ClergyWOMAN

 

There were 18 members in my ordination class, half of us were women.  From that  moment on our class was always identified as the ordination class with half women.  It got old real quick. The majority of us were in our mid-twenties having gone from college to seminary to ordination.  A more revelatory fact is that

of the nine women ordained together only one made it to the ten year mark still involved in congregational ministry.  When I attended Clergywomen Conferences the statistic was that if a woman made it to ten years in congregational ministry you were set. I came close, going into Extension Ministry (any type of ministry setting outside the congregational setting) at year nine.

I still get a kick out of the moments in peoples' lives that I have had invitation and opportunity simply by the fact of being ordained. I was the second person to hold a new born infant; I've anointed, blessed children, houses, teddy bears, vans and trips, Bibles, trees and grounds.

I have spent decades doing the job of clergy which a parishioner once described as "Hatch, Match and Dispatch."

I have also been thought to be a witch, called a heretic, accused of re-writing scripture, had my freezer checked (still not sure what they were looking for) and been verbally attacked and physically threatened.

My journey as a clergywoman has been supported by fellow clergywomen whom sadly had their own horror stories experienced and survived. We tend to bond over those tales. And, also by strong men who know who they are and their call and are never threatened.

Women continue to answer the call.

Women continue to build from a feminist foundation not of top-down power, yet, of all-in circles.

Women, will cuss and cry from the pulpits and at the protests.

A clergywoman friend tells the story that having pastored a congregation for several years, one Sunday the guest preacher was a clergyman.  A young boy whom had only ever known Pastor Stacey was gobsmacked at the sight of man in the pulpit and explained, "When did the church start letting men do this?!!?"

Here's to the women who bear, birth, bless, bemoan and become the communities of faith that nurture us all.

....Among the Amazements

 

The Allegheny River in Freeport, PA (sjs photo)

I am a major fan of the poetry of Mary Oliver because she was so present, so aware, so much in the moment of which she experienced and reflected in her poetry. 

As part of my daily Quiet Time, I always read a poem and then reflect and respond. No surprise, many days the poem is one penned by Mary Oliver.  Today's next-page-in-the-book poem was "Serengeti," and described the beauty, power and fear experienced as the poet watched lions on the African savannah. 

The piece contains the line "to live on this earth among the amazements." 

I have a bird feeder in my backyard. It was one of the first things purchased and placed when I moved in. It is there because my father built and placed a bird feeder in the yard directly outside the kitchen window so my mother, who spent significant time in that room, could watch and enjoy the birds in all the seasons of the year and of the family. So too, my bird feeder is best seen outside the kitchen window (although I don't spend nearly as much time there....).

Following my Quiet Time, I went out back to feed the birds and noticed the red squirrel that had not been around for few days. Recently, this squirrel and I...we umm...we kind of....well....for lack of a better word and insinuating nothing more...we've bonded.  Seriously. He sees me and doesn't quickly run, yet stops and stares and approaches cautiously, toward me.  I hold up a hand, he stops and then I throw him some peanuts, he gathers one-at-a-time and scurries away to bury each peanut in the yard under the pine tree or the locust trees. This is our routine.

As this suburban bit of nature unfolded, I was still thinking about Mary Oliver's poem on the lions of the Serengeti and here, thought I,  are the red squirrels of the South Hills.  Both amazing in their own ways. 

I think of my mother often, she was literally born in the house where she lived her entire life and raised her family. Her honeymoon trip to Nova Scotia was the first and only time she saw the ocean. She loved flowers and drives in the country and walks in the woods. In the summertime after spending hours gardening, she would sit on the front porch and watch the traffic go by and be present.  Some of my treasured moments are sitting with her on the front porch, just watching and being present with Mum and the moment.

There is an abundance of opportunities right here and now and in front of us to, as the poet pens, be "among the amazements." 

May we be centered enough, aware enough and wise enough to notice and be grateful.

Numbers....Numbers...Numbers

 

I've been pondering what is success.  

That thinking had me reflect back many years to when I was in congregational setting ministry. It became (and perhaps still is) about numbers...numbers...numbers... I recall clergywomen (why, O, why can't women be confident enough to lead from a more woman's point of view...) would keep track of every new church appointment given to a female clergy and go to the bookmarked section of the Annual Conference journal and look at: congregational size, average attendance at worship, salary.  No shocker, bitterness ensued, nastiness, cutthroat competition instead of community among the clergywomen who sure could've used the support of women. 

I'm not much of a numbers gal and am not readily oohed-and-aahed by them. Truth be told, the only numbers I focus on are jersey numbers.

I've evidenced too many solid congregations measure effectiveness by the number of bottoms in the pews. One congregation where I was pastor had the head usher at the singing of the first hymn walk up the aisle and place the attendance numbers on the board at the front of the sanctuary. 

The numbers...numbers...numbers neuroses cause far too many clergy to cease to be prophetic because that type of witness often makes folks uncomfortable and angry and then possibly absent from the pews.

More troubling was asking a newly appointed clergy-person about their congregation and the answer beginning with numbers...numbers...numbers....

I want to know, what's the impact in your community? Do folks know you are there?  Are you a place of welcome, safety, support, meeting basic needs of food and shelter?

Have you made people think and, yes, be uncomfortable as one wrestles with how one understands the Divine and this living of the faith?

Have you stood up and stood beside those closest to the pain for the cause of justice...all kinds...all times...all places?

As this Lenten journey continues ponder what is success and ask the biggie question of WHY DO WE DO THIS?