Dr. Elaine Storkey 2008 Lawsuit Over Religious Discrimination

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Is England's Elaine Storkey "the wrong type of evangelical"? That's what a lawyer for her school who fired her maintains. I can only hope more such "wrong types" show up very soon, and in great numbers. But... what has me ranting? C'mon, you know: the usual "shut up and sit down" approach by conservative evangelical males when intelligent women (a.k.a., "feminist liberals"?) raise painful facts and questions to the fore.

Photo (below): Dr. Storkey, left, visits Tearfund project in Africa.

Dr. Elaine Storkey is one of the most reasonable and intelligent voices amongst British Christian intellectuals (already an impressive bunch). She's also quite well known there due to her "Thought for the Day" BBC 4 broadcasts and fine books (see end of this bit for a partial list). Nonetheless, Storkey recently was fired by her Wycliffe Hall (Oxford) bosses, the controversial Rev. Richard Turnbull (school principal) and Rt Rev James Jones, Anglican Bishop of Liverpool. Storkey immediately protested, noting she was fired after, in a private trustees meeting, raising concerns over a number of statements Turnbull had made since his tenure began. "There was a grievance procedure, which had been heard and which I felt had treated me unfairly," she told the employment tribunal. "I had appealed. I was waiting for the appeal to be heard but instead of it being heard, I was dismissed."

On January 8, Wycliffe Hall granted that she'd been unfairly treated and settled with 20,000 pounds (approx. $40,000) in consequence. Dr. Storkey will pursue a lawsuit, however, on the grounds of religious discrimination. Thus the school's comment that she's merely "the wrong type of evangelical." The lawsuit is expected to be heard in June.

Dr. Storkey is not only well known for her broadcasting but also as President of England's Tear Fund, a rough equivalent to World Vision in the United States. She is involved in the Anglican Evangelical Progressive group, Fulcrum, and a dialogue/information outreach to persons struggling with same-sex attraction, True Freedom Trust. All of these facets offer a portrait of biblically balanced faith, rooted in wisdom principle Scripture exegesis.

I personally have always appreciated Elaine Storkey's approach to gender issues, whether her moderate approach to homosexuality or her moderate (and equally biblical) approach to feminism. As someone deeply invested in a feminist hermeneutic regarding Scripture, I believe Storkey's contributions are -- in America -- under-utilized. She deserves wider recognition here, and I for one hope that this unfortunate series of events does in fact lead to her becoming more visible as a spokesperson for women, for the dispossessed and hungry, and for men and women dealing with same-sex attractions.

Some day soon (God willing), I'll try to snag Dr. Storkey for an interview... or three or four interviews as far as this blog is concerned.

Here are some links to various of Dr. Elaine Storkey's books, just so I can do my bit to popularize her writings here (in no order whatever):

Book Links:
What's Right with Feminism
Study Bible for Women (NT only; notes co-written)
Origins of Difference: The Gender Debate Revisited
Created or Constructed: The Great Gender Debate
Fathers and Sons: the Search for a New Masculinity (co-authored)
Mary's Story, Mary's Song
Praying with Saint Teresa (co-authored)
The Search for Intimacy (and 3 excerpts from that book I blogged a while back)
Losing A Child: Finding a Path Through the Pain (Link is a Brit site, so in pounds not dollars - sorry)
Conversations on Christian Feminism (co-authored)
Magnify the Lord
Biblical Feminism 20 Years Later (audio tape from Chr. for Biblical Equality)

Other links:
Wikipedia Elaine Storkey bio
Wycliffe Hall press release
Fulcrum press release (also mentions two others dismissed by Wycliffe Hall)

Other blog entries:
'Culture Shock' writes on "Elaine Storkey and Wycliffe"
'TIMESonline' reporter writes affectionately about a young Elaine Storkey dancing at Greenbelt, and what has happened to her in the Wycliffe mess.
'TitusONEnine' offers links; the interesting (if at times predictably fundie) stuff is in the comments section. Look particularly for the good and helpful for Americans looking for background comment from Dale Rye (#13, I believe).

