A Call To Ministry
Stories
Object:
Contents
Sharing Visions: "A Call to Ministry" by Nancy Nichols
Good Stories: "A Place to Hide" by John E. Sumwalt
John's Scrap Pile: "Reflections on Jonah"
Sharing Visions
A Call to Ministry
by Nancy Nichols
As Jesus passed along the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and his brother Andrew casting a net into the sea - for they were fishermen. And Jesus said to them, "Follow me and I will make you fish for people." And immediately they left their nets and followed him.
Mark 1:16-18
I joined the church when I was in junior high school. Part of the confirmation class included preparing a worship service as a group. We passed a black hat around and each confirmand pulled out a slip of paper assigning the role each person would play in the service. The slip of paper I pulled said 'sermon." I was 12. I don't remember if there was any controversy that I got the sermon role, but I do remember that I shared that responsibility with another person, a boy. Was that in the original plan? I don't know.
After confirmation, I was often the layperson who led the congregation through worship. I continued to go to youth group, outside Bible studies, and Sunday School. I never, however, found my way into any kind of leadership in those organizations. I did not preach another sermon until I had completed my first year of seminary. I was a useful participant, one who could be counted on to support the leaders, listen to the others in the group, and play my guitar during group singing. In short, I fulfilled the expectations of my role as a nice, sweet, supportive girl!
In hindsight, it is obvious that my life was being shaped by my desire to be involved in the church in more than a surface capacity. I do not recall anyone ever mentioning that I should consider ministry as a possibility for my life. It was assumed, at least by me, that I would follow along in the family tradition of education and prepare to become a teacher. I do know that had anyone suggested ministry, I would have said no. I had never seen a clergywoman, did not know that women could be ministers, and was influenced, at least to some degree, by friends who believed that women should be silent in the church and by a society that was just shifting toward supporting educated women who made lifestyle choices that did not fall into the traditional roles of secretary, store clerk, nurse, teacher, or marriage soon after high school.
During my senior year of college, I dropped out of secondary education. I finished with a B.A. in History. I was not prepared to do anything, and I knew it. I had spent my last semester of college in Chicago doing an Urban Studies experience. During that semester my entire world turned upside down. I examined my assumptions of what it meant to be middle class, what it meant to be white, and most of all, what it meant to be a woman. I began to realize that, although there were social limitations, I could be more than a wife, mother, and teacher. The path was being laid for me to accept my call to ministry. The year was 1980.
After I graduated from college, I went back home for a while. As always, my connection to the church was strong: I attended worship, chaperoned youth groups, went to Sunday school. The minister, who had come while I was in college, began talking to me about going into the ministry. I kept saying no. He introduced me to a woman who was serving a nearby United Methodist Church while attending seminary. My ears perked up, but I said no. Finally, probably more to shut him up than for any other reason (something I still remind him of on a regular basis), I decided to go to seminary; for the education, not to be a minister. By spring of my first year, I realized that I was, indeed, called into the parish ministry, and started the process toward ordination. The time frame, from confirmation to my entrance into seminary, was 10 years.
Would this decision have been any easier had I been male? I don't know that the decision to enter professional ministry is ever easy, but I think it would have been suggested much earlier in my life had I been a boy-child rather than a girl-child. I know I would have had more opportunities in college to explore leadership roles within the church body had I been male, and I suspect that even leadership in my home youth group would have been easier had I been a boy. I do know that the idea of being a minister would not have been as foreign to me had I been male - I would have at least looked and sounded like all the other ministers who had crossed my path. I wasn't just struggling with the decision to become a full-time, ordained minister. I was struggling to do something that few women were doing at that time, and I didn't perceive myself as either a rebel or a pioneer.
The struggle I had accepting my call to ministry did not end with my decision to pursue ordination. If anything, it became harder. Never did anyone in my family discourage me from the path toward ordination, nor did anyone in my home church. However, when I was recommended for ministry by the local personnel committee, I reminded them that by recommending me it meant they, in essence, were saying they would welcome the appointment of a woman as their minister. I was met with less than accepting gazes.
