My very first memory is of myself, age four, asking my mum if female priests in the Catholic Church will ever get to have a turn at leading a mass.
Of course, female priests didn’t even exist at the time.
Finding that out sparked my life-long belief in gender equality, as it was the first time I had actively noticed the differences in what men and women were allowed to do.
Since then, I’ve been striving for equal treatment in most spheres of my life and have missed few opportunities to crusade for this specific ideology. Yet, the one area of my life I feel unable to employ this in is my religion.
As a technology journalist, I have demanded more female representation in several diversity and inclusion meetings. I almost always seek out interviews with women, and I strongly advocate for pay equality among the sexes.
I never shy away from work conferences where I might be one of (if not the only) woman amid a sea of men. For me, this is a way I fight for equality, as I believe that by being in the room, I can help start conversations around why there aren’t enough women present in the first place.
However, I find that my passion for equal rights immediately diminishes when it concerns my place of worship.
The feeling of having to conceal my feminist beliefs is by no means innate. It is as though I am forcing one part of me to fade away in order to comply with another, which feels like an internal betrayal.
Aside from the Bible’s teachings of the man being the head of the house, the Celestial church (an African-initiated church) I sometimes attend has strict rules on women’s participation. For example, a woman is not allowed to deliver the sermon, lead the service or convey any form of preaching material to the congregation.
Some Nigerian churches in the UK, namely Cherubim and Seraphim churches, have strict restrictions on women attending services if they are on their period, as well as women not being allowed to enter spaces where certain religious ornaments are kept.
One Sunday, my sisters and I were at church when one of the male attendees brought food as an offering to share with the congregation after the service – a regular practice in African churches.
The men were called over first to bless the food, then we were called over to begin serving to everyone else. I felt instant resentment but froze up like a statue to contain my annoyance. I couldn’t believe that in the 21st century I was still being asked to conform to gender roles, and serve the congregation purely because ‘it is a woman’s job’.
My only option was to calm myself down and serve the food alongside my sisters. While mumbling my frustration under my breath, I never once thought of refusing to do the task as that would be seen as disrespectful to my elders.
I did, however, wear my annoyance on my face in the hopes that someone would ask me what was wrong, giving me a cue for me to question whether we were in the 1920s, or why the man who brought the food couldn’t just dish it out himself?
Of course, no one noticed my expression, so I kept all my thoughts to myself.
When I got home that evening, I angrily told my mum that I would not be returning to the church because I did not agree with what happened and only went through with the task out of respect.
She empathised with me but shrugged it off as something I shouldn’t get so worked up over. In her mind, it is just three or four hours a week that I am being asked to cover up my feminist stance. ‘That shouldn’t be that hard to do,’ she reasoned.
However, my protest didn’t last long and I was back at church after three months, still feeling like I had been disloyal to my feminist beliefs. What brought me back? My love for the services held in the church, and my faith.
These two things in particular have stopped me expressing my preference for gender equality in church, for fear that I will be going against God’s word.
And I am not alone in this feeling – my two sisters also regularly express their struggles with how far behind the church is in the gender equality race. I still can’t help feeling like less of an important member of the church than the male members because of rules that place them on a blatant pedestal.
The men usually get to make all the important decisions and almost always have the final say when it pertains to running the establishment.
Along with my Nigerian upbringing, which places great emphasis on never challenging religious teachings, my faith – which has brought me out of some tough times in my life – keeps me rooted in my place of worship.
But it is not just African-initiated churches.
Pope Francis said back in 2016 that he thinks the Roman Catholic Church’s ban on priestly ordinations for women will continue forever.
As a whole, the Catholic Church teaches that all of humanity is equal and that no one sex or race is above or superior to another.
So why can’t women be ordained priests too? This is a major inequality that frustrates me as women have proven time and time again that they can successfully and single-handedly run households, companies and countries.
In an ideal world, I would love to wake up one day and see women at the head of the church. For now, that is still a distant, far-fetched dream. To attend a church led by a woman would be empowering – simply because representation matters.
I sometimes have mini panic attacks at the thought of bringing a girl child into this world, raising her with knowledge of gender equality and Christianity, only for her to one day question why the church we attend does not practise the equal participation of all church-related exercises for both sexes.
The pandemic has given me time to reflect on my two continually clashing beliefs, and each day I find myself searching for new ways to execute both without compromising too much of the other and feeling like I am not being true to myself and what I stand for as a woman.
So far, I am yet to find a solution where I can be my 100% feminist self in church. Until I find it, I’ll grit my teeth and settle for 80%.
Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing nicole.vassell@metro.co.uk.
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source https://metro.co.uk/2020/09/26/feminist-everywhere-except-at-church-13252427/
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