International Woman’s Day

The Genesis Story fosters the belief that Woman was created from Man’s rib as a helper. Over the years, this belief has given rise to the idea that women were created to serve the church and their community as helpers and leave the business of politics and governance to men.

Below is an excerpt from my memoir The Ecumenical Affair.  Here the Woman has a philosophical conversation with a renowned Greek Doctor of Greek Philosophy about Man and Woman and the role of women in the Church.

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On a tree-lined marine drive stately mansions and cars wind out to the University of British Columbia and its endowment lands.

This is Vancouver in July.

The year is 1983.
 

This is the sixth assembly of the World Council of Churches.

The air is cool and trembling with heat.

The Woman is walking alone. She’s carrying a straw bag. She looks like a student. She’s dressed like one. Ponytail swishing back and forth. Bare feet in sunny yellow flip-flops. Wine-coloured toes. Slim. She is the one we saw earlier. The one with the words “La Source, Daily Visitor Programme” pinned above her heart who didn’t know about the flip-top desk.

There are people everywhere; the joy, the laughter, the sounds of cutlery and crockery spill outside from inside—this must be the Sub. Lines of people wait to enter. People are friendly. Class, race, gender barriers seem forgotten. People introduce themselves to strangers standing in line.


A place of communion.


Men in jackets. Some in shirtsleeves. Women in summer dresses. Some in skirts, others in pants, mingling with people in colourful caftans. Men wearing skullcaps. African women with stunning scarves twisted around their heads. Priests and nuns in long black robes. Students dressed for summer sprawl on the grass, talking. One girl has a tambourine. Two others dance, sing and clap.

bim Bom / bim bimbimBom / bim bimbimbim bim Bom/ shaBAT shaLOM (clap)/shaBAT shaLOM (clap)/
shabatshabat sha LOM (clap)


Waiting in line to eat, the Woman turns to the sound. A Hebrew folk song. For peace. She does not know this. The Greek is behind her. He asks how she spent the morning. She tells him about Maria’s talk. Says she doesn’t understand all the fuss over the issue of Man and Woman. 

Says: “It’s simple. I am a man. I am a female man. I am a member of the race called man. You are a man. You are a male man. You too are a member of the race called man.”

He grins.

She continues: “You—I suspect because you are here at this event—are a humanitarian. You help people. You are a helper, a helpmate of mankind.”

His eyes light up.

She continues: “Therefore even though you’re a male, you can be a woman.”

His whole body bursts into a smile.

She quickly adds: “You are a male being, and you’re a helpmate of Man. Therefore, if I—a female being—can belong to the race ‘mankind’ surely you, a male being, can belong to the race ‘womankind.’”

Her eyes take in his maleness. Catches a glimpse of his undershirt beneath his white semi-transparent short-sleeved shirt before she turns and moves forward in the line.

He follows, his eyes taking in the curve of her hips in the tight parrot-green chinos buttoned at her tiny ankles. He asks: “What are you doing for dinner this evening?”

She picks up a tray and turns back toward him, smiling.

He continues: “Have you plans?” He leans forward, picks up a tray, places it on the grooved counter. Slides it forward, looking at her. “Will you grant me the pleasure of your company at dinner?”

Silence.

The Young Woman puts her tray in line. In front of his. Slides it forward. “I don’t even know your name.”

Turns back. Looks at his ID tag hanging from the cord around his neck. “Papa what?”

Laughs. Pronounces his name for her. Pushes his tray behind hers, asks: “Do you have a car? If you don’t, can you rent one? I’ll pay for it. … Tonight after dinner we could go for a drive and see the sights.”

She places a garden salad on her tray. “What about after lunch?”

No, I have to meet some people. I’ve got to prepare. I’m speaking in the plenary later.”

Silence.


He asks: “Will you meet me here at six?”

“Yes.”


“Can you get a car?”


“Yes.”

Later that day in the Plenary.

The official delegates sit at long tables down on the floor facing saffron-draped tables. The blue logo visibly centered on a red carpeted stage. An immense red and yellow parachute-cloth banner hangs from the ceiling. Camera crews and translators are on hand. No one is allowed inside the building without proper ID. The accredited and daily visitors are upstairs in the bleachers. They wear headphones.

One grey-bearded man, sitting behind the Woman, sees her. She’s listening. Watching intently as the lights dim, while from the shadows an icon is projected onto a movie size screen. The headset voice says:

“God is Love because God is Triune … Andrei Rublev, the Russian Orthodox monk who painted it in 1422, intended it as an affirmation of Life … icons are a kind of spiritual window between earth and heaven …”9

At the break, the bearded man follows her outside. She asks him about the Greek. He says he doesn’t know him. They don’t go back in. They watch the plenary session on closed-circuit TV. They talk about Jungian psychology. She writes down some books that he recommends: Man & His Symbols. The Feeling Child. The Primal Scream. The Sex Contract.

He asks: “Why do you think you wear your hair long?”

“Because the Magdalene did.”


“Are you worried about what could happen—if the Greek should come on to you?”  

Blushing and fidgeting with her earring she says: “No.”


Purses her lips. Why should I worry? I’m the one with the car.

He grins and tells her how he and others went skinny-dipping at Wreck Beach on the weekend.


She glimpses his wedding band.


So what if the Greek comes on to me? Why not enjoy the ride?  Everyone is going to think I did anyhow. What would the Magdalene do? She kissed Jesus’ feet, for Pete’s sake. If Jesus is no sinner, neither is she, nor she who speaks with a he … at noon or … under the cover of darkness.