When You Are the First

This past weekend, Kevin and I traveled to his home in Georgia for the weekend. Because I was to attend a conference in St. Simon’s Island during the beginning of this week (I’ll write more about this later), it seemed like a perfect opportunity for us to spend some quality time with his family and for me to keep a promise I made long ago to Kevin’s family. I said one day I would happily accept the invitation to preach at their church.

It is important to note here that Kevin’s home church never had hosted a woman preacher before. Not because I think any of them don’t like women or not even because they are people who are Biblical literalists who feel men are above women spiritually, but for the sheer reason they they’d never had the opportunity to know a woman in the pastorate. The presence of someone like me in their pulpit just wasn’t ever a possibility until me and my group of preacher friends became a part of their lives.

So enter Elizabeth into the pulpit: I was prepared, ready and couldn’t wait bring the word to the best of my ability. I crafted the sermon in such a way that I thought they would identify with, especially picking just the right words and illustrations. I thought through what might be ever possible scenario of what might occur. But I had forgotten to consider how a female presence would affect them personally.

So when I got through the first paragraph, I knew I was in trouble. Speaking to twice the size congregation than is usually present on Sundays (which was around 80 people), I felt like I was an exotic animal exhibit in a zoo. I was the newest rare bird that had been brought into the scene and they didn’t know what else to do but to keep looking at me with a deep stare. And they kept starring at me throughout the sermon. I was anxious to say “Amen” and be through with the message as soon as I could. I was ready to go back to the normalcy of being the pulpit with my own congregation.

Yet, I can remember the day I first heard a woman in the pulpit. I was sitting in my college’s Tuesday night campus worship service as a senior. Our female campus minister was slated to speak that evening and for the next two weeks.

It was nothing unusual for me to hear a woman speak. Heck, I had “spoken” myself many time growing up in my small Southern Baptist Church. Youth Day and Mission Sunday presentations were my specialty in fact. I was often the first one to volunteer to talk. However, I never considered what I was doing preaching even though many had told me that I had a gift and should be given the pulpit more often even at 15, 16 and 18 years old.

But, when I heard April speak that spring evening, I knew she had crossed the line of what could be neatly filed into the “teaching” category. She was preaching and it bothered me a little. Not because I didn’t enjoy hearing what she had to say. Not because I didn’t respect her as a person or welcome her shepherding voice on our campus, but because she was a woman.

I’d never seen a woman talk so powerfully before about scripture. I’d never seen a woman demand such authority from the pulpit. I’d never seen a woman deliver the gospel in words with such confidence.

Thank goodness her preaching series was three weeks. I needed that time to grow more comfortable to what I was seeing and hearing. I needed to process this huge change into my heart. And, I probably starred at her a little too.

Remembering my own “first” experience was a comfort to me as I further reflected on my preaching last Sunday. As much as this congregation loves my family and as a result loves me, they needed the same space I required to take hold of this new paradigm I embodied on Sunday called a woman in ministry. In due time, I hope that they will come to see the commonplace nature of what it means to proclaim the goodness of God, no matter what you look like.

I smile to think that I in some way aided this small, but faithful gathering of God’s people to take a greater leap into acceptance. I have high hopes for their future and for my sisters in ministry who come behind me.