In the United Methodist Church, the Bishop appoints clergy to local churches after discussion with the Cabinet, a group of clergy called District Superintendents who are given administrative oversight in a geographical area. The common practice is for churches to accept the person appointed by the Bishop. Two years after I left seminary, I was taken by the District Superintendent to the Pastor-Parish committee of one church and introduced as their new pastor. They turned me down. They liked me "as a person," but were sure that, because I was a woman, their congregation would revolt and they would lose members. They also did not want to lose face in the small, conservative town where they were located. One member on that committee was a distant cousin, who had known both my mother and my grandmother. She apologized for the committee's decision, but supported it. I found out later that the youth from that church went to the Pastor-Parish committee and told the adults they were disappointed in them! It truly was against the United Methodist polity for this to happen, but it did. I was stuck. I had to have a place to be, and there were no more openings. I clung to the scripture that promises God will not leave you orphaned. I felt very much alone, although I had the support of family and friends. I learned, at a deeper level than I had ever known before, to trust in God!
When I was finally ordained as an Elder, five years after I left seminary, I felt that I had arrived. I was appointed to be an associate at a large downtown church. I had met the senior pastor and knew I could work with him. However, within weeks of my arrival, a local person placed the following message on a public sign: "Women ministers, totally unscriptural, shame on the Methodists." While this man was not a member of my congregation, I could not help but believe he represented at least one perspective present in the parish. Later, my father told me that when he attended worship on my first Sunday there, he overheard someone say, "Well, I suppose we were going to have to get one someday, might as well get it over with." I can only imagine what the response would have been if I had been appointed as the senior pastor! Once again, before I could even show what I could do, I had to defend my right to do it!
It was just at this time, when I was ready to give up, that I remembered an event from that long ago spring when I was confirmed. I was sitting under a tree, thinking about preaching on the Lord's Prayer, when I clearly heard a voice say, "Nancy, be a minister." And I responded, "No, God, women don't do that." It had taken twenty years for me to remember my initial call to ministry. I forgot. God did not.
Good Stories
Place to Hide
by John E. Sumwalt
On God rests my deliverance and my honor; my mighty rock, my refuge is in God.
Psalm 62:7
Therefore, let all who are faithful offer prayer to you; at a time of distress, the rush of mighty waters shall not reach them. You are a hiding place for me; you preserve me from trouble; You surround me with glad cries of deliverance.
Psalm 32:6-7
Benjamin Dalton wanted to hide. He would have crawled under his desk, but that was where the problem lay. There was a puddle directly under his seat. No, the roof wasn't leaking and the school plumbing was working fine, but there was a wet streak running all the way up one of his pants legs.
Benjamin didn't know why it had happened. It had never happened before. He made it all the way through kindergarten, first grade, and second grade, and never had a problem like this. This sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen to third graders. But there it was, and Mrs. Butler was headed his way. What was he going to do?
He was sure everyone would laugh and make fun of him. He would be the laughingstock of the whole school. All of the big boys would tease him and the girls would probably never speak to him again.
Benjamin couldn't remember ever being in a worse situation in his life. He had wet the bed at home a few times and his parents had always been very understanding. But this was school!
How was it the Sunday school teacher said you were supposed to pray when you were in trouble?
Just then Alicia Gordon walked by. She had been to the sink to put fresh water in the fish bowl. She was trying to walk very carefully so as not to spill any water while returning it to the window sill.
Suddenly Alicia tripped. No one stuck out a foot and there was nothing in the aisle; she just tripped. The fish bowl went flying through the air and landed upside down in Benjamin's lap. Water poured all over his pants and spilled onto the floor under his desk. One of the goldfish ended up in his shirt pocket and the other one went sliding across the room toward Mary Lou Felton's desk.
Benjamin's pants were soaked and there was water everywhere. He couldn't believe his good fortune. He was saved! Now no one would ever know about his embarrassing accident. He pretended to be upset with Alicia when Mrs. Butler came to clean up the mess, but it was all he could do to keep from hugging her.
Somehow Benjamin managed to get through the rest of the school day. Mrs. Butler found him an old pair of gym shorts to wear while his pants dried in the furnace room. He enjoyed the extra attention he got from all the kids who felt sorry for him because he got all wet. And he felt sorry for Alicia because everyone was teasing her for being such a klutz. What a strange turn of events.
While he was waiting for the bus, Benjamin noticed Alicia standing all alone, so he went over to talk to her. He didn't know what made him say it, he just seemed to blurt it out. "You tripped on purpose, didn't you, Alicia?"
Alicia just smiled. Then she said, "I wet the bed once when I was staying overnight with my aunt and uncle in St. Louis. I remembered how awful I felt when they found out."
Benjamin squeezed her hand quickly so no one could see. He saw her smile as he ran to get on the bus.
On the way home, Benjamin said a prayer, thanking God for Alicia Gordon.
