i am a jeremiah...

I am a Jeremiah
Without the courage
To speak what I see
And the fire that keeps burning
Within my bones
Is slowly tearing you from me
And I’m caught between
Denying the message that keeps me weeping
And my hope
As I dream dreams for people
And show them what we can all live without
-Restoration Project

the previous post on my blog waas birthed in the frustration of answering the question: in what biblical narrative do i find what it has been for me to lead as a woman?

i wrote my answer - sort of but not really - today and thought I should share it with you:

These 400-500 words are heavey. Their process has been long, lonely, and tear-filled. They birthed a ranting blog entry before coming here to this page. My attempt to find the bridge from the questions to my place and my heart has left me sort of not answering the questions - but I'm as close as I can reach, maybe standing with my feet in the cold river I can't bare to cross as the icey water seems to penetrate my flesh and touch my bones with its icey fingers, letting me only sustain its current just long enough to get these rough 400-500, heavey words out - whether or not they meet the questions. So, here it is:
When I survey the long, arching stage of the biblical narrative, there is diversity of leadership. There is struggle; there is peace; there is pride; there is humility. There are those that I find myself in, those I admire, and some that I don't even really enjoy. When I stand before the stage, holding auditions for what narrative I find my leadership reflect in, few get call-backs and most of these come from the latter half of the Hebrew Bible. From this group of twelve or maybe fourteen, I have to choose just one. The decision is easy though: Jeremiah. Granted, this choice means that I am lonely, struggling, chastised, dreaming of a world where the poor and orphans are cared for, but quite certian this will not happen and that my search for a radical life will ultimately lead to radical isolation. Still, in Jeremiah, I have found my compatriot.
Then, another criteria is added: I am now looking for someone who reflects what it has been for me to lead as a woman. Here, everyone who made it to call back in this audition is sent home, not meeting the qualifications. I have to start auditions over and invite all those narratives of women leading back to the stage. As they come, the stage looks rather empty. I look deep into the faces and characters I see the faces of women who have seen Jesus resurrected but no one believes them. I can find myself in that, but something is missing. I see one woman who led through hospitality, serving her husband the king and leading to the salvation of her people. I look up to her and enjoy hospitality, but it's not a match. I see the Samaritan woman, the first missionary, and am absolutely inspired by the beautiful face of her narrative, but don't see myself. I see an unmarried, pregnant teen who brought forth and raised the very son of God. I weep as Iook into her worn but glad eyes, but this is not my story. As I come to the end of the line of auditioners, I begin to ask, where is the stuggling prophetess? Where is the female version of Jeremiah - surely, she must be even more lonely than he, but she must be here, somewhere. Then I realize that she is not here. She was never recorded in the seemingly diverse biblical narrative aresenal. I realize then and there that that encredibly lonely woman was me. Here I stand, as the coldness of the river begins to remind me that I cannot bare to remain in this question, realizing that the lonely call to a radical, prophetic life of loving the poor and subverting the Roman Empire we call America, is not only lonely as what it is, but it is lonely as a woman called to lead.
Quickly, I step out of the icey river and towell my ankles off. I put on three or four pairs of wool socks by watching the video my roommate rented last night and watched without me as I attempted to answer these questions, to regain some sense of heat. I step away and struggle to forget the cold of the river and the loneliness of that empty stage and under-attended audition, but as tears continue to pelt my cold cheeks, I know I will never forget that cold or that loneliness because this is the cold and loneliness that God has called me to and all I have left to hope is that God will be enough company, that I can find myself, as a woman, in God, and that just maybe, I'll find someone else to stand in these cold waters with me.
In the end, these heavy words are actually near 800 (I apologize for my verbosity). These 800 miss the question, but they are still the only answer I have to give. Maybe some day I'll find the question they match, but for now, I leave them with you to take as you will.