Women, I Would Like to Call Forth Women, I would like to call forth your holy anger. Let it rattle the sidings of your churches―the ones that keep telling you to serve, but do not serve you well. Let it be no longer held constrained within your bones in bonds unspoken, swept beneath the doormat to your soul― the one they wanted you to be as they kept telling you to sweep and sweep. Let it rise like yeast through sixty pounds of dough. Let it boil and spill over the edges of respectability, over the steaming rims of pots and pans that do not hold you. Let it fly forth until they can no longer put a cover on your head like cloth over your face to stifle your unruly sounds. Let there be words, so many words for every time they tried to shame you into silence. Let there be tears, so many tears for every time they said they needed you to smile. Let there be open confrontation, exposed wounds for every time they turned to you, like Absalom, and said don’t take this thing to heart― for every time they wanted you to bow and place your fierce God-given power in their grasping hands. Let there be squalls, twenty-foot swells, and Jesus in the boat who says with kindness, you of little faith, I made you for much more. Won’t you turn and own the power I breathed into you. Won’t you join me as I flip over the tables they have closed to you and make a whip and drive them out. Yes, with him, women, I would like to call forth your holy anger.