Call Me Blessed was first published ten years ago. Since then I have read it from cover to cover several times. That may seem like a strange admission. Most people probably assume that authors have their books memorized and that my reading my own book was an exercise in vanity. But that is not so. These readings are prompted by curiosity mingled with dread. Did I really say that? The "that" is some extreme position attributed to me, something totally alien to any thought I have ever entertained. But so authoritative, so fatherly, so concerned have been the attempts to explain to me the real meaning of the direction I have taken that I have occasionally been driven to re-reading my own material.

Each reading results in a fresh feeling of relief. There is nothing that I regret saying. And so Call Me Blessed is being re-published intact. The only change is the addition of an appendix.

But I myself have changed, and that will take some telling.

It would be impossible for me to write the same book now. For one thing, I lack the sense of fresh indignation at the discovery of historic wrongs and the excitement upon learning new truths that so gripped me fifteen years ago when I began my studies. Reading it today, I feel removed from the emotion that virtually throbs from each chapter. I come away amazed at my younger self and the vigor with which I pursued my studies.

While I am somewhat in awe of that intensity, I do not try to rekindle those emotions. They are not needed now. In fact, the process of study has left me at peace. I now know with certainty that the Bible teaches the full equality of men and women.

But I grieve for other changes in myself. As I read, I also remember my sense of trust in the process of theological discussion and my belief that I would receive a fair hearing in my church. It carried me forward. It was, in fact, the reason I was writing. Today, I still believe that change is possible but I am less convinced that theological discussion alone will break the tyranny of patriarchal thinking that so grips many conservative Christian denominations.

Fifteen years ago I truly believed we were in a rational discussion of biblical teachings. Since then, I have seen beads of sweat break out on upper lips of men when the conversation turns to women's subordination. I have observed formal discussions where angry young pastors rudely contradict their mothers in the faith. I now appreciate just how threatening equality between the sexes is to some men--in a very personal way. A challenge to patriarchal authority is nothing other than a challenge to some men's sense of themselves and their place in the world.

One published review of Call Me Blessed contained a telling criticism. It said, Faith Martin "refuses to allow any special connection between God and maleness." Notice that this is stated as if there could be no doubt about the obvious mistake I had made. Of all the many possible criticisms of Call Me Blessed, this charge took me by complete surprise because I never thought anyone would admit publicly to holding a belief in the maleness of God.

On the other hand, my thesis that the doctrine of female subordination is attributable in part to a prior assumption by male theologians that God was masculine was not a shot in the dark. I had enough examples from history. But I had missed the fact that the "maleness of God" remains a widely held conviction that skews theological discussion of male and female to this day. When I wrote Chapter 5, "God in Our Image," I did not expect to hear a live body shout "ouch" in response. Who would have thought! Of course that meant a more thorough treatment of this subject was called for. So I wrote, "Mystical Masculinity." This appears in the appendix of this edition.

Writing a book is a curiously satisfying project. I suspect many people wish they had the time to try. What made me find the time was a burning desire to put into writing thoughts that had been turning in my mind for some years. But something has to push one over the edge of thinking to where one actually begins writing. In my case, that something came in two steps. The first was a conversation. The second was a magazine article.

The conversation took place in the fellowship hall of my church. I had been asking our pastor about his policy of appointing only men to chair committees. He explained that women might serve in quiet ways, but they could not fill any position where they might "exercise authority" over a man. In defense of his position, the pastor quoted a verse of scripture, "I do not permit a woman to teach or have authority over a man; she must be silent." (1 Timothy 2:12 NIV)

I was shut up, so to speak. I was also stunned. In my mid thirties and raised in a Christian home, but I did not know that women could not have authority over men. How could I have missed such an obvious teaching! I went home and got out my Bible and read 1 Timothy 2:12 over and over. It certainly was rather plain.

All my life I had watched the gradual removal of women from Christian service in my conservative denomination. But this was the first time that I had had a scriptural explanation for what was taking place and heard the rule stated so clearly. Women may not have authority over men.

