in the library of men


This is a little piece I wrote in the summer of 2019, before beginning my master's program. This week, I will defend my thesis for my MA in Biblical Studies, a thesis meant to amplify the voices of women and their silencing in the church. Looking back on where I was less than two years ago feels like a powerful, purposeful movement forward toward a better future for women and for Christianity.






I came to the library of the Abbey to study and work. I felt strange walking in; it’s not like the public library where no one knows that you’ve never worked there before. I knew I stood out, not just because of my timid gait that I tried to hide, or because of the small number of people who use this library, but because of my femaleness.



There are women around the Abbey, walking and volunteering and meditating, but as of yet all the students, scholars, and seminarians I witnessed were men. Walking through the library barcode scanners, I knew they were simply alarms for someone taking out unchecked library books, but I couldn’t help feeling like they might also sound an alarm alerting the library that an uncertain, out-of-place girl had tried to come in. But they didn’t sound any alarm.




I walked through the library searching for a place to open up my laptop and pretend I belonged, and quickly discovered that almost every study carrel was reserved for one of the Brothers. I didn’t know I could feel so out of place at a library, a place that always felt like home. I felt watched by the friendly man at the information desk; I tried to look like I knew what I was doing. My stomach was churning a little, and my mind was telling me to get out.





But I wanted to belong here. Among books, among brothers, among faith, among students. I should belong here, and I would not let myself cow myself out.






I finally found a carrel without a reserved name and settled in.





In a place of devoted faith where the only ones who truly belong are men, I can’t help but begin to wonder what it is about me that is detrimental to their faith? It is my femaleness alone that keeps me from joining this place; why? As I walk about the abbey grounds, I feel like a seductress even in a knee length black dress and long sleeve knit sweater, both with high necklines, though not quite covering my collarbone – am I causing them to stumble? Is my presence distracting them from their faith?


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