No, I Am Not Your Sweetheart

Each week I meet with several other clergy for a bible study group. It’s usually a fun discussion about what we’re preaching on, what we’re not preaching on, and what we wished we could preach on the next Sunday.

There’s usually great banter about our differing perspectives and up until today I thought it was a group where we were all mutually respected as colleagues. I have learned that I am mistaken about being mutually respected.

This is the first time, in thirteen years of ministry, that I have experienced blatant condescension because of my gender.

We were discussing John 21:1-19. The one where Jesus tells Peter and others to fish from the other side of the boat. And then cooks breakfast for them. And asks Peter three times if Peter loves him. A text filled with grace that leads us to beautiful and purposeful questions of community.

But the conversation did get a little heated about what we could and could not read into the text and quickly the tone of the conversation shifted from friendly, but challenging banter, to something different entirely.

It began with these words: “Listen, Sweetheart…”

Wait…What?

It was the verbal equivalent of “I’m going to pat you on the head little girl and you go sit in the corner while the rest of us real ministers get to talk.”

To be fair the other male clergy in the room were just as stunned as I was. And while I was the one who responded verbally, I could see from the expression on their faces that this was a comment that was not okay. I did not feel as if I needed one of them to respond for me, or ‘come to my defense.’ I felt that this was something I needed to address, myself, and immediately.

And so I responded. But I had to ‘interrupt him.’ Because he didn’t even seem to realize what he had just said.

“X, you call me sweetheart again and we’re going to have a real problem.” While looking him square in the eye and pointing my finger for greater emphasis.

“oh, well…I’m sorry.” As he waved his hand in the air. As if he were dismissing my very appropriate response to his very inappropriate comment.

There is one man on this planet who is allowed to call me sweetheart. And I can guarantee it is not this man.

Elders of my church laying hands on me
during my installation as their new pastor. 

Part of why I’m frustrated is that this is a group of ministers from liberal mainline denominations. So, I realize I made some assumptions about how women clergy were to be looked upon and treated. As in, treated with respect in conversation and looked upon as equals. This man’s own denomination has ordained women clergy for DECADES.

Clearly there is still work to be done. And lessons to be learned.

One of which is for me. And perhaps it’s past time.

When I went to church as a child or youth (which wasn’t often until my late teens) it was always a conservative church, although varied in denominations. Women were not pastors or spiritual leaders in the church. Unless, of course, it was children’s ministry. Because that’s a woman’s ‘sphere.’

(anyway…)

It wasn’t until I was an adult that I actually knew of women who were ordained and in full-time ministry. As a young woman discovering a call to ministry it was like a door opening up and sunlight bursting forth.

It IS allowed! I CAN do it!

I am embarrassed to admit that I thought in my liberal corner of the church the work had been completed. Many courageous, intelligent, and passionate women have come before me in ministry. It is in their footsteps I follow and it is upon their shoulders I stand. I have never forgotten to be grateful for and to those women for having the courage to answer their call so that I could find it possible to answer mine. I have also been grateful for the male clergy who have supported their female counterparts and pushed the church toward a more equitable and just expression of ministry.

But I was doing them a disservice. Because I haven’t experienced direct condescension like this before this moment, I thought the fight was over.

I see now that some will always be comfortable harboring and feeding beliefs that a woman is not quite as good as a man in my profession. (And, of course, this unfortunately continues to be applicable in many professions.)

It was the unexpectedness of this comment that bothers me. I thought we were ‘us’ not ‘me’ and ‘other.’ It’s always hard to be the other. I thought we were in the same community. Turns out, that’s not mutually understood. (There’s a sermon in that, for all sorts of reasons…)

And, part of the dilemma for me in that moment is how to respond. Not, if I should respond, but how. Can I find it in me to respond with courage and dignity? Can it be a teaching moment for both myself and this 47-year veteran of ministry. One in which expands our community and understanding of ministry. One filled with grace? (Because, you know, the bible, Jesus, grace…)

Or should I respond with my first instinct of things, words that are as equally inappropriate?

It was a close call, let me tell you. I’m sure that’s God there, because it’s certainly not what I almost said.

I feel that I found some middle ground. I was firm, I let it be known that was an inappropriate comment. And then after a short pause, continued with my thoughts about the text. I did not allow that moment to control my ability to contribute thoughtfully to the surrounding conversation.

I will not be intimidated by nor internalize another’s thoughtless disrespect because of my gender. It is my strength. It is my identity. I am a woman. I am an ordained pastor. I am a wife and a mother. All of these, plus much more, contribute to who I am and how I see myself in the world. 

Anointed by Words...

Each Wednesday afternoon I meet with a small group for a book discussion. It’s lovely, we have great conversation about the current book, our faith, and how we understand God.  I look forward each week to seeing this group and all of the ways they make me think. It’s a joy to read and think and talk about it all together.

We meet in the home of a delightful woman, who cannot often leave her home to come to church. So, we bring church to her…and her wit and thoughts on our book and discussion are always worth hearing.

