Black & White Bible, Black & Blue Wife

Friday, February 25, 2022

Check out my latest book: Fired at 57: My Fight for Justice in Christian Academia.

The first full-time woman professor ever hired in the 125-year history of Calvin Theological Seminary, I was fired without warning. This book tells not only my story but also the stories of several other professors fired from various Christian institutions of higher learning. More information here.

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About Me

I am married to John Worst and have a son and granddaughter, Carlton and Kayla Tucker as well as two step-daughters, Laura and Sarah and three more grand-kids, Mitch, Ashley and Zach. I did my doctoral degree in history and have written twenty books and taught at colleges and seminaries for more than 25 years. John taught music at Calvin College for 35 years and holds a Ph.D. from the University of Michigan. Besides reading and folk-art painting, my favorite activities (with John) are hiking, biking and kayaking. Most of our days are spent at our shop, Carlton Gardens, which we refer to as a "hobby gone wild."

Two Major Themes of Book

Here is this volume, two themes are balanced: black-and-white Bible and black-and-blue wife. During his violent rages, my ex-husband often hurled biblical texts at me as though the principal tenet of Scripture was, "Wives, submit to your husbands." He spit the words out, repeatedly beating me over the head, at least figuratively, with his black-and-white Bible. His hitting and punching and slamming me against doors and furniture, however, were anything but figurative. Nor were his terror-loaded threats. I felt trapped and feared for my life, while outwardly disguising bruises with long sleeves and clever excuses, pretending that ours was a happy marriage.

50 Shades of Rape

I posted the following on The Wartburg Watch, March 8, 2016:

This is from my book, Chapter 9, “50 Shades of Rape." I begin this excerpt with a paragraph that follows an utterly awful description of rape. In the next paragraph below, I start speaking of myself in the 3rd person. (My editor had asked why. I told her the experience was extremely difficult to write about, even though it was not violent as most rape is.)

My own account of rape, if, in fact, it was “legitimate rape,” was not a violent physical episode saturated with blood and piercing pain or even punctuated with obscenities. But it was a scene of soiled stinking air—an ugly episode of hateful “God-ordained” domination and supremacy, wholly devoid of the sweet fragrance of delightful sexual intimacy. What may have been satisfying to his incensed psyche I will never know. As for me, foul shame penetrated my very soul. I felt dirty and humiliated, utterly defeated. Polluted, that ancient Roman term of judgment seeping through the centuries into my pathetic sniffles. I slunk to the bathroom, locking the door, not able to turn toward the mirror. In those minutes while the hot water ran in the tub, I vowed that it would never happen again. One flesh had become unalterably severed. . . .

She is in her forties, a strong capable woman, albeit a wife who had been beaten and battered and pummeled and terrorized on many occasions by her husband. So one morning she is packing her bags to make an auto trip to speak at long-scheduled meetings. The husband enters the bedroom, his mood dark and foreboding. And then the threat. There is no physical violence this time, but the demand for sex—sex or stay home. No alternative. She would not be leaving the bedroom or the house until she had submitted to sex. He, as he had told the minister, and reminded her on many occasions, he was the “head of the home from the bedroom to the kitchen.”

What was I to do? Should I have grabbed the phone and tried to call 911? Phones had been broken on similar issues before. And the police? Even if I had been able to make such a call—it would have been laughable to report that my husband is ordering me to have sex before leaving town. The story probably would have made one of those lists of the silliest police reports. I suppose I could have tried to put through a call (had my ex-husband permitted) to someone in charge of the meetings and simply told the truth or made up a lie that I was sick. What were my choices? Do I succumb to the demeaning act of nonconsensual sex, fulfill my obligations, contact an attorney when I arrive back home and file for separate maintenance?