Call

Presiding Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori at Church of the Advocate, Philadelphia, PA

Happy "Philly 11" Day - a day to celebrate 40 years of the Ordination of Women to the Priesthood and 2,000 years of women in ministry.

I offer this in praise and thanksgiving to all the amazing women in my life: 

- from my beloved Grandmother and the nuns of my youth and childhood, many of whom were the first priests I knew and became role models for me of the priesthood by whispering in my child's ear, "Never doubt that Jesus has a mighty work of justice for you to do."

- to Martha Blacklock, the first woman I saw in a clergy shirt and collar which broke through the protective coating I had built up around my heart and allowed me to hear my own call. Your work all those years ago on Mother Thunder liturgy continues to break barriers and calls us to be mindful of the images and language we use for God and humankind.

- to Brooke Alexander, the first woman of the Diocese of Maine, ordained in the Diocese of Maine, now numbered among the saints, who taught me the incarnational truth that "Your mind may fool you and your heart may deceive you, but your body never lies. Learn to listen to your body." 

- to all the women of the Philadelphia Eleven and the Washington Four. Oh, my sisters, to the grace that lead you to your courage, I am forever a grateful debtor. 

- to Elsa Walberg, first woman ordained deacon in 1973 in DioMA who was invited to be one of the "Philadelphia Twelve" but declined at the last minute. Called "a good deacon" publicly by her bishop for this, she wrote to him, "Don't you ever again put me in a position where I have to choose between my sisters and the church." (Hear what the Spirit is saying to the church.)

- to my professors and mentors at The Episcopal Divinity School - all of them, but especially Carter Heyward and Sue Hiatt, Fredrica Harris Thompsett and Kwok Pui Lan for teaching me what I need to know to be an effective minister of the Gospel and strive to be an institutional person with integrity. 

- to Ellen Barrett (now Sr. Bernadette), first lesbian woman ordained in New York and Jane Garrett (VT), first clerical deputy (along with lay deputy Pat Waddell, El Camino Real) to 'come out' on the floor of the 1991 General Convention in Phoenix; two lesbians who are priests who live the simple truth of their lives and know more about courage than I'll ever hope to know.  When I think of how you laid down your lives for us in the "long littleness"of  everyday acts of justice, my heart overflows with gratitude. 

- to the women of The Miserable Offenders, Ana Hernandez and Deborah Bly (who now sings with the heavenly chorus of angels and archangels), whose music not only put the wine of old hymns into the new wine skins of musical arrangements, and so became the musical metaphor of the ministry of women, but also provided the soundtrack of those hard, early years of continuing to beat back the second and third waves of sexism and misogyny in the church. 

- to Margaret Rose, who fulfilled the unlikely role of teaching me how to chant Eucharistic Prayer B in good Anglo-Catholic style for the first time I presided at Eucharist at St. John's, Bowdoin St., Boston. I still hear you calling softly to me over the notes, like a midwife to a woman giving birth to herself: "Breathe. Easy. That's it. Breathe."

- to Marge Christie and Sallee Buckley, two members of the laity who knew well their membership in the priesthood of all believers and grounded their lifelong commitment to the work of justice in their baptismal vows. Like Mary of Magdala, whose Feast Day it was on July 23rd, you taught me that "meet, right and proper" are lovely liturgical words, but the real work of the Eucharist is in that which is broken and poured out and is a scandal to the prevailing culture. 

- to Barbara Clementine Harris, first woman consecrated bishop in the Anglican Communion, who continues to teach me how to gather up my annoyance and agitation about continued injustice, bring it before the God-given-and-blessed place of a sense of humor in us all, and turn the joke on oppression. (To wit, at Lambeth, 1998: "If assholes could fly, this place would be an airport.")

- to Jane Holmes Dixon, second woman consecrated bishop who bore the heat of the day and the scars of battle with misogynists with grace and style and intelligence, laced with deep spirituality and just enough Southern spice to earn the unlikely title, "Kick-Ass Bishop".  I know you aren't 'resting in peace', Jane. Keep kicking my butt from on high when we need it. (Oh, do I miss you!)