John's Scrap Pile
Reflections on Jonah
Jonah 3:1-5, 10; 4:1-8
It is a plain fact that, sooner or later, we will all find ourselves in the belly of some great fish, as Jonah did when he tried to run away from God. Or we may find ourselves pouting under a bush, as Jonah is here at the end of the story, because God won't let us have our own ways. But that is how we learn (or fail to learn, as seems to be the case with Jonah) how forgiving and loving God is despite our persistent foolishness and stubbornness.
Former senator Paul Tsongas died in 1997 at the age of 55, just five years after he ran for President. Tsongas beat Bill Clinton in New Hampshire and went on to win caucuses and primaries in seven other states. He dropped out of the presidential campaign after losing to Clinton in Illinois and Michigan.
Tsongas once said that three things defined him: working as a young man in his father's dry cleaning business in the economically depressed city of Lowell, Massachusetts; serving in the Peace Corps; and contracting cancer. He said that working in the dry cleaning shop made him aware of economic hardship, the Peace Corps brought a joy in public service that led to a political career, and getting cancer tempered what he called an overriding ambition.
Tsongas said, "Before I had cancer, I was one of the pettiest people you've ever run into. I would get angry at my wife for leaving the top off the toothpaste. I'd get angry at my kids for the dumbest things. Looking back on it I feel mortified, I was a fool." (The New York Times Obituaries, January 20, 1997, Karen DeWitt)
It was such petty anger and foolishness that landed Jonah in the belly of the fish. God wanted him to preach repentance to the people of Nineveh. Jonah didn't want these hated enemies of Israel to repent. He wanted God to punish them. It would be like God calling a patriotic, flag-waving American to go to Baghdad to invite Saddam Hussein to repent. Many Americans don't want Saddam to repent, they want God, or the American military, to punish him.
Jonah whines and pouts when the Ninevites do exactly what God asks them to do. He is angry that Ninevites don't get what they deserve. And he assumes that he fully deserves the love and protection God gives him.
Is there any one of us who does not have this kind of "Jonah moment" at one time or another? Are we willing to consider the possibility that God loves Saddam at least as much as God loves us, and that God might want us to behave accordingly?
StoryShare, January 26, 2003, issue.
Copyright 2003 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons and in worship and classroom settings only. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., P.O. Box 4503, Lima, Ohio 45802-4503.
Sharing Visions: "A Call to Ministry" by Nancy Nichols
Good Stories: "A Place to Hide" by John E. Sumwalt
John's Scrap Pile: "Reflections on Jonah"
Sharing Visions
A Call to Ministry
by Nancy Nichols
As Jesus passed along the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and his brother Andrew casting a net into the sea - for they were fishermen. And Jesus said to them, "Follow me and I will make you fish for people." And immediately they left their nets and followed him.
Mark 1:16-18
I joined the church when I was in junior high school. Part of the confirmation class included preparing a worship service as a group. We passed a black hat around and each confirmand pulled out a slip of paper assigning the role each person would play in the service. The slip of paper I pulled said 'sermon." I was 12. I don't remember if there was any controversy that I got the sermon role, but I do remember that I shared that responsibility with another person, a boy. Was that in the original plan? I don't know.
After confirmation, I was often the layperson who led the congregation through worship. I continued to go to youth group, outside Bible studies, and Sunday School. I never, however, found my way into any kind of leadership in those organizations. I did not preach another sermon until I had completed my first year of seminary. I was a useful participant, one who could be counted on to support the leaders, listen to the others in the group, and play my guitar during group singing. In short, I fulfilled the expectations of my role as a nice, sweet, supportive girl!
In hindsight, it is obvious that my life was being shaped by my desire to be involved in the church in more than a surface capacity. I do not recall anyone ever mentioning that I should consider ministry as a possibility for my life. It was assumed, at least by me, that I would follow along in the family tradition of education and prepare to become a teacher. I do know that had anyone suggested ministry, I would have said no. I had never seen a clergywoman, did not know that women could be ministers, and was influenced, at least to some degree, by friends who believed that women should be silent in the church and by a society that was just shifting toward supporting educated women who made lifestyle choices that did not fall into the traditional roles of secretary, store clerk, nurse, teacher, or marriage soon after high school.
During my senior year of college, I dropped out of secondary education. I finished with a B.A. in History. I was not prepared to do anything, and I knew it. I had spent my last semester of college in Chicago doing an Urban Studies experience. During that semester my entire world turned upside down. I examined my assumptions of what it meant to be middle class, what it meant to be white, and most of all, what it meant to be a woman. I began to realize that, although there were social limitations, I could be more than a wife, mother, and teacher. The path was being laid for me to accept my call to ministry. The year was 1980.
