I’ve been trying to diagnose an illness in my denominational body for quite some time: an observable failure to thrive among many women who are called, prepared, and robustly fit for ministry.
Just as doctors sometimes seek to define the nature of a suspicious lump by examining a limited sample through a biopsy, I understand much of what is happening in the larger denominational body by looking closely at what I admit is a limited sample of experience: my own. Similar examples in the lives of others corroborate, challenge, and extend my conclusions. I’ll share some of those examples, weigh in with my assessment, and welcome yours.
Deciding to Disclose
A doctor’s appointment often begins with a question: What seems to be the problem?
Answers that may be awkward and unmentionable anywhere else are necessary in the doctor’s office. Perched on the crinkling paper, feet dangling beneath the cold white light, patients know that a diagnosis requires disclosure. And since they already have their clothes off, they might as well tell it all.
A patient with the kind of condition I’m presenting–malaise in ministry–might answer like this: “There’s something here [pointing to an area on the body] that doesn’t feel right. Usually, it’s just sort of a dull ache that I can live with and set my mind to ignore. It sort of comes and goes. Sometimes I don’t notice it at all. But other times, it’s sharp and overwhelming, keeping me up at night and making it impossible to work during the day. I could live with it, but I don’t think it’s normal, so I’d feel reassured to have it checked. I’d hate to find out too late that I should have dealt with it sooner.”
The doctor would probably nod and glance back through my history, noting whether there were risk factors or red flags, and then she’d ask when and how my problem started and what other symptoms I might have noticed. She would note that other than this one suspicious lump, I’m a healthy ministry leader with every reason to thrive.
I have been living out spiritual gifts and calling in leadership, administration, and teaching since my teen years. I have strong and ready references and enjoy warm rapport with a broad range of peers. And I exercise with discipline, strengthening my ministry muscles through hard-earned experience, training, and scholarship.
Yes, I’d admit to the doctor, transitions over the past few years have contributed to more isolation and less activity than in the past, and yes, this present malaise has really been weighing on me. But I’m tenacious in my pursuit of health, and sickness is not my norm. My mindset is gratitude for the opportunities and development that the Lord has enabled for me.
I would pass her assessment of pre-existing conditions and overall health at about 90%. And yet, despite that positive profile, I have this pain.
I’d describe it to her as a crazy, perplexing paradox: the more my skill, maturity, and availability have increased, the more limited my options have become for putting them to use. For example, while I was managing a household of four active children, juggling kid education and little league and social calendars, packing up our family of six for extensive travel for my husband’s work, preparing for ordination, managing a major home renovation and a rental property, and completing a PhD–and all of these at the same time–I was also bursting at the seams with church ministry responsibility. My challenge during those years was not figuring out how to serve but finding ways to say no, to enlist and develop others to carry some of the load, and to scale my church duties down from seven days a week to five or six. During those days, when I was practically least available for church ministry, my opportunity was greater than it has ever been. It probably helped that I almost always worked for free.
Today, in contrast, I find myself needing to invent ways to serve. I’m called and ordained. I have my degrees and training. I’m buoyed by experience, skills, reputation, and esteem. My kids are out of the house, and my availability is like a gloriously blank canvas. And yet, much of the time, I feel almost as if I’m all dressed up with nowhere to go.
On one hand, my metaphorical doctor might look at my involvements and say that I have nothing to be concerned about. She might note that even within the past five years, which I characterize as a professional famine, I have served in numerous roles that reflect the blessing of God and the trust and confidence of my peers. Yes, I would concede that fruitfulness in those roles has been very satisfiying.
But upon closer inspection, she would notice that my plate of opportunities has been piecemeal and not nearly as full as it may seem. She would see single spoonfuls of peas and carrots here and there, which I adeptly scatter and regroup to keep the plate from looking empty.
Such is the nature of a so-called portfolio career in ministry, which I see as one of three options.
Ministry as a Portfolio
I’d have to admit to her that despite the appearance of productivity, I’m plagued with concern that I’m wasting my professional prime. I could be doing so much more, and I don’t understand the impediments to accessing those opportunities. Much of my work ends up feeling wasted, as the scattered organizations I serve change their plans and personnel. As a peripheral outsider, I’m often the last to know and have minimal input into those decisions.
Even in areas in which my effectiveness is solidly affirmed (teaching, preaching, local church ministry, and leadership), opportunities are sporadic, inconsistently scheduled, tangential to my field, mysteriously not moving forward, or abruptly discontinued during organizational transition. Sometimes I starve. My plate has been cleared from the table, and I’m still sitting here waiting for more peas and carrots. What am I supposed to do with myself?
I determined a long time ago that I would not be idle, so I’d show her my fitness app, which would attest to my activity. She’d see that I’m easily getting my 10,000 steps a day. Sitting on my hands is not my problem, but I’m not exactly getting anywhere. Much of my activity is maddeningly unproductive.
For example, the disjointed nature of opportunity has often left large chasms of time in which I need to invent work to do. The blessing in disguise, of course, is that without much to do, I could do anything. I’m thankful for that huge opportunity, but I’m also painfully aware of the looming heaviness of empty time and the mandate to use it for good while I await more peas and carrots. It takes a different way of thinking and quite a bit of personal and professional realignment to forge that path forward.