- to Katharine Jefferts Schori, first woman Presiding Bishop and Primate in the Anglican Communion, who continues to model what it is to be a strong woman in institutional leadership, and how to take the rap for that with grace and style and an air of mild bemusement (which speaks of humility) that you - even you, of all people - are called to do this work at this time. 

- to the "Too Women" in ordained ministry - deacons, priests and bishops - and those who have felt called to ordination but did not "make it through the process" who have been dismissed and marginalized by the institutional church as "too" - Radical. Angry. "Out there". Emotional. Aloof. Inexperienced. Wounded. - and have not been able to fulfill your ministry in the institutional church.  You are the 'baroque' pearls of great price. You let in more of the Light and Truth than some people can stand. You know who you are. More importantly, God knows. God sees. And, God loves you more than the institutional church ever has and you will ever know.  You bring me hope and inspiration when all the "good girls" who have "made it" bring me to despair.

To all the countless and unnamed and "anonymous" women (too many to be named here, but kept close in my heart) who have built a bridge with their very backs over the raging Rivers of Misogyny and Sexism and Homophobia for us to walk upon and follow the path which God has set out for us. 

You continue to call to us to be true to our vocation in whichever of the four orders of ministry - laity, deacon, priest, bishop - we are called to pursue, whether in the institutional church or outside the institutional church. Or, both. 

Sometimes the sound of that call is a mighty roar.  Sometimes it sounds like tears and laughter, which roll over and over onto, into and out of each other. Most times, it sounds like a whisper, almost inaudible, causing us to lean in, focus, pay attention, and hear it more clearly. Even if that takes all of our whole lives.

Thank you for your obedience to your call, and for teaching me to be obedient to mine.

Together, may we move mountains of prejudice, bigotry and oppression so that all the children of God may one day soon be free.

Call

There is a new sound
of roaring voices
in the deep
and light-shattered
rushes in the heavens.

The mountains are coming alive,
the fire-kindled mountains,
moving again to reshape the earth.

It is we sleeping women,
waking up in a darkened world,
cutting the chains from off our bodies
with our teeth, stretching our lives
over the slow earth—

Seeing, moving, breathing in
the vigor that commands us
to make all things new.

It has been said that while the women sleep,
the earth shall sleep—
But listen! We are waking up and rising,
and soon our sisters will know their strength.

The earth-moving day is here.
We women wake to move in fire.
The earth shall be remade.

From Womanpriest by Alla Renée Bozarth, Paulist Press 1978,revised edition Luramedia 1988, distributed by the poet; Gynergy by Alla Renée Bozarth, Wisdom House 1978; audio cassette Water Women by Alla Renée Bozarth, Wisdom House 1990, distributed by the poet; and Stars in Your Bones: Emerging Signposts on Our Spiritual Journeys by Alla Bozarth, Julia Barkley and Terri Hawthorne, North Star Press of St. Cloud 1990. All rights reserved.

Inspired by “Mountain Moving Day, ” 1911, by Japanese Feminist Poet,Yosano Akiko.

Pearls

Six of the original Philadelphia Eleven

A Sermon Preached at Memorial Church of the Good Shepherd

Philadelphia, PA - July 27, 2014 - Proper 12A

(the Rev'd Dr) Elizabeth Kaeton

Genesis 29:15-26
Psalm 105:1-11,45B
Romans 8:25-39
Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43

Let me being by saying what a real pleasure it is to be with you this weekend. Some of you may know that your rector, Jon Richardson, did two years of his seminary field education with me and then, did his diaconal work as the Interim Missioner for Youth and Young Families, and was ordained priest. I’m very proud of his skills and abilities, his hard work and creativity and his willingness to take risks for the Gospel of Jesus Christ. You are very fortunate to have him as your priest.

I’m here in Philadelphia, of course, for the 40^th Anniversary of the Ordination of women in The Episcopal Church. The women who were ordained to the priesthood are known as "The Philadelphia Eleven" - like there were bank robbers or gang members, right?

I was ordained on the Feast of St. Luke at St. Ann’s Episcopal Church in Lowell, MA in 1986. I would not be a priest today if it had not been for the courageous witness and action of those eleven women who gave us a fuller image of the Realm – or the Kingdom, or Heaven – of God. 