It’s a small group, this church within a church, and yet last week it was the most eventful church moment (in two parts) I’ve experienced in quite some time. I wasn’t busy ‘being’ the church as pastor, I was ‘receiving’ the church as a fellow worshiper.

Since it was Ash Wednesday on the way out of my office to attend the book study I grabbed my small wooden container filled to the brim with ashes (container bought at the Christian bookstore just that morning) and put them in my purse. No worries—they traveled safely.

Before we began I asked the woman who’s home we were meeting in if she would like to receive ashes after our study. She shared that she was hoping I would bring some and that she almost called me to make sure I would. I invited those present to remain, so we could continue in community together and if any of them were unable to attend our service that night and would like to receive also to let me know by turn.

Our regular study commenced. And then church REALLY began. In all of its simplicity and glory and loveliness, church that brought tears to our eyes and made a connection with the divine that in all its mystery and glory burst forth upon us.

She was sitting, and being a bit frail there was no way I would ask her to get up and come to me…so naturally I went to her. And on my knees I shared a short reading and prayer and anointed her with ashes, and uttered the familiar words cherished and passed down through the centuries, “From dust we came and to dust we shall return.”

Tears flowed. Church was joyful. We understood that we were in the midst of the Holy Spirt, which continually dances through our lives, but that we don’t always recognize.

Then I quietly asked, ‘are there any others’ from behind me a quiet voice said ‘me, please.’

I turned and in the same way, offered ashes to another. Saying once again, words that bring connection to all who have come before and to all who will come after.

And tears flowed.

Our hearts were full.

Then we went along our day, and what stuck out to me was the beauty and privilege of being able to offer these lovely women a ritual that has stood the test of time, that unites so many of us in different places with slightly different theologies, and connects us all to our shared past.

And, I thought I was the one who was offering the anointing that afternoon.

Until I returned to church…

A short time later I came into the church office and overheard the second woman say, with a tremble in her voice, ‘and then she…’ And they both looked up. I did not realize that I was stumbling upon my own anointing.

With tears flowing down her cheeks, she said to me, “To think. That MY pastor would humble herself like that and serve me on her knees…”

I’ll confess, it was not humility that brought me to my knees an hour earlier. It was the thought that I should go to them, help them be comfortable, and offer them what I thought they were seeking.

I did not realize that I was going to benefit in a much different way.

To hear a woman, a long time dedicated member of God’s church say to me, “To think MY pastor…”

My pastor. Not THE pastor, or even OUR pastor. But, MY pastor. In that moment she did more for me than I can express. These four plus months of newness in call, of stumbling my way around new people and new traditions, finding my preaching voice, of planning and rushing and learning what it means to be THE pastor, I understood I wasn’t THE pastor. I was HER pastor. And, with those simple words she anointed me.

She anointed me.

More than in my Installation last October I was made Pastor. And I am grateful, and now truly humbled that these people have called me be with them. It is a privilege, and may I NEVER forget that afternoon in a compact church office with a woman who taught me that I am, indeed, HER pastor.

Thanks be to God. 

I don't control the universe.

So begins a note I have made for myself and taped to my desk. My new desk. In my new office. For my new pastoral gig. Just over a month ago I was called to a church for my first solo position. It's exciting. And terrifying. And sometimes just regular--which helps my head not explode when it's exciting and terrifying. 

It's a great church. Really. I am falling in love with these people (as if it hasn't happened already and I'm just trying to think I'm taking it slow.) They already have great ministry in place, they are healthy, they are eager...and still, as with every church there are a few things that can be tweaked. Things they are hoping for, dreaming of and wanting. Those and other things I think would be perfect for ministry. And then I remember it's not my ministry. It's our ministry. And thus the importance for my note to myself. 

Because it really isn't about me. I don't have to control the universe. And thank God for that. It's about this amazing God we worship and how somehow when we all get together with purpose in our hearts we can do beautiful things in the world. We're full of hope and joy and...anticipation. It's as if advent began weeks ago instead of just now. 


We're clearly in our honeymoon of ministry, these folks and I. And yet, we're also laying groundwork for our future relationships and ministry together. I remind myself that I am here for the long haul, this is not a layover in my life until I get to the place I've been trying to get to for years. This is it. The real deal. And it's awesome. And I feel a bit giddy at times. But, then sometimes I think, "oh no. This is FOR REAL."

It's not like if I make a misstep it's all over, I think they are a pretty grace-filled bunch. But, I'm not sure I'm that grace-filled for myself. I tend to want to control what I do pretty tightly. I don't typically put that expectation on others, that's a small little gift I generously give myself.

Thus the note. 

The ever important, breathe, listen, advice from and for myself. The advice that is a chorus of a thousand other ministers. The advice that says, in a hundred ways, and yet in only a few words, that I've got this. Not that I can control everything so that I'm comfortable. But that I can remember, when it's important, that I don't. And I can be okay with that. Because that's ministry--all of us--breathing and listening together.