Born in California in the early 1960’s, I was a 1980’s version of a hippie. I loved classic rock music and rarely went to church. A distant relative molested me when I was 14, and I had anorexia by the time I was 16. It was difficult for me to believe that God had a plan for my life, or that I could be useful in any meaningful way. I had always been a person of faith but struggled with organized religion. More than one church experience left a sour taste in my mouth. And I had never seen a woman pastor, ever. Imagine my surprise then, when God called me: a Pink Floyd-loving, non-church-attending woman to be a United Methodist pastor–smack dab in the middle of organized religion! Yet, I knew that I knew. It was the path God had chosen for me.
Interestingly, it never occurred to me that God was bothered by my love of secular music, my suspicion of organized religion, or the insecurities that assaulted my confidence. God knew whom God was calling. Perhaps God chose me precisely because of those things.
Once I understood the path God asked me to follow, I rarely looked back. I have, however, often reflected upon the people whose lives I’ve been privileged to pastor.
I have been invited into people’s most sacred moments of joy, sorrow, vulnerability, questioning, and celebration. There are few professions so richly blessed.
It was during my first pastoral visit that God began to show me the blessing of my calling and to teach me through those to whom I ministered. Carol* contacted the church looking for someone to pray with her. She was facing surgery and was scared. She was anxious because the outcome would have a direct impact on her ability to work. An attractive woman in her early thirties, Carol worked as a stripper. She lost her job due to scars from previous surgeries and finally had enough money for a plastic surgeon to restore her employability.
I knew I was in over my head, but it was my job to visit her. I was not prepared for what I’d find when I paid a visit to her house. It was the smell of cat and dog urine mixed with nicotine that first got my attention, followed by the garbage strewn about the floor. What could I say? How could I overcome my shock and revulsion to offer her support? How could a naïve twenty-something pray for a stripper to have successful surgery in order to return to her chosen profession?
Saying a silent prayer as we made our way to the couch, God came through for Carol in ways I could not have on my own. The Holy Spirit enabled me to ask questions, giving her a chance to share her fears. As it turned out, listening was as important as praying for Carol.
I believe God used me as a vessel of grace for Carol during a difficult time in her life. What’s more, God opened my eyes to one of life’s most profound lessons. At the heart of Carol’s fears was her anxiety over providing for her child. She had few marketable skills and was their sole provider. What I heard in her voice and saw in her eyes was the profound love of a mother for her baby.
God showed me how easily I jumped to conclusions. Her openness revealed a vulnerability that moved my heart beyond measure. It wasn’t long before I understood that His compassion for her was far, far greater than mine could ever be. In other words, God’s love for His children was not and is not limited to the people I think are worthy. It is not my place to judge, only to share His love.
And then there was Jerry*, a man in his early 80’s who had been a member of the church all of his life. He was a retired military man, gruff inside and out. He had a reputation for being unnecessarily blunt and harsh. His “go-to” response was usually negative. Jerry was extremely unhappy that our Bishop had appointed me, a woman, to be his pastor, and he made sure everyone knew it.
Six weeks after I arrived, Jerry marched into my office. He said that he was sure I was a nice lady, and probably a decent pastor and preacher but he was not going to like me or become my friend. He would attend worship because that was his church and he was too old to go elsewhere. He didn’t intend to be ugly, but he felt I deserved to know where he stood. I assumed Jerry’s determination was based on my gender. I told Jerry that I respected his opinion and was sorry the Bishop had not appointed someone with whom he could feel comfortable.
My heart ached for Jerry. I could not imagine the frustration and sorrow of having to worship with a preacher he didn’t want. Truth be told, my heart also ached for me. It intimidated me to know that there were probably others who felt the same way that Jerry did. But, I knew that I knew. God had called me to be a United Methodist Pastor, and God certainly knew I was a woman! So, I prayed for Jerry to find peace with me and for me not to lose confidence.
It wasn’t long, however, before I understood that Jerry’s objection actually had nothing to do with my gender. He had been friends with previous pastors and had grown weary of having to say “goodbye” when they were reappointed. The UMC is based on an itinerant system in which the pastor goes when and where the Bishop appoints. The average appointment lasts five years. Jerry did not want to experience the sorrow of losing another pastor, so he was pushing me away.
Our relationship blossomed despite his determination to the contrary. We met regularly for coffee and teased each other without mercy. He shared his deepest fears and frustrations. He lit up when he spoke of his late wife and of his time as a Marine. When Jerry died two years later, I had the privilege of leading his funeral. I cried as much as anyone.
Again, I gave thanks to God for the joy of serving His people and for the lessons they taught me. Jerry reminded me to check my assumptions at the door, and to focus on the person instead of the attitude.
But I was barely prepared for Grace*, a six-month old accidently killed by her 18 year-old mom who never set foot inside a church. The church I pastored at the time was experiencing some difficulties as they were divided over key issues. Yet they rose to the occasion surrounding her with love, not judgment. I watched as this “organized religion” offered themselves as the hands and feet of Christ to someone they did not know. They put aside their own differences for a greater good.
I am daily privileged to meet people where they are, as they are because in serving them, I behold the very face of God.
*Names changed