Krista Mournet

In chapter two of Through the Labyrinth, the authors engage in an extensive statistical analysis of the proportions of men and women in leadership roles over time, beginning in the early 20th century; they also investigate the percentage of college degrees awarded to women versus men over about the same amount of time. Not surprisingly, the evidence shows a gradual increase of women in the workplace and in the university over time; this increase is more pronounced in the areas of education, social work and the humanities. And there is a greater increase of women in middle management roles, while fewer women occupy the elite levels of leadership. However, recent data show that women are edging out men in the number of college degrees awarded; so the number of women in leadership roles is likely to continue to rise.

I was disappointed to find that the study does not include any data regarding female clergy, or females in leadership roles in ministry in general. I haven’t looked to see if such a study exists, but I would be curious to see if the statistics are at all similar; are women attaining the same levels of leadership in the Church as in the “secular” world (for lack of a better term)? Does the current theological debate, particularly in evangelical conservative circles, make any difference? I’m sure there is anecdotal evidence, but I wonder if a thorough comparison has ever been done of Christian denominations (particularly Protestant) and the role of women…

This is the question posed in chapter one of Through the Labyrinth: The Truth about how Women Become Leaders. The authors argue that, while the glass ceiling metaphor may have been apt twenty years ago or more when men clearly dominated positions of leadership across the board, now the barriers are more permeable–more difficult to categorize using such a rigid image.

The authors instead offer the image of the labyrinth, which “captures the varied challenges confronting women as they travel, often on indirect paths, sometimes through alien territory, on their way to leadership.” (1)

They go on to state seven reasons why the glass ceiling metaphor is no longer apt, and may in fact be misleading:

1. It erroneously implies that women have equal access to entry-level positions.

2. It erroneously assumes the presence of an absolute barrier at a specific high level in organizations.

3. It erroneously suggests that all barriers to women are difficult to detect and therefore unforeseen.

4. It erroneously assumes that there is a single, homogeneous barrier and thereby ignores the complexity and variety of obstacles that women leaders can face.

5. It fails to recognize the diverse strategies that women devise to become leaders.

6. It precludes the possibility that women can overcome barriers and become leaders.

7. It fails to suggest that thoughtful problem-solving can facilitate women’s paths to leadership. (7)

I might add another: it assumes that all those in authority are equally antagonistic toward women’s rise to leadership. More and more, women are finding a mixed bag when it comes to the levels of acceptance and support they receive in their journey to leadership, depending on who might be in what position of authority, and at what time. Yet another reason that the labyrinth is an effective metaphor.

In this discussion, it is important to have a working definition of what/who a leader is…the authors provide this description:

Leadership entails being in charge of other people in multiples ways. It consists of influencing, motivating, organizing, and coordinating the work of others. In groups, organizations, and nations, leadership involves bringing people together to enable them to work toward shared goals. In motivating people to work together, leaders encourage them to set aside narrow self-interest. In short, leaders influence and inspire the activities of others to foster the progress of a group, organization, or nation toward its goals.  (9)

Finally, I want to share some thoughts the authors quote from Christine Todd Whitman, who served as governor of New Jersey and head of the Environmental Protection Agency: “I believe, deep down, ‘Yeah, a lot of the tough stuff may be because I’m a woman, but I’m not going to spend my whole time thinking and complaining about it, because then I won’t get anything done. All I will do is concentrate on the fact that the road’s a little harder because I’m a woman.’ After all, there are lots of people for whom it’s much harder than it is for me.” (8)

Thanks to a wonderful conference on women in ministry and leadership held at Ashland Theological Seminary last week, I was made aware of a book with a great title; and books with great titles are very hard for me to resist. In Through the Labyrinth: The Truth About How Women Become Leaders, by Alice H. Eagly and Linda L. Carli (Harvard Business School Press, 2007), the perplexing and often circuitous journey to leadership as a female undergoes a thorough, insightful investigation. Making use of many disciplines, such as psychology, economics, sociology, anthropology,  political science and management, the authors tackle such questions as: “Is there still a glass ceiling? Do family responsibilities hold women back? Do women lead differently than men? Do organizations compromise women’s leadership?” And others.