After I graduated from college, I went back home for a while. As always, my connection to the church was strong: I attended worship, chaperoned youth groups, went to Sunday school. The minister, who had come while I was in college, began talking to me about going into the ministry. I kept saying no. He introduced me to a woman who was serving a nearby United Methodist Church while attending seminary. My ears perked up, but I said no. Finally, probably more to shut him up than for any other reason (something I still remind him of on a regular basis), I decided to go to seminary; for the education, not to be a minister. By spring of my first year, I realized that I was, indeed, called into the parish ministry, and started the process toward ordination. The time frame, from confirmation to my entrance into seminary, was 10 years.
Would this decision have been any easier had I been male? I don't know that the decision to enter professional ministry is ever easy, but I think it would have been suggested much earlier in my life had I been a boy-child rather than a girl-child. I know I would have had more opportunities in college to explore leadership roles within the church body had I been male, and I suspect that even leadership in my home youth group would have been easier had I been a boy. I do know that the idea of being a minister would not have been as foreign to me had I been male - I would have at least looked and sounded like all the other ministers who had crossed my path. I wasn't just struggling with the decision to become a full-time, ordained minister. I was struggling to do something that few women were doing at that time, and I didn't perceive myself as either a rebel or a pioneer.
The struggle I had accepting my call to ministry did not end with my decision to pursue ordination. If anything, it became harder. Never did anyone in my family discourage me from the path toward ordination, nor did anyone in my home church. However, when I was recommended for ministry by the local personnel committee, I reminded them that by recommending me it meant they, in essence, were saying they would welcome the appointment of a woman as their minister. I was met with less than accepting gazes.
In the United Methodist Church, the Bishop appoints clergy to local churches after discussion with the Cabinet, a group of clergy called District Superintendents who are given administrative oversight in a geographical area. The common practice is for churches to accept the person appointed by the Bishop. Two years after I left seminary, I was taken by the District Superintendent to the Pastor-Parish committee of one church and introduced as their new pastor. They turned me down. They liked me "as a person," but were sure that, because I was a woman, their congregation would revolt and they would lose members. They also did not want to lose face in the small, conservative town where they were located. One member on that committee was a distant cousin, who had known both my mother and my grandmother. She apologized for the committee's decision, but supported it. I found out later that the youth from that church went to the Pastor-Parish committee and told the adults they were disappointed in them! It truly was against the United Methodist polity for this to happen, but it did. I was stuck. I had to have a place to be, and there were no more openings. I clung to the scripture that promises God will not leave you orphaned. I felt very much alone, although I had the support of family and friends. I learned, at a deeper level than I had ever known before, to trust in God!
When I was finally ordained as an Elder, five years after I left seminary, I felt that I had arrived. I was appointed to be an associate at a large downtown church. I had met the senior pastor and knew I could work with him. However, within weeks of my arrival, a local person placed the following message on a public sign: "Women ministers, totally unscriptural, shame on the Methodists." While this man was not a member of my congregation, I could not help but believe he represented at least one perspective present in the parish. Later, my father told me that when he attended worship on my first Sunday there, he overheard someone say, "Well, I suppose we were going to have to get one someday, might as well get it over with." I can only imagine what the response would have been if I had been appointed as the senior pastor! Once again, before I could even show what I could do, I had to defend my right to do it!
It was just at this time, when I was ready to give up, that I remembered an event from that long ago spring when I was confirmed. I was sitting under a tree, thinking about preaching on the Lord's Prayer, when I clearly heard a voice say, "Nancy, be a minister." And I responded, "No, God, women don't do that." It had taken twenty years for me to remember my initial call to ministry. I forgot. God did not.
Good Stories
Place to Hide
by John E. Sumwalt
On God rests my deliverance and my honor; my mighty rock, my refuge is in God.
Psalm 62:7
Therefore, let all who are faithful offer prayer to you; at a time of distress, the rush of mighty waters shall not reach them. You are a hiding place for me; you preserve me from trouble; You surround me with glad cries of deliverance.
Psalm 32:6-7
Benjamin Dalton wanted to hide. He would have crawled under his desk, but that was where the problem lay. There was a puddle directly under his seat. No, the roof wasn't leaking and the school plumbing was working fine, but there was a wet streak running all the way up one of his pants legs.
