Yesterday, along with 650 other people, I
attended the ordination of nine deacons who will serve our diocese as well as
the Diocese of Virginia. I wore this
stole, which I was given at my ordination - although I was a ‘transitional’
deacon who, a year later, was ordained to the priesthood. The process leading up to this was not without
its drama – not because there were questions about my spiritual and moral
fitness of course, but because from the beginning I fit into a newly unveiled
ordination process the way a canary fits into a conclave of kittens.
So at my ordination to the Deaconate, in
front of two bishops and multiple clergy who had the privilege of assessing my
fitness for ministry, as well as several hundred curious and/or disinterested
worshippers, the Rev. George Ross (the priest who welcomed me into the
Episcopal Church and who was the preacher at the occasion) told a story
intended to calm my nerves and to offer me assurance all would be well. He introduced the story with a slight
apology, admitting it was a tad sexist for the time – 29 years ago. I present the gist of it to you this day with
the caveat it may be even a little more sexist today than it was back then:
Years ago there
was a young man who wanted to be ordained into the ministry. In his denomination, the leaders of the local
church examined the candidate and voted to ordain or not. Back in the day only men were allowed to
serve on the congregation’s leadership board.
Even though the earnest and eager young man had grown up in the church,
consent was not a foregone conclusion.
Meeting the morning of the scheduled ordination service, the tone of the
board’s conversation took on an ominous tone.
Some of the men didn’t like the ideas the candidate had picked up at the
liberal seminary he attended. Others questioned
a sermon he had preached. Still others
didn’t approve of the length of his hair.
At one point, the head of the board turned to the congregation’s pastor
and asked for his opinion. “Well,
gentlemen,” he said in a very hushed and wise tone, “the women of the church
have already set up for the reception after the service. They have prepared a wonderful lunch for
everyone and even baked a special cake for the occasion. Given everything the ladies have put into
this, I think the question of ordination is settled.” And with that, the all-male leadership board
voted unanimously to ordain.
I have always loved this story, not so
much because it lowered my anxieties, but because it highlighted for me the
difference between formal and informal authority in the life of the
church. Women were not allowed to serve
on a Vestry in Virginia until 1970, but that does not mean they exercised no
leadership in the church before then.
Here at St. Paul’s, the women formed The Randolph Society, which
implemented much of what we would consider the ministry of the church: seeing
to the Christian education of our children, hosting fellowship events, and raising
funds for outreach projects, while the men of the Vestry debated such weighty theological
matters as how much to pay for a ton of coal, the need to identify the source
of a leak in the roof, and how much money to pledge to the diocese.
You may find it interesting that the Property
Committee made a report at the October 16, 1929 Vestry meeting indicating our
then neighbor, one Mrs. W.T. Jones, had complained “the hedge on the church
property adjoining her home, has been allowed to grow to such height that it so
shaded her garden as to retard the growth of her flowers and requests that such
hedge be trimmed.” How would the
illustrious group of Vestrymen serving such a crucial leadership function deem
best to deal with this delicate matter?
They voted to refer it to The Randolph Society!
Given the ‘authority’ conferred on them
by the male leaders of the parish, whatever those ladies did, they must have
done both swift and well. The minutes of
the next Vestry meeting record that Miss S. Lizzie Morgan complained about “the
excessive growth of the shrubbery and hedge on the church’s property adjoining
her home lot” and stated “it is causing her fence to rot.” Read into the
minutes Miss Morgan saying this: Since you men of the Vestry never seem to be
able to get anything done, can you please authorize the women of the church to
work with me? In a stunning move, the men
voted to refer the matter to The Randolph Society.
I am indebted personally to this group of
fine and faithful women. Back in the
mid-1930’s they put down their collect feet and demanded the Vestry build a
Rectory for the parish’s priest. Since their arrival in 1926, the Rev. Herbert
Nash Tucker, his wife, and four children lived in a rented house on Brewer
Street referred to as the “Blount House.”