And why use the metaphor of a labyrinth? In their preface, Eagly and Carly say this:

We invoke a labyrinth metaphor throughout the book to symbolize the situations that women face as leaders and potential leaders….As a contemporary symbol, the labyrinth conveys the idea of a complex journey that entails challenges and offers a goal worth striving for. Passage through a labyrinth is not simple or direct, but requires persistence, awareness of one’s progress, and a careful analysis of the puzzles that lie ahead….For women who aspire to attain leadership, routes to this goal exist but can present both unexpected and expected twists and turns. Because all labyrinths have a viable route to their center, it is understood that goals are attainable. But passing through a labyrinth is more demanding than traveling a straight path. Thus, the labyrinth provides an encouraging metaphor for aspiring women and recognition of the challenges that these women face.

What do you think? Ladies, has your journey thus far been something like this? Men, what’s your take on this? I can only speak from experience; I have often described my own journey as “circuitous.” A labyrinth is a helpful metaphor for me. I am looking forward to reading more of this book, and will blog on what I discover as I read. Join, me, would you?

All sorts of people do all sorts of things with the story of Esther. Here is an insightful, wise treatment of this beautiful story. This is not the Disney version. I came across it on a friend’s blog. Here it is, by Myrto Theocharous…if you know Greek, you will know her name is fitting…God bless the Esthers and Mordecais of the world…

As I hold my breath with the rest of the world, watching each of those thirty-three miners in Chile make their perilous journey from the deep, deep earth, I wonder; what will life be like for them now?

From buffalonews.com

Yesterday evening, I attended a Raku pottery class with a dear friend of mine. Taught by a high school visual arts teacher who is gifted and passionate about his craft, we learned about this unique form of Japanese pottery. The word ‘Raku’ means “happiness,” which is ironic considering the way these pots are made.

First, the clay itself is made with ground up pieces of old pottery which have been pulverized and blended in with fresh, new clay. This is so that the rapid, extreme temperature changes in the firing and cooling process won’t cause each pot to explode.

Then, after an initial bisque-firing, the pot is glazed and put into a kiln where it reaches 1900 degrees in a few minutes. As soon as it reaches that temperature, it is pulled out, glowing orange with heat, and dumped into a container filled with rubbish. Literally–sawdust, straw, animal hair, you name it. Junk. Then what happens is really amazing.

As the newly glazed and fired, pristine pot sits in that sawdust, the fire, smoke and ash adhere to its surface, creating brilliant colors and patterns. And less than a half hour after it reached that blistering 1900 degrees, the pot is plunged into cold water. Five minutes later, you have a Raku pot.

Each pot is unique. You never know what one will look like until you pull it out of that water. And it is precisely this violent process of heat, fire, ash, smoke and finally water that makes it so.

The Chilean miners are being pulled up as I write. What marks of their struggle will be left on them? How beautiful a thing it is to see them transformed before our eyes.

The gospels tell the story of the risen Christ, who appeared to the disciples before the Ascension. They were terrified, and wondered whether he was real; whether he really was their rabbi, teacher, Lord and friend. How did he prove himself to them? By his scars (Luke 24:36-40; John 20:24-28). I used to think that when God makes “all things new,” when all in heaven and earth is as it should have been all along, all traces of pain and struggle will be gone. No more scars, no more ashes, no signs of the suffering endured to mar the perfect new creation.

But this little pot is causing me to rethink things. Perhaps our scars are beautiful. Maybe they bear the marks of the process which, little by little, if we let it, forms us into the image of God–the God who kept his scars. And that is a lovely thing.

Spinner and I are back from our trans-Atlantic voyage. It is good to be home. While in the UK, I had the immense joy and privilege of attending “Conflict and Convergence: Jewish and Christian Approaches to the Psalms” last week at Worcester College, Oxford University, where I was able to present a paper on my current state of research (to read it, click here: Research presentation).

In addition to that, I heard wonderful presentations from eminent scholars in the field of Psalms scholarship, from widely varying disciplines. It was an intellectual feast. But one phrase that stood out to me in particular came from Dr. Bill Bellinger, in his paper on the Psalms and theodicy; Bellinger talked about “a hermeneutic of curiosity.”

Like the word “exegesis” (see my earlier post on this here), “hermeneutic” is one of those Bible college words that deosn’t often make it into everyday parlance. Essentially, hermeneutics is “the art of interpretation.” While “exegesis” is the discipline of interpreting a particular thing well (a text, culture, person), hermeneutics may be called the over-arching practice under which exegesis is a sub-category.

