Mary came and told the disciples, “I have seen the Lord.”  John 20

“There is no need to remain stuck in sorrow, grief, and doubt!  For his grace will be with you all; it will guide you, comfort you, shelter, and protect you.”  The Gospel of Mary

“Daddy, why can’t women be pastors?”

Asked many years ago by my young daughter, it is a question—and answer—that I still remember.

“Because the Bible says they can’t,” I replied.

Here there was a long pause on her part.

Finally, she said, “But the bible was written by men.”

“Yes, but it was God who inspired them to write it,” I said.

“But God’s a man too,” she quickly replied.

I don’t recall what I said to that.  I probably launched into a defense of the legitimacy of scripture, quoted a verse about how “holy men of God spoke as they were moved by the spirit,” or came up with something else, none of which satisfied her.  For that matter, it didn’t satisfy me either.  The sad thing is I didn’t do anything about it.  Here was my chance to help her see the Christian faith as something other than male dominated, and I didn’t do it.  I failed.

Growing up, and then serving as a pastor in a conservative Lutheran Church, women were marginalized.  Men were pastors, ushers, and readers.  Men ran the church council and comprised the board of elders.  Women were relegated to the kitchen, ladies aid, mission society, or serving the lunches after funerals.  Oh, they were allowed to teach Sunday School.  In that regard, one of the best lessons I ever learned about God was from Mrs. Ewing, my Sunday school teacher.  That’s a topic for another time.

Even as a child I sensed something spiritually amiss.  I was the only boy in a household of five women—my mom and four sisters—all of whom not only treated me well but seemed to be quite faithful and pious.  I couldn’t quite understand the prohibition against women serving in the church.  Because we were Lutheran, we didn’t have Mother Mary or any of the female saints like the Catholics did.  In fact, we were taught that honoring, i.e. worshipping them was a very bad thing.  The church, and by extension the faith that I experienced, was a private men’s club.

This was reinforced during my years studying to enter the ministry.  All of my college theology courses were taught by men.  The seminary had only men on the teaching staff.  The only time the topic of women in the church came up was when we discussed what roles they could fill.  Was it proper for them to vote in a congregational meeting?  What about serving as a lector and reading the Sunday lessons?  By teaching Sunday school were they exercising authority over men?  I experienced the same type of indoctrination in the pastoral ministry.

In my first congregation there were women who read the Old Testament and Epistle lessons on Sundays.  On one occasion I attended a small gathering of pastors.  When I introduced myself as the newcomer one of the long-time pastors said, “Oh yes, you’re the one who has women readers.”

God blessed me with four daughters, at least two of whom would’ve made excellent pastors.  But that was never an option in our church organization, so it was never a discussion we had when considering their career choices. 

At the first congregational meeting I attended at the last Lutheran church I served people were arguing about what women should and shouldn’t be allowed to do in the church.

I could go on listing examples of the ways in which I was part of the prejudice and discrimination extended against women in the church—all in the name of the bible and God of course.  But if you’ve been around Christian churches—at least “bible based” ones, you don’t need me to tell you more stories—you have plenty of your own.

It wasn’t until I left that Lutheran organization that my eyes were opened, and I saw women in the church in a different light.  At Iona, where I had retreated to for a time, I witnessed women clergy serving as preachers, celebrants, counselors, and even leaders.  Some of the most wonderful people I met there were women pastors.  And one of the most encouraging conversations I had was with a woman pastor.

As I reflect on this journey, I am, on the one hand, ashamed.  Ashamed that I drank the kool-aid, so to speak, and disregarded my own love and admiration for women, buying into the prejudicial, pejorative, and yes patriarchal, views of women.  I can only imagine what effect it had not only on my former parishioners, but on my own family members!

On the other hand, I am filled with gratitude.  By the grace of God, which Mary speaks of in the above quote, I was delivered from the darkness of discrimination in the name of religion and brought into the light of Christ’s love for ALL people—even and maybe especially women.

And that, finally, brings me to Mary.  She was the first one to see the light of Christ’s resurrection on that first Easter.  She was the first to converse with the risen Christ.  She was the first to share the good news with others.  This Easter I have been especially struck by her significance in the story of Jesus.  And that is why, in my next blog, I ‘m going to write more specifically about her. 

The daughter that asked me the question, she’s grown up to be a wonderful young woman.  She has a faith in some form, but she doesn’t practice it as far as I can tell.  I wonder what part I’ve played in that.  And I wish I could go back to the time when my daughter asked me that question.  “Daddy, why can’t women be pastors?” 

“They can honey.  They can.”