the perverse pleasure of criticism

"remember ruth and naomi and mary and rosa parks," the older lady said to me. i nodded in approval, believing she was asking me if i remembered these names and the lives they represented. before she said anything else, though, i realized this wasn't a question. rather, it was a suggestion, a critique. then, immediately, i understood her.
in the sea of handshakes, smiles, and "good job" comments, came a genuine response. now, i can't say for certain that the other responses weren't honestly given by honest people. in fact, i'd like to believe that more than a few of them were correct in their assessment of what they had recently heard. but this lady--with her smile, firm grip, and criticism--made it clear that she had listened to my words. "i really thought what you had to say about belief and its consequences was important," she continued as i grasped what she meant, "but hearing about all those men only made me want to exclaim, 'women believe, too.'" now, even given the constraints of twentyish minutes, i have to admit she was right. if i am trying to relate the significance of the conversation betweem nicodemus and jesus to the life of the twenty-first century, specifically the congregation sitting before me, then why not use examples to which everyone can connect. i didn't mean to be insensitive (and she didn't say that i had been), but, well... seems authentic christian patriarchy (to borrow a phrase i recently saw used in a positive light) reared its ugly head.
maybe it's a perverse pleasure i enjoy too much, but give me meaningful, honest criticism anyday. at least it shows you paid attention to something. anyone can say, "good job." even without listening or reading at all. "remember ruth and naomi and mary and rosa parks," however, supposes at least minimal participation and contemplation. give me that.