Benjamin didn't know why it had happened. It had never happened before. He made it all the way through kindergarten, first grade, and second grade, and never had a problem like this. This sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen to third graders. But there it was, and Mrs. Butler was headed his way. What was he going to do?
He was sure everyone would laugh and make fun of him. He would be the laughingstock of the whole school. All of the big boys would tease him and the girls would probably never speak to him again.
Benjamin couldn't remember ever being in a worse situation in his life. He had wet the bed at home a few times and his parents had always been very understanding. But this was school!
How was it the Sunday school teacher said you were supposed to pray when you were in trouble?
Just then Alicia Gordon walked by. She had been to the sink to put fresh water in the fish bowl. She was trying to walk very carefully so as not to spill any water while returning it to the window sill.
Suddenly Alicia tripped. No one stuck out a foot and there was nothing in the aisle; she just tripped. The fish bowl went flying through the air and landed upside down in Benjamin's lap. Water poured all over his pants and spilled onto the floor under his desk. One of the goldfish ended up in his shirt pocket and the other one went sliding across the room toward Mary Lou Felton's desk.
Benjamin's pants were soaked and there was water everywhere. He couldn't believe his good fortune. He was saved! Now no one would ever know about his embarrassing accident. He pretended to be upset with Alicia when Mrs. Butler came to clean up the mess, but it was all he could do to keep from hugging her.
Somehow Benjamin managed to get through the rest of the school day. Mrs. Butler found him an old pair of gym shorts to wear while his pants dried in the furnace room. He enjoyed the extra attention he got from all the kids who felt sorry for him because he got all wet. And he felt sorry for Alicia because everyone was teasing her for being such a klutz. What a strange turn of events.
While he was waiting for the bus, Benjamin noticed Alicia standing all alone, so he went over to talk to her. He didn't know what made him say it, he just seemed to blurt it out. "You tripped on purpose, didn't you, Alicia?"
Alicia just smiled. Then she said, "I wet the bed once when I was staying overnight with my aunt and uncle in St. Louis. I remembered how awful I felt when they found out."
Benjamin squeezed her hand quickly so no one could see. He saw her smile as he ran to get on the bus.
On the way home, Benjamin said a prayer, thanking God for Alicia Gordon.
John's Scrap Pile
Reflections on Jonah
Jonah 3:1-5, 10; 4:1-8
It is a plain fact that, sooner or later, we will all find ourselves in the belly of some great fish, as Jonah did when he tried to run away from God. Or we may find ourselves pouting under a bush, as Jonah is here at the end of the story, because God won't let us have our own ways. But that is how we learn (or fail to learn, as seems to be the case with Jonah) how forgiving and loving God is despite our persistent foolishness and stubbornness.
Former senator Paul Tsongas died in 1997 at the age of 55, just five years after he ran for President. Tsongas beat Bill Clinton in New Hampshire and went on to win caucuses and primaries in seven other states. He dropped out of the presidential campaign after losing to Clinton in Illinois and Michigan.
Tsongas once said that three things defined him: working as a young man in his father's dry cleaning business in the economically depressed city of Lowell, Massachusetts; serving in the Peace Corps; and contracting cancer. He said that working in the dry cleaning shop made him aware of economic hardship, the Peace Corps brought a joy in public service that led to a political career, and getting cancer tempered what he called an overriding ambition.
Tsongas said, "Before I had cancer, I was one of the pettiest people you've ever run into. I would get angry at my wife for leaving the top off the toothpaste. I'd get angry at my kids for the dumbest things. Looking back on it I feel mortified, I was a fool." (The New York Times Obituaries, January 20, 1997, Karen DeWitt)
It was such petty anger and foolishness that landed Jonah in the belly of the fish. God wanted him to preach repentance to the people of Nineveh. Jonah didn't want these hated enemies of Israel to repent. He wanted God to punish them. It would be like God calling a patriotic, flag-waving American to go to Baghdad to invite Saddam Hussein to repent. Many Americans don't want Saddam to repent, they want God, or the American military, to punish him.
Jonah whines and pouts when the Ninevites do exactly what God asks them to do. He is angry that Ninevites don't get what they deserve. And he assumes that he fully deserves the love and protection God gives him.
Is there any one of us who does not have this kind of "Jonah moment" at one time or another? Are we willing to consider the possibility that God loves Saddam at least as much as God loves us, and that God might want us to behave accordingly?
StoryShare, January 26, 2003, issue.
Copyright 2003 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons and in worship and classroom settings only. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., P.O. Box 4503, Lima, Ohio 45802-4503.