So what is a “hermeneutic of curiosity?” Bellinger, blessedly, left us to our imaginations in coming up with a definition. Which is as it should be. Because curiosity is also an art. Maybe it’s the art of finding the childlike spark of inquisitiveness in each one of us; the playful wonderment that says, “well, let’s just see what happens!” I think this is why I like this phrase so much. When we approach the Bible, or anything else, perhaps it is best to try to approach it like a child; putting aside our assumptions, ready to explore and play, to learn the way children do–by seeing what happens.

I suppose I’m waxing romantic a bit here. I’m prone to that. But I am grateful to Bellinger for coining this phrase for us. I will be using it again!

Saturday, September 18th, is the day that the Jewish people will observe Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. As John Byron, Associate Professor of New Testament at Ashland Theological Seminary has said, it is “a time for personal reflection on sin and the realization of forgiveness for that sin.”

In that vein, I offer this song, from a favorite group of mine, Sons of Korah, who sing the Psalms; not interpretations or paraphrases of the Psalms, but the Psalms. I encourage you to play the song, close your eyes, and remember what a great thing forgiveness is.

Spinner (my son’s toy spider and my companion in my Durham journey) is in a time-out at the moment. The day I arrived in Durham he decided to wander off, taking my digital camera with him. I was upset about the camera, but honestly more upset that he would do such a thing. My son would have been heartbroken to lose him. Thankfully, the kind staff at St. John’s College rescued him from wherever he had gotten to and brought him back to my room. I am delighted and relieved, and hope Spinner has learned his lesson.

In the meantime, I have had an illuminating meeting with my supervisor, Professor Walter Moberly (whose office is in Abbey House, the wonderfully wonky old building in this picture which houses the Theology and Religion Department), met some astonishingly smart and friendly postgrads, and had a most unexpected and welcome surprise. It turns out that an early mentor, Professor Loren Stuckenbruck, who taught at Durham while I was here the first time around, happened to be chairing a conference this week, right here in Durham. He is now at Princeton, so that he happens to be here while I am here is a total coincidence; I might never have known had I not stayed at St. John’s College, where the conference has been held.

Not believing my luck, I shot him an email asking if he might have time to chat. And it turns out he did. We had a wonderful conversation–since I haven’t seen him in about seven years, it was a great delight to reconnect. And it got me thinking about how important mentors are, and how blessed I have been to have had such stellar ones. In this case, I would never have believed I could have taken the path I have been on these past years vocationally had I not benefited from his guidance, and that of others, while at Durham. It simply was not a part of my context prior to that time. My world had not yet sufficiently expanded. Professor Stuckenbruck, through his attentive guidance, began to help me realize I had a voice, and an intellect, that could be suited to the academic study of scripture and the history surrounding it. I am quite sure that I would not be where I am now, had I not benefited from the investment he and others made in my education and the experience I had as a student at Durham. And now I am blessed to be mentored by Professor Moberly in my doctoral studies. God is good.

What a great blessing to reconnect! So rarely do these opportunities come. I am truly grateful. Now I just need to finish up that paper for the Psalms Conference in Oxford next week…

Who have been your mentors? Who has played a significant role in shaping the person you are becoming? Be grateful for them. No one achieves their dreams all by themselves. We all need help. We all need mentors. Be thankful for yours.

Candy Store, Victoria Station

I am on my way to Durham, England; one of my most beloved places on earth, and the city which happens to house the university where I am currently pursuing my PhD in Theology. My son, who is three years old, would have loved to join me; and I would have been thrilled to have him come. But, since we couldn’t afford another ticket, and he doesn’t fit in my purse, we decided the next best thing would be for me to take “Spinner” (his stuffed spider) along with me for my short adventure across the pond.

Every day I have promised to send my son photos of Spinner and me on our various adventures, so he knows just what I’m up to while I’m gone. The picture featured here is one of those…it is of a candy kiosk in Victoria Station that is about the same size as a semi trailer. I’ve never seen one so big.

I am worn down from all the rushing from terminal, to terminal, to terminal, to train, to underground, back to train, all packed full of people. For an introvert, this is a challenge. But now as I sit on the comparatively peaceful train to my beloved Durham, I am enjoying the countryside, the cloudy skies, the lilting Geordie accents that are not quite English, not quite Scottish, but something delightfully in-between.  Soon I will wander the ancient corridors of the cathedral again. I can’t wait.

If you are at all curious about Spinner’s and my trans-Atlantic voyage, stay tuned. I’ll be checking in here from time to time…

In prayer; and in remembrance of all that was lost…