Jesus gives us several images in the Gospel appointed for today:

It’s like a mustard seed – the smallest of the seeds but grows to one of the mightiest trees.

It’s like yeast hidden in a loaf of bread that increases the loaf three times its size.

It’s like a treasure hidden in a field.

It’s like a pearl of great price. 

One of my Spiritual Directors gave me a wonderful image for the Realm of Heaven. She said that sometimes people come into your life - or, you come into someone else's life - to rub each other the wrong way. 

'Divine Sandpaper', she called it.   

In 'rubbing each other the wrong way', all the pretense of politeness or the illusions we create for ourselves or each other, all of that is removed so that our 'true grain" and 'inner brightness' can shine through and be seen. 

I want to talk a bit about this pearl of great price as a metaphor for the ordination of women. One of the Eleven, Alla Renee Bozarth, wrote this poem about Pearls. I’d like to read you the first part of that poem: 

You are pearls.
You began
as irritants.

The ocean pushed

your small, 
nearly invisible
rough body
through an undetected
crack in the shell.
You got inside.
Happy to have a home
at last
you grew close
to the host,
nuzzling 
to the larger body.

You became

a subject
for diagnosis:
invader, tumor.

Perhaps your parents

were the true invaders
and you were born
in the shell—
no difference—
called an outsider
still.

You were a representative

of the whole
outside world,
a grain of sand,
particle of the Universe,
part of Earth.
You were a growth.
And you did not go away.

No matter your vocation, or calling – as a doctor or lawyer, a journalist or judge, a pharmacist or chemist, a teacher or executive, a plumber or electrician, an artist or musician, a deacon, priest or parent (yes, I believe one is called to parenthood and family) – following that call by God to a life of service to others requires a certain measure of persistence.

There are always going to be obstacles – finances, time, and a variety of other, compelling commitments – which demand your time and attention. But, when you are doing what you are supposed to be doing, when you are following the path you are meant to be on, a way always seems to open.

However, when you are called to do something that goes against the grain, which is something someone of your gender or race or color or creed or sexual orientation or physical ability or class status has not done before – you are an outsider to the system – and obstacles become even more formidable. The persistence required to fulfill your vocation is even greater.

You become, 'Divine Sandpaper'. Or, as Alla Bozarth writes, a pearl. You start off as an irritant. An annoyance. You are pushed by the strong tide of vocational call until you crack the shell and get inside where you agitate some more.

Indeed, that kind of vocational call can be especially annoying and agitating even to you.  Sometimes, you wonder why on earth God has called you to the task and wonder why God won’t just leave you alone. A vocation can feel less a ‘call’ and more a push or a shove.

I clearly remember when I first said out loud that I felt called to the priesthood. I was about 6 or 7 – a young girl in a Roman Catholic school – when Sister asked each member in my class that question we all get asked at about that age: What do you want to be when you grow up?

When it was my turn, I said, with every bit as much calm and confidence as the boys who said, “Doctor” and the girls who said “Nurse,” – “When I grow up, I want to be a priest.”

Sister laughed the way adults laugh when you know it’s not funny and said, “Well, dear, girls can’t be priests. Only boys can be priests. So, what do you want to be when you grow up. “

I said, “I want to be a priest.”

The nun wasn’t laughing this time. She said, with an edge of anger in her voice, “I said, girls can not be priests. Girls can be nuns. Girls cannot be priests. So, why don’t you tell us what you want to be when you grow up?”

I knew what I was supposed to answer. I knew the answer Sister wanted me to make. Still, I knew the answer in my heart. I said, “I want to be a priest.”

And then, Sister took a few steps forward, looked me square in the eye and slapped me right across the face. She said, “Don’t you ever say that again.”

When I went home that afternoon, I told my mother what Sister had said and done. My mother became very angry and said, “Well, what did you expect? Don’t ever say that again or I will have to slap your face.”

So, I never said those words again. Well, not for another 25 years.  I also left the church which would not allow me to serve at the altar, much less have any role of ordained leadership.