Related stories on Blue Christian: Ruth Tucker and Calvin College

This story was edited five or six times today, in order to insert more links and also to correct an error re Euros vs. Pounds, along with inserting the lovely photo pirated from the Tearfund website.
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tag: Wycliffe Hall, Storkey religious discrimination, Anglican, bible, CBE, Christians for Biblical Equality, Elaine Storkey, evangelical, feminism, feminist, Ruth Tucker, women

A preface of sorts for "Nurturing the Best Love of Children in a Globalizing World"

A few weeks back, Mary Stewart Van Leeuwen sent me an as-yet unpublished chapter draft she's contributing to an upcoming book. For those few who have waded through all my recent posts (or even just MSVL's articles that I've posted) you will recognize a few threads of the ongoing obsession I have over women's "place" in society and the Church. But of course I discovered that Ms. Van Leeuwen's scholarship is better than mine (duh, Trott?!).

Beyond that, however, is the growing excitement I have over not just MSVL's contributions to this discussion but also other sources of wisdom I've recently been tapping into. For instance, I'm using a book by John Peck and Charles Strohmer called "Uncommon Sense." It is, to put it in slightly archaic parlance, a "worldview" book. And in some spots, one might even say it is a bit "anti" worldview, in that their ideas are geared toward interacting with the world rather than warring against world, the latter being a more traditional pathway for evangelical apologists.

Mary Stewart Van Leeuwen is a wonderful example of how to interact with good science (in her case, Social Science) and find in that scholarly pursuit a tremendously encouraging resource for the Gospel. In particular, she parallels Peck and Strohmer's emphasis on "sphere sovereignty," a concept I for one am still treating gingerly but am also finding helpful as (to my shock!) a tool of female and male liberation rather than traditionalist patriarchal bondage.

That is part of the reason I continue to post very long articles on BlueChristian, despite the fact that blogs aren't always the best venue for such lengthy works. I encourage anyone interested in women, children, men, and (esp.) the Gospel's influence over that human community of communities, to delve into at least the below article by Mary Stewart Van Leeuwen.

Blessings,
Jon Trott

tag: children, Christianity, Christians for Biblical Equality, family, Love, Love in the western world, marriage, Mary Stewart Van Leeuwen, sociological, sociology, women

The Cut: Female Genital Mutilation

International Women's Day is coming up this March 8, and after being invited to do so by a representative of the Population Council, I am reprinting a poem which may seem a tragic way to begin any celebration.

The poem "The Cut" comes from Population Council staff member and women's health activist Maryam Sheikh Abdi. She unflinchingly describes her own subjection to female genital mutilation/cutting (FGM/C). FGM/C, putting it starkly, is the slicing off and (only sometimes) sewing up of external female genitalia for cultural or other non-therapeutic reasons. Putting it even more bluntly, FGM/C removes any or all of the clitoris, outer labia, and / or inner labia. Justifications for cutting include religious obligation, as many community members articulated the belief that Islam requires FGM/C (a "fact" contested by many if not most Islamic scholars). Christianity is also occasionally (and falsely) connected with these practices.

But here is Ms. Abdi's poem.

The Cut

I was only six years old
when they led me to the bush.
Too young to know what it all entailed,
I walked lazily towards the waiting women.

Deep within me was the desire to be cut,
as pain was my destiny:
it is the burden of femininity,
so I was told.
Still, I was scared to death . . .
but I was not to raise an alarm.

The women talked in low tones,
each trying to do her tasks the best.
There was the torso holder
she had to be strong to hold you down.
Legs and hands each had their woman,
who needed to know her task
lest you free yourself and flee for life.

The cutting began with the eldest girl
and on went the list.
Known to be timid, I was the last among the six.
I shivered and shook all over;
butterflies beat madly in my stomach.
I wanted to vomit, the waiting was long,
the expectation of pain too sharp,
but I had to wait my turn.
My heart pounded, my ears blocked;
the only sound I understood
was the wails from the girls,
for that was my destiny as well.

Finally it was my turn, and one of the women
winked at me:
Come here, girl, she said, smiling unkindly.
You won’t be the first nor the last,
but you have only this once to prove you are brave!
She stripped me naked. I got goose pimples.
A cold wind blew, and it sent warning signs
all over me. I choked, and my head
went round in circles as I was led.

Obediently, I sat between the legs of the woman
who would hold my upper abdomen,
and each of the other four women grasped my legs and hands.
I was stretched apart and each limb firmly held.
And under the shade of a tree . . .
The cutter begun her work . . .
the pain . . . is so vivid to this day,
decades after it was done.
God, it was awful!

