I used to live and move in a denomination that broke my heart.
I always believed I could do more to change it from within than I could if I left and found a place that suited me better. So I hung on. For years.
The church that raised me,
trained me to minister,
shaped me in the life of faith,
and called me to shepherd their youth -
turned their back on me when I answered the call to ordination.
They refused to ordain me.
Because I was a woman.
And still I pursued the denomination.
Through heartache and tears and questions of God, I believed I should stay.
I went to seminary claiming that denomination with pride.
I found myself among moderates in the denomination - even progressives.
I began to think maybe there was hope.
All 3 Associates at my church-away-from-home were women.
Maybe it was just that one church.
So I graduated from seminary, was ordained by the church that had redeemed the denomination for me, and I went to work for another church in the denomination.
A progressive church, so they claimed.
A church that had women deacons before I was born.
A church that welcomed me as an ordained woman with open arms and open hearts.
And a pastor who was the most abusive boss I've ever known.
From the beginning I should have known.
I should have seen it coming from the time of the interview.
But I was new at this and on a high that I was getting my "dream job"!
I missed the signs and that part is on me.
But that pastor spent the better part of 3 1/2 years destroying me.
I don't remember a single instance of praise for my work that wasn't shadowed by a "pointer."
In 3 1/2 years, I - the Minister of Spiritual Formation - was allowed to preach no more than 4 times.
In 3/12 years, I taught Sunday School or Bible Study only enough times that I could count them off on my hands.
And then I was told that I didn't know how to model a life of faith.
That I didn't have skills for leadership.
That I didn't know how to dress professionally.
That I needed a job coach.
That I should figure it out on my own.
For 3 1/2 years I came home at least once a week in tears.
Many weeks it was more than that.
I was drug before the personnel committee on a monthly basis to divulge the secrets of my personal life and my conversations with my job coach. I was forced to end a relationship with the man who is now my husband or lose my job. My moral standards, my love of the church, and my gifts for ministry were called into question.
Eventually, I gave up.
I found a job (not in a church) making about half of what I made at that church.
I took it without ever looking back.
My resignation letter was not allowed to be public.
The statement they made me write to announce my resignation had to be approved by the pastor and the personnel committee before it could be published or read.
On my last night of service to the church, the pastor and personnel committee chair gave me a gift in front of the entire congregation. They stood at that microphone and said they couldn't talk about how much they'd miss me or they might cry. They talked about the difference I would make in my next job and how they just knew God was leading me there. That I had been called and that their loss was the new agency's gain.
And then they asked me to say something to the gathered congregation.
I stood at the microphone looking over a room of 250 people, most of them in tears over my resignation, and it took everything in me to be gracious and not vicious.
Because what I wanted to say was, "This is not what I wanted. I wanted to stay here for years. I wanted to have my wedding in this sanctuary. I wanted to walk through births and deaths and everything in between with you, but these two people standing right here beside me stole that!"
Instead I told them I loved them, that I would miss them, and that I was looking forward to the opportunity before me. When I walked out the door that night, I never went back. As long as that pastor is there, I cannot imagine a scenario where I ever will.
Part of my Lenten commitment this year is to work through some of this.
I believe the struggles I've faced in the last year and a half around my anxiety are rooted in this story.
And I believe it can be redeemed.
No comments:
Post a Comment