Lent 17: International Women's Day, 2017

For Lent, I am writing here about my life in faith.

This was a blogpost I shared one year ago, marking International Women's Day, 

some thoughts on being a woman in ordained ministry.

I've had some conversations in recent days about how to observe International Women's Day. I support those who will be striking. The world needs to understand the debt it owes to women's work.

As a woman pastor I'm doing work that was forbidden women until relatively recently (60 years in the denomination I serve, the Presbyterian Church USA), and which is still forbidden women in many Christian denominations and in other religious bodies.

Andrea and Mike's wedding rehearsal, with the wonderful
Father John Bucki, S. J.

So today, I am preparing for Sunday by finalizing a bulletin, readings, hymns, prayers. I will be leading worship tonight, along with our church's praise band the Scapegoats. I will be sharing a brief meditation. Afterward, I will be doing work on behalf of our regional denominational body, the Presbytery, by phone conference. I want to work today, because the work I do gives me joy and satisfaction, and the people with whom I do it love, honor, and support me, as I seek to love, honor, and support them.

Some parts of what I do as a pastor look very much like "typical women's work": Visiting the sick. Listening carefully as people share their heartbreak or their joy with me. Helping couples to plan their weddings! Other aspects of this work, I am very aware of the privilege and gift it is to be able to do it, as a woman. I am acutely aware of how, for many women (as it was once for me) it is such an overwhelming gift to see women in this role we were denied until our collective memories of the first women disciples (women like Mary the mother of Jesus, the Samaritan Woman at the well, Mary Magdalene) were retrieved and once again, finally, affirmed. Each time I step into the pulpit and open the folder that holds my sermon notes; each time I invite people to the communion table and repeat the ancient words reminding us of God's immeasurable love and provision for us; each time I hold an infant in my arms (or help a child, on tiptoe, to peer into the font) and pour water over their head; each time I stand over a grave and speak words of hope in a future none of us can yet see clearly... I am aware, so, so, acutely, almost painfully aware, of the cost that has been paid by generation after generation of women, so that I might do these things. 

I will not be striking today. I am privileged. I know that. But I support the strike, and women everywhere who do what must be done.