor grew up in a strict Jewish home and any decision to follow Christ would affect her entire extended family. Many of her relationships might suffer and her parents would more than likely be embarrassed. It wasn’t a decision she took lightly and it wouldn’t be forced into over a Bunko game.
My neighbor confided in me one late summer evening as we were sitting on my porch. Shocked, I inquired how these ladies extra religious rules made her feel. “Well, I don’t want to go their church anymore,” she said dejectedly. “It’s a complete turn-off. But I’m still curious about Jesus. Could you,” she stuttered, “explain salvation to me?”
Needless to say, I took a deep breath, opened a bottle of wine and we talked and searched the scriptures together for hours.
I run into this religious spirit all too often at women’s bible studies. At our growing church, new women join our studies each week. When an attractive woman shows up for the first time dressed less than modestly, it seems as if a self-protective fog of dissention falls upon the group of women in a shield of exclusion. And when I sense this gang-mentality resistance drawing me in- to reject instead of lean in and connect with a new, albeit pretty face, I call it out for what it is-fear.
Our female fears and insecurity regarding body image, lack of security and control issues turn us into modern day Pharisees as we bind heavy burdens on women and distort God’s word with a long list of she-made rules. And I believe when we do this, we open the door for the enemy to create strife and a critical spirit that is detrimental to the church and to the world at large.
We bow our heads each week and sing, “Come just as you are,” and then negate this very invitation with body language that says, “Not so fast sweetie”. If we were honest, we would post a warning sign at the church entrance reading: “Ladies, you are welcome if: 1. you keep your boobs properly covered 2. no midriff is revealed 3. all tattoos remain covered (unless it’s a trendy cross in an approved location…i.e. ankles are good, tramp stamps are bad) 4. you abstain from inappropriate footwear (six-inchstilettos are highly discouraged).
There are strict unwritten rules of hierarchy in our Christian Women’s Social Club; you must act like a Christian, even if you don’t know Christ. It doesn’t matter what your spiritual condition is as long as you modify your worldly behavior. If you get vulnerable and share something you are struggling with, we’ll pray for you with feigned empathy and talk about you behind your back. And if it’s really bad, we’ll send your plight out to the prayer chain so the whole church knows what you are struggling with. This may result in your being blacklisted from future leadership. And, if you don’t except Jesus fast enough we reserve the right to cancel your Bunco privileges.
So when Mrs. Pharisee approached me at the gym, my knees went weak and I prayed for strength. It had been some time since the church picnic; almost a year to be exact and certain events-namely my engagement to a pastor in our church, had increased my Klout for Christian score-keepers.
“So, I hear you are going to marry that pastor you’ve been dating, “Mrs. Pharisee gushed like a little girl wooing a queen bee with honey. “What an honor! How are you going to be able to handle this prestigious spiritual mantle?”
Unsuccessfully struggling to reel in my sarcasm, I replied, “Well I’m trying not to swear so much.”
Mrs. Pharisee’s poppy red mouth made an “Ooohhh” sound and she nodded her head very seriously.
“And,” I decided to take a chance, “I’m working on not being so judgmental. I’m trying to love people more,” I said. “You know what? Sometimes I struggle with that.”
“Me too,” she whispered, “Me too.”
I guess there is a little Pharisee in all of us.
