Like a girl

As we begin a new series looking at the often overlooked stories of women in the Bible, it seems right to acknowledge that this shouldn’t have to be a series, but it must.

Women have always been a central part of our faith and even though the voices of misogyny have been loud—we just have to be louder. I am glad I get to lend my voice to this chorus of people whose faith has been shored up by women.

Like most Christians who grew up in the church, my faith was taught to me by the women of the church. Even though I grew up in a tradition that blocked women from the pulpit, it was more than fine for women to teach children. So it was “Miss,” or “Missus,” who reached me well before a “Reverend” had a say.

When I think of faithful people who care for folks as they find their faith, I think of Miriam. In the story of the salvation of Moses, Miriam is close at hand, ensuring that Moses is kept safe in the river he floats in. Now, not to offer parenting advice, but I’d highly advise that you do not put your baby in a basket.

That’s of course unless the alternative is the violence of Pharaoh’s men. Miriam is near and close to Moses as he is saved from the river AND the violence of men.

Now what Miriam doesn’t do is grab the basket and run. She sees that Moses is in a terrible spot and realizes it isn’t actually up to her to fix it. Instead, she shows up.

Sometimes showing up means being present and not active.

Miriam needed to be faithful enough to see God show up, even if she wanted to show up instead. I wonder if Miriam listened to her gut. Women possess powerful intuition, a gift that is rarely valued in our culture. It’s not some sort of miracle of gender… women gain this intuition through their experience.

Miriam was not an exception. She was the product of a system that oppressed her and her family. That oppression taught her that sometimes it’s best to be nearby. That intuition leads Moses exactly where he had to be—in the royal household.

Because Miriam is there to be near and not to save Moses from the waves, she actually saves him for a new life. That new life ends up saving her whole community.

And because of Miriam’s faithfulness, he doesn’t just survive, he lives.

Moses is, in some ways, baptized by this river.

But he’s in a basket.

But he ends up being raised by Pharaoh’s daughter.

There were probably crocodiles.

So yeah, not exactly like my baptism, but here’s how it’s similar: some water takes an individual (Moses) and puts him into the story of a people (Israel).

Stick with me here—our baptism is similar. It doesn’t save us, baptism doesn’t do the work that only Jesus can do—but it brings us into a community so we can really LIVE.

It takes an individual (you, me, anyone) and puts them into the story of a people (the church).

In our baptism and in joining of a community, we gain a group of people who will standby with us. In my church, when someone is baptized, we promise to “surround them with a community of love and forgiveness,” which sounds really pretty, right? In practice? It’s nitty and it is gritty.

It requires standing by when marriages fall apart or when they come together. It requires being there for the first day of sobriety and the next first day of sobriety.

It’s crying when you’re crying, it’s laughing when you’re laughing.

Y’all, it is work. It’s work to standby. To watch people go through ups and downs and close calls.

But it’s worth it. I know Miriam didn’t regret standing by.

What if the church became a collection of faithful Miriams, willing to be present and standby? What would the world look like if they knew that the church was ready and able to standby in the highest of highs and the lowest of lows?

I think the world would feel less disconnected. The world might feel more free. We’d feel less like we were adrift in a basket and instead ready for what was ahead. Our next new adventure.

I hope we can build that together.

I know it will be better with you here.