I cried and wailed until I could cry no more.
My voice grew hoarse, the cries could not come out,
I wriggled as the excruciating pain ate into my tender flesh.
Hold her down! cried the cursed cutter,
and the biggest female jumbo sat on my chest.
I could not breathe, but there was nobody
to listen to me.
Then my cries died down, and everything was dark.
As I drifted, I could hear the women laughing,
joking at my cowardice.

It must have been hours later when I woke up
to the most horrendous reality.
The agonizing pain was unbearable!
It was eating into me, every inch of my girlish body was aching.
The women kept exchanging glances
and talked loudly of how I would go down in history,
to be such a coward, until I fainted in the process.
Allahu Akbar! they exclaimed as they criticized me.

I looked down at my self and got a slap across my face.
Don’t look, you coward, came the cutter’s words;
then she ordered the women to pour hot sand on my cut genitals.
My precious blood gushed out and foamed.
Open up, snarled the jumbo woman, as she poured the sand on me.
Nothing they did eased the pain.

Ha! How will you give birth? taunted the one with the smile.
I was shaking and biting my lower lip.
I kept moving front, back and sideways as I writhed in pain.
This one will just shame me! cried the cutter.
Look how far she has moved, how will she heal?
My sister was embarrassed, but I could see pain in her eyes . . .
maybe she was recalling her own ordeal.
She pulled me quickly back to the shed.

The blood oozed and flowed. Scavenger birds
were moving in circles and perching on nearby trees.
Ish ish, the women shooed the birds.
All this time the pain kept coming in waves,
each wave more pronounced than the one before it.

The women stood us up but warned us not to move our legs apart.
They scrubbed the bloody sand off our thighs and small buttocks,
then sat us back down.
A hole was dug,
malmal, the stick herb, was pounded;
The ropes for tying our legs were ready.
Charcoal was brought and put in the hole,
where there was dried donkey waste and many herbs—these were the cutter’s paraphernalia.

The herbs were placed on the charcoal and
we were ordered to sit on the hole.
As I sat with smoke rising around me,
I could hear the blood dropping on the charcoal,
and more smoke rose.
The pain was somehow dwindling but I felt weak
and nauseated.
Maybe she is losing blood? my sister asked worriedly.
No, no. It will stop once I place the herbs, cried the cutter impatiently.

The malmal was pasted where my severed vaginal lips had been,
and then I was tied from my thighs to my toes
with very strong ropes from camel hide.
A long stick was brought and the women took turns
showing us how to walk, sit and stand up.
They told us not to bend or move apart our legs—
This will make you heal faster, they said,
but it was meant to seal up that place.

The drop of the first urine,
more burning than the aftermath of the razor,
passed slowly, bit by bit,
one drop after another drop,
while I lay on my side.
There was no washing, no drying,
and the burning kept on for hours later.
But there was no stool . . .
at least, I don’t remember.

For the next month this was my routine.
There was no feeding on anything with oil,
or anything with vegetables or meat.
Only milk and ugali formed my daily ration.
I was given only sips of water:
This avoids "wetting" the wound and delaying healing, they said.

We would stay in the bush the whole day.
The journey from the bush back home began around four and ended sometimes at seven.
All this time we had to face the heat
and bare-footedly slide towards home . . .
with no water, of course.
We were not to bend if a thorn stuck us,
never to call for help loudly
as this would "open" us up and the cutter
would be called again.
Everything was about scary do’s and don’ts.

I stayed on with the other five
for the next four weeks. None of us bathed;
lice developed between the ropes and our skin,
biting and itching the whole day and night.
There was no way to remove them,
at least not until we healed.

The river was only a kilometer away.
Every morning the breeze carried the sweet scent of its waters to us,
making our thirst more real.

The day the cutter was called back
each of us shivered and prayed silently,
each hoping we had healed and there would be no cutting again.
Thank God we were all done
except one unlucky girl
who had to undergo it all again,
and took months to heal.

Our heads were shaved clean.
The ropes untied, lice dropped at last.
We were showered and oiled,
but most important was the drinking of water.
I drank until my stomach was full,
but the mouth and throat yearned for more.

It was over.
All over my thighs were marks from the ropes,
dotted with patches from the lice wounds.
Now I was to look after myself,
to ensure that everything remained intact
until the day I married

—Maryam Sheikh Abdi