Now you many not think this arrangement too bad until you learn that the
rental agreement called for Mr. Blount to retain use of two of the rooms and a
bathroom in the house. Well, it seems
that when Mr. Blount passed away the Vestry decided not to purchase the house
outright. Someone else did and wanted
the Tuckers out.
From my reading of the minutes, the women
of the Randolph Society held the Vestry’s feet to the fire on the matter of
building a suitable Rectory, something which had been debated by the Vestry for
at least twenty years. A Mrs. Darden,
Mrs. Holladay, and Mrs. Bradshaw were sent to the Vestry to say “enough is
enough.” Well, in 1935, the women got
their way and a Rectory was built at 229 N. Saratoga Street at a cost of $8,932. It is the house I now own, but not quite at
that price.
All of my musing about the role and place
of women in the church – both globally and locally – has been inspired by
today’s first reading. Set in the Book
of Acts, it takes place not too long after the Resurrection. Jesus has ascended into heaven to sit at the
right hand of the Father and the disciples – led by Peter – are making their
way with Jesus’ mandate to proclaim the reign of the Kingdom of God.
In this morning’s lesson we learn about Tabitha
(also known as Dorcas). It is the first
and only time she is mentioned in Scripture.
She lives in Joppa, a town on the northern Israel coast of the Mediterranean
Sea. We don’t know if she has been a
longtime follower of Jesus or a recent convert, but the text tells us two
things. First, she is a disciple; in the
Greek a mathetria, the only woman
given such a title in the New Testament whose name we know. And second, we are told she is devoted to
good works and acts of charity. If I put
newsprint in front of us and asked you to name the women you have known in your
life who were both disciples of Jesus and given to good works and acts of
charity, I am confident we could fill pages upon pages of paper. If I asked you to name men who fit this
criteria, it might take some time before we identified even a half-dozen!
Well, Tabitha is suddenly overtaken by a
mysterious illness and dies. The signs
of grief described in the lesson are not at all dissimilar from our own day and
time. When the mourners learn Peter is
staying at a nearby town they send for him.
I like how when he arrives the women show him some of the tunics Tabitha
had made for them. It seems one of her acts
of charity was to sew new clothing for converts who came to the faith wearing
little more than rags. Ladies, what does
descent clothing do for your self-esteem?
I am sure some male disciple presided over a baptismal liturgy that told
these converts they were welcomed into a new and glorious life with Jesus. Tabitha knew this proclamation needed
something tangible and concrete to reinforce the spiritual truth so she gave
each needy person a new tunic to wear.
But now she is dead. Peter prays over Tabitha’s body and then
commands her to “get up”. She opens her
eyes and Peter assists her to her feet. Within
the context of the Book of Acts, this story is meant to convey something of what
scholars call the “post-resurrection reality of Jesus.” If this strikes you as a fancy, but somewhat
aloof theological concept, you are not alone.
While the message death never has the final word is comforting, in our
day and age I believe this reading says something even more powerful about
discipleship and authority. It directs
our attention to the ministry of the women who have baked the special cake to
expose the pointless debate of the men.
This fourth Sunday of Easter is known as
“Good Shepherd” Sunday. It lifts up the shepherd-like
care Jesus has for each one of us. The
reading about Tabitha invites us to ponder to role of shepherdesses in our own
life as well as in the life of our parish and in the church. Theirs has always been a ministry of sensitivity,
compassion, and wisdom. Only recently
has it been coupled with formal authority and power.
One of the glorious ways I see God
working in and through St. Paul’s Vestry is that gender roles have given way to
individual gifts and perspectives. A
woman raises concerns about fiscal responsibility while a man insists on the need
to make the parish comfortable for all.
I pray as we move toward Pentecost Sunday – a day when we celebrate how
God has empowered each of our unique ministries with the presence of the Holy
Spirit – each of us will feel comfortable and confident speaking our truth as
God has given it to us. I pray each of
us will feel comfortable and confident living out your truth as best we
can. I pray we might be able to describe
each and every person here as being a “disciple” “given to good works and acts
of charity.”