Before that effort can produce anything, it needs organization. A new path requires structure, so in the off seasons, when peas and carrots are in short supply, I make a plan and work at it. I try to create structure that will be ready to receive my work in my next off-season, whenever that might be. A new path also requires funding and goals, so I try to find resources, to set goals, and to follow them.
But organization is a zig-zag, time-consuming process. Sometimes before I get to the doing of all that I’ve been planning, a new spoonful of peas and carrots comes along. What should I do with the old goals and plans? Do I keep space available on my plate for the peas and carrots?
And related to that uncertainty, I’ve skirted a deafening loneliness in not knowing who even cares whether I produce anything at all beyond the peas and carrots. If I were to sleep for the next six months, I have wondered, would anyone out there in what has been my affirming professional space even notice? I’ve realized the value of a team to know that I’m still alive during the off-season and to recognize, sharpen, and receive my work.
In short, flourishing in a so-called “portfolio career,” or trying to fill in the gaps to make it more productive, is an uphill, time-consuming, lonely endeavor. And for many, this option proves to be untenable.
Ministry as a Start-Up
Like me, many who cannot escape or ignore a sense of responsibility to lead have attempted to create new avenues for leadership by planting churches, starting organizations, or creating a personal brand. These are good starts. Growth requires such innovations.
But for most of us, these are solitary, homespun efforts that require extreme heavy lifting practically, financially, and psychologically. Failing at them, despite valiant effort, strengthens the misperception of those women as weak or flighty. It almost feels as if while one whole class of ministers gets escorted to the top floor, another class is waiting politely in the lobby for an invitation.
Eventually they realize that reaching the top floor will require them to construct their own building. That’s problem enough–but, oh, the disappointment in discovering that those already on the top floor determine who gets access to the building supplies. As I’ve mentioned elsewhere, build your own ministry, make your own bricks, gather your own straw.
Ministry as a Traditional Job
An easy solution to avoiding the sense and stigma of chronic underperformance is taking a full-time job. Of course, women called, trained, and ordained for ministry hope not just for any job but for a ministry job. Some of them get it.
But far too often, the work they find is categorically different from what they deeply desire. Many are working in ministry environments but not as pastors or as leaders with authority. Instead, they serve in desk jobs that–despite the disguise of credible ministry titles–hardly differ in essence from administrative assistant roles in their scope of responsibility.
I’m not talking about women who have two noses or obnoxious personalities or who can’t string five coherent words together. I’m talking about highly-professional, smart, winsome, creative, Jesus-loving women who have declared that their lives and energies are set apart for the service of Christ’s church. I’m talking about women like these.
An experienced, respected woman completing a DMin is serving as executive assistant for a denominational district.
Six ordained women at a small denominational university near me are serving in lower-level administrative roles. Two of those women are married to pastors and certainly contribute to the ministry of their churches, and one of them is herself a church planter working as a receptionist to make ends meet. But the other three are doing data entry and scheduling. Beyond those women, there are others who are teaching and serving the university and the students in additional ways.
Another recently ordained woman is employed as a second grade teacher’s aide in a public school.
Another–one deeply discouraged by a lack of opportunity in the denomination that ordained her–is working at a shopping-center Verizon store, selling cell phones for commission.
To their credit, every one of these women expresses the submission to God that should characterize every believer in the church. They trust him with the details and overall contour of their lives, and they maintain optimism that he will not let their giftings and obedience go to waste. I hate to admit that I sometimes wonder if their confidence is naive–not about what God can do, but about how well his people with power in the church will pay attention to what he wants to do.
Even district leaders have questioned the legitimacy of some of these roles for people who have accepted a call to ministry. In fact, credentialing boards have informed at least three of these women that administrative roles will not qualify them for the renewal of their credentials, even when that employment is for a denominational ministry.
This small sample reflects the reality that despite the desires and good-faith intentions of many qualified women, the employment they are doing hardly requires ministerial credentialing, theological education, and the deliberate, prayerful care that it takes to express a ministry call and to have it tested and validated by the church.
Summary of Symptons
This subset of experience (my own and that of others) reflects the following symptoms:
- High qualifications, low positions.
- High availability, sporadic opportunity.
- Recognized service, no title.
- Intensive labor, low/no pay.
- Prophetic calling, no voice.
- High purpose, aimless activity.
I don’t understand exactly how this sickness has overtaken my tribe, which has officially affirned the equal calling and gifting of both men and women for 182 years. The malaise is wholly inconsistent with who we say we are. I do have some ideas about factors that contribute to it. I will discuss those in a future post.
The physician would gently shift my paper gown back into place, look me in the eye, and shake her head. “I think it’s probably environmental factors that are making you sick,” she’d say, “and you’ll soon be at an age when it’s too late to make significant changes.”
I’d have to agree with her.
“You’ll probably need a biopsy, but I’m going to refer you for a mammogram first,” she’d conclude, and I’d understand why.
Because one way or another, even for Wesleyan egalitarians, women always seem to get the squeeze.
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