I still believed in God. I still loved Jesus and wanted to serve the people of God through the church. I believed God was calling me to the priesthood. I just didn’t believe it would be possible. Ever.

And, then, one day – July 29, 1974 – eleven women who had been ordained deacons in The Episcopal Church were ordained to the priesthood by three retired bishops at Church of the Advocate in Philadelphia, PA.

They would become known as “The Philadelphia Eleven”.   

They were/are: Alison Cheek, Suzanne (Sue) Hiatt, Marie Moorefield [Fleischer], Alla Bozarth-Campbell [Alla Renée Bozarth], Betty Bone Schiess, Jeannette Piccard, Merrill Bittner, Emily Clark Hewitt, Irene Carter Heyward, Katrina Welles Swanson and Nancy Hatch Wittig.

The service caused about as much distress in the church as that nun who slapped me across the face when I was a child.  Some churches flew their Episcopal flags upside down. Other churches draped their doors and windows in black bunting and declared themselves in mourning. Some rectors and vestries passed resolutions which stated that they would leave The Episcopal Church to join The Roman Catholic church if the ordinations were found to be valid. 

I am not making this up. It happened just 40 yrs ago.

The ordination service would eventually be determined to be valid. “Irregular”. But, valid.  At the next General convention, in 1976, a resolution was passed which affirmed the validity of the ordination of women to all three orders of ordained service – deacons, priests and bishops.

An interesting note about that debate. At the same time as the ordination of women was being debated, the divorce canons were also being changed. Yes, a little more than 40 years ago, if you divorced you could not be remarried in the church; many were not welcome at the altar rail.

A “new” prayer book was also being brought into being. That would be the “new” 1979 Book of Common Prayer. A debate ensued about the use of gender for humankind.  The “traditionalists” or "conservatives" who did not want to change the language of the “new” prayer book, wanted to use the male pronoun for God and humankind. 

They said that “mankind” was inclusive of male and female.

However, when these same conservatives went to debate against the ordination of women, they argued that the word “man” in the canons meant the male members of the species.   

The women and our male allies, however, called them on that assertion, reminding them of what they had just said in the conversations about the language of the “new” Book of Common Prayer.

Man/Mankind is either inclusive of women or it is not. You can’t say that it excludes women for ordination but includes them in prayer.

I think the term is “hoisted on their own petard”.   

Someone else might call that “redemption”.

Either way, the canons were changed to include women.

As a compromise, the gender pronouns in the BCP were italicized and, where appropriate, “brother/sister” was added.

So, the next time you see an italicized ‘he’ or ‘him’ in the BCP, I hope you’ll remember that little story and how it was part of the argument for the ordination of women.

I do believe there is plenteous redemption with God. Even our most difficult stories can be redeemed by another story. For every story of suffering, there is a story of redemption. For every story of crucifixion, there is a story of resurrection.

Here is one that is redemptive to my story from when the nun slapped my face:

Bishop Barbara Harris tells the story of one of her visitations early in her episcopacy. She was standing at the back of the church, ready to process, when she spotted a little boy with his father. He was standing on the pew and pointing to her. She assumed the child was probably being rude. After the service, the boy’s father sought her out. He said, “My son was so excited to see you. He asked me, ‘Dad, some day, can boys be bishops, too.’?”

My prayer is that, one day soon, that will not be a question any girl or boy will have to ask. Vocation is not about gender. God calls everyone – male, female, old, young, rich, poor, black, white, gay, straight,

For I am convinced, with St Paul that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord – or from the call of God to serve the people of God..

Jesus said, "Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls; on finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it.

Let me conclude with the end of Alla’s poem about Pearls

In time
you grew
so large,
an internal
luminescence,
that the shell
could contain
neither you nor itself,
and because of you
the shell Opened itself
to the world.

Then your beauty
was seen
and prized,
your variety valued:
precious, precious,
a hard bubble of light:
silver, white, ivory,
or baroque.

If you are a special
irregular and rough
pearl, named baroque
(for broke),
then you reveal
in your own
amazed/amazing
body of light
all the colors
of the Universe.

Amen