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The Rise of the Postmodern Feminine: Part I

At five feet one, Laurel has never escaped the petite section at the local department store. But one thing is certain: Her faith does not match her dress size. Here is a woman who immerses herself in the Scriptures daily and who prays regularly for acquaintances, loved ones, unloved ones, and imperfect strangers. Laurel's faith is plus size and growing.

At face value, Laurel would seem like the poster child for one of those large evangelical women's conferences. The necessary trappings of conservative femininity are all there. At church, she wears over-the knee skirts that gather at the waist with bright but shapeless linen jackets. She's devoted to her family. Most of all, she acts the part. At least on the outside, she evidences a quiet, diligent spirit and a comfort with "working behind the scenes." In short, Laurel doesn't seem to have anything, do anything, or say anything that calls attention to herself.

That trait alone would be enough to elevate her to sainthood in some religious circles. Feminine invisibility and inaudibility may have been the battleground on which millions of women fought over the last century, but those qualities remain prerequisites to acceptability in more churches than we would imagine.

Ironically, the real Laurel is hardly invisible or inaudible. Laurel's late-night co-workers who stock the shelves at Target know her as a powerhouse of a woman. Not only is she a hydrant of comedy, but the way she invests time in her co-workers, Laurel's lived spirituality makes the four spiritual laws sound like a multi-level marketing come-on. At 12:30 a.m., Laurel and Suzanne are doubling over in laughter about Suzanne's Match.com disaster on Saturday night. At 2:25 a.m., Laurel hefts big boxes of laundry detergent onto her motorized cart and tries to help 26-year-old Jennifer figure out what to do about her autistic son's latest bout. At 4:05 a.m., Laurel is stocking dog-food, engrossed in Bob's tirade about his alcoholic wife. At 7:33, she's punching out, heading to the pancake house for breakfast where the coffee, pancakes, teasing, guffaws, and conversation will be flowing non-stop. At 9:00 a.m., she's driving home to have a last cup of coffee before her pastor-husband leaves for work. Maybe she'll be able to catch a few hours of sleep before her grandson arrives at 3:30, but only after she checks out that quirky journal article on Kierkegaard she's been waiting to read. She's been a Kierkegaard fan since seminary days. Her seminary days.

In many ways, Laurel is an anomaly within American religion and most certainly, within evangelicalism. Ordained and newly planted in a rural/bedroom community, Laurel rejected a comfortable church job (her husband had secured a pastoral position only 20 miles away), striking out in ministry completely on her own. What could have been the picture-perfect scenario - "clergy couple pastors neighboring parishes" - became "middle-aged woman hangs out with Target misfits."

It was more than just burnout and cultural analysis that propelled Laurel into her gutsy decision, however. It was a life-crisis of major proportions. The call came after midnight: Laurel's daughter and one of her granddaughters had been found murdered, the result of a domestic fight. Her son-in-law had killed them both. One granddaughter survived. Laurel entered a darkness she'd never known - a careening, agonizing descent into unimaginable pain. After six months, Laurel began to share portions of her grief journal with friends: a few e-mail snippets, tendril-like, stretching out to connect with life. Those e-mails were forwarded to friends of friends, then onward to a conflagration of unknown but hurting recipients. What started as Laurel's missives of private grief - her own brave step toward survival - became a lifeline for hundreds of people. She now writes an e-devotional sent across continents.

When the question is asked, "What is it to lead the church in the postmodern context?" and then, more specifically, "What is it for women to lead in the postmodern context?" it is hard to get around the refreshing, contrarian turns in Laurel's journey. At base, the way she influences, whether at Target or through her e-devotional, is unapologetically organic. There are no top-down systems here, no grandiose, lone-ranger dreams, no mega-church blueprints. Rather, here is a woman, showing up with her full self, her full story, and in full presence - on the people's turf and in the rhythm of their lives.

Her organic style of influencing is indeed radical. But it is Laurel's persistence in working the cracks of life - far from the reach and drone of the institution ? that is more radical still. If it is true that change comes from the fringe, then Laurel is living on the fringe of the fringe.


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