I wasn’t going to post about this. Really. But it’s nearly a week later, and I’m still ticked off. So apparently I need the outlet.
If you follow “religious news” at all, and probably if you don’t, you’ve heard about the Ted Haggard scandal. Apparently, a leader in the evangelical church who was pretty outspoken about condemning homosexuality had more than a skeleton in his own closet. He resigned from his position as pastor of a midwestern mega church after evidence that he had been frequenting a male prostitute for sex and crystal meth.
That’s not what has me ticked off. This guy is clearly mentally ill. Whether you believe homosexuality is a mental illness, or you believe homophobia is a mental illness, or drug addiction is a mental illness, I think we can all agree Ted Haggard has all your lack-of-mental-health bases covered.
Mental illness doesn’t tick me off. Stupid ticks me off.
Because in the wake of what is clearly a painful week for Ted and his family, Mark Driscoll, pastor of Mars Hill Church in Seattle, took it upon himself to expound his own personal theory as to why his brother fell into disgrace.
It’s his wife’s fault. Of course.
Now, Driscoll isn’t quite stupid enough to actually come out and say “Haggard’s wife drove him into the arms of a drug-dealing male escort.” Instead, he outlines all the reasons she’s at fault (as are, apparently, all the wives of pastors who can’t quite master that whole “forsaking all others” thing); and finishes up with a weak “I’m not saying she’s responsible” to cover his already exposed … you get the picture.
I’m not sure what I found creepier: the misogynistic assertions that all those poor wandering clergymen out there are helpless victims of lazy, dumpy-looking wives and morally-challenged women, or his gleeful recounting of all the female parishioners who are trying to get into his own pants. Apparently, marrying a preacher is the equivalent of marrying a Chippendale’s dancer.
Who knew? Well, I better get myself off to the beauty salon and those kickboxing classes, lest I force poor Chris to call up the local escort service…