Priests. Not Princesses.
I sigh as I scroll through my Instagram feed. Another day, another dainty graphic, replete with flowers or beaches or sunsets. Elegant-looking women with their arms thrown up to the sky, perfect smiles upon their faces, look like they’re frolicking.
There’s no better word for it. They frolic, these women.
Sometimes it’s on the beach or else in fields of flowers. Somewhere near their carefree frames, there’s a configuration of words which are meant to remind church-ladies everywhere of their identities.
Only, these messages aren’t reminders of all that transpires when we become children of God. The words written in delicate fonts aren’t calling us back to the kind of new identity Colossians 3:12 talks about, one characterized by a new spiritual wardrobe of compassion, kindness, humility, quiet strength, discipline, and contentment with being second place. Nor do these attractive messages contain a word about the miraculous truth that we’re now empowered and mandated to serve as priests of light, love and reconciliation in this world (1 Peter 2:5,9).
Instead, they remind us that we’re daughters of a King which, of course, makes us royal princesses. The sentiment seems to be that, because of our royal positions, we can finally rest knowing that our Father is ready to lavish us with all the adoration and safety of which we’ve been robbed in our lifetimes. It is intriguing, this princess theory. The notion that I – an ordinary woman who has known her share of suffering – am really a royal princess in disguise, destined for greatness the world just hasn’t grasped? Where’s the problem?
The Princess Message is problematic for many reasons, one of which is that it reduces women to a flat, docile, passive stereotype. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never seen a royal princess work two jobs to make ends meet or claw her way through the valley of divorce or try to steady her hands as she pops an anti-depressant in her mouth because despair is gnawing her away inside. The Princess Message doesn’t make room for leaking post-partum breasts and unreasonable bosses and the thud of the casket closing over the body of your child. The Princess Message promotes frolicking when the life of a dynamic, flesh-and-blood woman is often more about scrapping.
What’s even more disturbing about the Princess Message is that it just plain denies the fullness of the life of Christ within us. According to God’s word, we are intended to be living sacrifices (Rom 12:1), chosen and privileged not only to bask in the love of God but to serve Him in the real world, empowered by His Holy Spirit. We’re royal, alright – 1 Peter 2:9 makes that clear; but we’re royal priests, not princesses. We have gritty, risky, unglamorous jobs to do.
When we stand before our Savior at the end of our days, we’re not expecting to hear: “Welcome home, my little princess! Come sit on Daddy’s lap and let me cuddle you.” According to Jesus, what we really want to hear is something fiercer: “Well done, my good and faithful servant. You have been faithful in handling this small amount, so now I will give you many more responsibilities. Let’s celebrate together!” (Matt 25:23).
We’re meant for more than carefree frolicking, sheltered from the harshness of this world. We’re meant for scrapping it out as frontline priests, hands in the soil alongside the peasants. If this message disappoints you, take heart -- because our blood-bought identities may not be glamorous, sisters, but they are glorious.