On April 6th
2013, I had the great honour and privilege of serving as deacon at
the consecration to Bishop in the Anglican Communion of Alison
Taylor. Not only was it my first time serving in this capacity at the
'mothership' (aka Cathedral), but it was also the first time a woman
has been consecrated to this position in Brisbane, the 4th
in Australia and only the 34th worldwide. This experience
has touched me deeply, pulling me into the potential of the future as
well as pushing me back into my own past.
I was never a
particularly 'girly girl'. Growing up in the 80's,, my mum would sew
me the most beautiful skirts, delicate tops, flouncy dresses. And we
would have screaming, tearful arguments about why I should wear them
to my friends party rather than the jeans and t shirt I had planned.
I was an early female member of my local cub scout group, forcing my
father to become a scout leader for three years so I could go on
camps as the only girl. I remember lying in the bath at around 10
years old bitterly wondering why God had made me a girl when boys
seemed to be able to run faster, climb higher, punch harder. Don't
get me wrong, I was never confused as to my gender identity for a
minute, but really, boys seemed to get the better deal.
Then puberty hit, and
as an early bloomer I became very attractive to the boys. This
changed things!I still preferred pants to skirts and would rather DO
something than WATCH it, but there seemed to be some compensations
for being a girl that I hadn't come across till now. And I showed
some ability in science, maths and literature that helped me to see I
could 'compete' with the boys on a more even footing – suddenly
being a girl didn't seem so bad.
I grew up surrounded by
strong women – my mother, my grandmothers and my God-mother have
always been huge influences in my life. So in 1992, at 11 years old,
it was a given that I would go (in a dress!) and see my beloved
godmother be ordained as an Anglican priest.
To be honest I don't
have many memories of this time. I remember a crowded cathedral. I
remember lots of people in long white dresses, men and women, looking
very formal and a bit nervous. I remember the sound of a huge organ
filling all available space. And I remember a crowd of dirty, hairy
old men striding down the cathedral in the middle of the ceremony,
yelling and pointing at the ordinands waiting to fulfil their calling
as priests in the Anglican Church. I don't remember much about what
happened next, but my god-mother and her colleagues were duly
ordained and took their place in the ordained ministry of the
Anglican church.
Maybe I was sheltered,
maybe naïve, maybe I was just a typical self centred pre teen, but I
never understood the fuss over whether or not women could be priests.
My parents were both teachers, so surely (in my mind) men and women
could do the same job without any differentiation? I had no
understanding of the exclusive 'maleship' of God or of Christ –
indeed, if God and through God Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit were
as integral to my being as my very breath, how could they be male? It
was a no brainer – to restrict the gender of priests was to
restrict God, and that can only be wrong. Until I left school however
it was really a moot point – I knew female priests existed, I even
knew some, but this issue was not particularly relevant to me.
Until I felt the call.
It began when I was finishing grade 12, set on going to university to
study music, sure that this was my path. But there was always that
small voice, pushed to the side with exasperation - “what about
being a priest?”.
Later, as a finished my
Bachelor of Music degree, the voice got more insistent. I started
talking about the idea of priests in general with those around me,
testing out the thought in my brain, on my tongue. Performing in a
Church one day with a group of friends, I tentatively ventured the
idea that I may be back one day in a different calling. My friend
collapsed in laughter - “You're a woman! Women can't be priests!”.
I didn't ask why not.
My journey continued as
I started studying theology, applied for discernment (which begins
the process leading to ordination), was knocked back, kept studying,
had a baby, applied and got into the formation program, got cancer,
kept studying, had another baby, kept studying and finally was
ordained as a Deacon in the Anglican Church last year.
Did being a woman hold
me back? Does it still? Truthfully, I don't know. Sometimes, it was
probably an advantage. Certainly as a mother with a young family I
have an automatic bond with other parents. Probably some people feel
more comfortable talking to me exactly BECAUSE I don't look or act
like a 'typical' minister. But the kind of people I work with,
minister to and are surrounded by are not the kind of people who have
a problem with my ministry as an ordained woman anyway, so I wouldn't
know. I know that some of the kids I teach Christian Religious
Education to have never been exposed to an ordained woman before, but
certainly it doesn't seem to bother them. I know that there will be
times that I am not going to be the most appropriate minister for a
particular circumstance, and some of that will probably be down to my
gender. If someone is so uncomfortable with my position and gender
that it becomes a barrier between them and God, and there is not
enough time to show them how God is at work in and through me, then I
hope I will be graceful in my acceptance of this. If by God's will I
am ordained as a priest it breaks my heart that my ordination will
not be recognised in some parts of the Anglican Church, even here in
Australia. But my hope is that as women become more visible members
of the body of Christ, as we minister to God's people with our
special gifts as women and priests in God's Church, we can start to
break through these barriers and see the Christ in all of us.
So this, this is
why it was such an incredible, Spirit-full occasion to be a part of
the service that tied Bishop Alison to us with bonds that can't be
broken. Because in affirming her vocation we affirm that God is not
limited by human boundaries or understandings, that Christ is not
found exclusively in those with male genitalia, that the Spirit fills
us in ways that are beyond any of our limited human understanding.
And my children now have the opportunity to grow up knowing that
nothing can separate them from God. Nothing.