Usually women just were left out without explanation--such as what happened at a consecration service when I was a young teenager. As the service drew to a close, the minister began to describe the great need for pastors and missionaries. He detailed the difficulties and rewards of such a life dedicated to God's service; but what he really emphasized was the need. The Holy Spirit worked in my heart, and I began to ponder what my response should be.

My father's aunt was a missionary to China, and she had often rested at our home when she was on leave. From her, I knew the manner of life which missionaries had, her sacrifices--including incarceration during World War II--and rewards. So my decision making took into account the realities of what I was contemplating. Yet the Spirit pressed in my heart, and I began to compose myself in preparation for the walk to the front committing my life to the foreign mission field. But it never happened. The service closed with the minister issuing a call to the young men.

Too young to analyze the rejection, too unsure of myself to question those in authority, I left the service with an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach. What part of the sermon, the Christian life, the promises of God, the good news, was for me? Was I left out at the very beginning--or just at the time of application?

In the following years, my church made it plain that there was now no place for women in "full time Christian service." Not only were single women no longer sent out on the mission field--but wives accompanying missionary husbands were considered only homemakers in a foreign land. At home, a minister's wife became just an "ordinary church member" with no special role to play in her husband's congregation. A woman's form of Christian service was marriage and children. If a woman remained single, she would have a "secular" job so that she would be self-supporting, but hers would always be a woman's lesser service. But women, both married and single, were still expected to volunteer their gifts and skills to the local churches, performing important staff positions such as teacher, committee chair, and youth worker.

In this climate of understanding I married and planned to cast my talents into my local congregation, giving it my all. In my mind, being a wife, mother and laywoman was the equivalent of full time Christian service, and I was more or less content with those prospects.

The first ten years of married life found my days filled with home and church activities. We moved several times while my husband pursued his education and career, and at each location I taught either a high school or adult class in the church where we worshiped. Our final move brought us to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, where we have lived for the last twenty-five years. Here again my teaching gifts were affirmed. Then a new pastor arrived, the one with whom I had the conversation about women teaching, and with him came an even more restrictive interpretation to the rules regarding the service of women. Women were not to teach adult males or male children as they approached manhood. Even the junior high class was given to a man. Since my educational preparation and experience had all been in secondary and adult education, there was now no place for my gifts in the church.

I was not the only woman affected. The position of Sunday school superintendent was discontinued and replaced by the education committee--which of course had a male chair. Even the social committee was chaired by a man. Women were no longer asked to lead prayer meetings. Women attending prayer meetings were made to feel uncomfortable if they prayed aloud because they would be "leading" men in prayer. One elder taught that women could not speak in the business meetings of the church and that women needed to communicate with the session only through their husbands or fathers. The women's missionary society was only tolerated--dare I say, laughed at?

All of this came about when I was entering a new stage of life. My youngest was giving up his bottle, diapers and afternoon naps--a transition time when I had flexibility and spaces of time to fill. Whenever I offered to help at church a polite but firm "no, thank you" was spoken.

But I did not sit at home. I sampled the activities that were typically available to me as a physician's wife--tennis, hospital auxiliary, luncheons, and shopping excursions--but found them empty and without lasting value. And I really was not any good at tennis. I could have returned to the workplace. That was clearly OK. In fact, many of the wives and mothers in my congregation worked.

But God had something else prepared for me. I was elected to the board of directors of the organization that operates the nursing/retirement home for our denomination. My volunteer activities on this board eventually developed into "fulltime Christian service" when I became its president. Without realizing what I was getting into, I found that I was performing all the types of activities that I was forbidden to perform at the local church--but on a much larger scale. We directed the denomination's only work of mercy, administering an annual budget approaching three million dollars. During those years we defined our philosophy of care, conducted a four million dollar building program and expanded the denomination's ministry. My every activity was offered in the spirit of service, yet I rose in the course of performing that service to levels of responsibility and authority.

I was keenly conscious of the contradiction that I was living out. In my home congregation I could not chair the humblest committee nor pray aloud--because a woman could not exercise authority over a man. But on the denominational level, I routinely exercised authority over men, gave directions, and was often making the "final decision" in situations far more momentous than that which came before committees of the congregation.