Like many people my age I grew up in a post-feminist world. There was nowhere else that told me that I couldn’t do what I felt called to do when I grew up – except the church. I had that childhood sense of wanting to be a pastor that’s not really that unique – practising at home, preaching to the toys or my younger siblings – and I thought “I’d really like to be a pastor one day”. Then I realised that the church doesn’t actually allow women to be pastors, and I thought, “Oh well.” I’ve never had a dramatic word from God, and I’ve wondered sometimes if that would have been easier – who can argue with the voice of God? But I’ve had encouragement from others and recognition of my gifts and abilities, the gifts and abilities that God has given me, plus a strong desire to serve in this way.

In my teen years, as my sense of calling became stronger, a couple of my pastors encouraged me to think about going to the US to study and becoming ordained there. It seemed impractical and unachievable but it was nice to feel supported. I went on to study music, in particular church music, and I still have a great passion for that. I enjoyed my Uni years and studying music, but there was something missing. I met my future husband at our church, and when I started to talk to him about my calling he said, “We’ve got to do something about it – you’re going to Luther Seminary.”  

So the next part of the journey began! A warm, welcoming letter informed me that I had been accepted to study for the Bachelor of Arts in Theology. I prepared to move interstate, to leave the security and comfort of my family and friends and venture forth on a journey of theological discovery that would ultimately lead to ordination – after all, surely the church would be ordaining women in four years time, wouldn’t they?

My experience at the Seminary contained some great highs. The study was fantastic and the opportunity to use my musical skills there was a great gift. I wrote a lot of my liturgical music there for the Chapel Choir, and I played for worship. My classmates contributed much to my learning and formation, for which I’ll always be grateful. 

There were also some harder times, such as a fellow female student and I having to fight in our first year to be allowed to be part of the Bachelor of Theology program. And there was the time I naively spoke to a final year student on my first outing to the local pub about my call to ordained ministry and being told by him that the only call I had was from the devil.

I enjoyed my time at the Seminary, but as the years of study progressed and there were more and more subjects that I was excluded from, it felt as though I was hanging around the edges of a club that I’d never be asked to join – a common experience for the women who studied at the seminary at this time. It’s an experience that carried through to many LCA synods and gatherings, where I felt tolerated for a while, and then shut out when the serious theological and ministry talk began. 

So, after four years of study (and getting married and giving birth), we packed our bags and headed back to Melbourne, unsure of what God had in store for us but with some important learnings gathered along the way:

• The LCA is quite different from our home parish
• The church has factions
• I needed to be careful who I spoke to about my sense of call
• Labels aren’t helpful. I am high-church, liturgical and confessional with a twist of feminism and a dash of liberalism – does that help anyone understand who I really am?

So back in Melbourne, I settled into motherhood, and into my church community who had sent me off four years earlier, full of hopes and dreams. It felt like I landed back in reality with a mighty thud!

When we’re told ‘no’ we adjust, we find other ways of being, of answering the call, and for a while it seems as though it will suffice. So I slowly built up hours of work in my congregation – first in music, then in pastoral care, and then adding adult education until I had a wonderful full-time lay position in the church – and I thought that surely this must answer all of my callings. And yet it didn’t. There was always part of the ministry that was missing, a ‘fullness’ of ministry.

To compensate for the fact that I couldn’t do what I strongly felt called to do, I upped my LCA involvement significantly, sitting on departments and commissions for about 10 years, always striving to prove my leadership and theological capabilities. Sometimes my experience was of not being taken seriously, or my ideas were only accepted if they were repeated later by one of the male members. It frustrated me beyond belief that my knowledge and years of experience were acknowledged only by a scant few, but I did appreciate that I was acknowledged by those few.

The stress of all of this, combined with some stressful issues in the workplace, led me into an episode of serious clinical depression, a very “dark night of the soul”. Coming out of that time, I had my first experience of Clinical Pastoral Education or CPE. It was fantastic! I found new ways of doing theological reflection, new ways of doing ministry. I received affirmation of my calling and I had my first preaching experience. I also wept in an ecumenical service as I witnessed for the first time a woman preside over the Eucharist. My heart’s yearnings now felt more concrete.

Leading on from this, I began work in hospital chaplaincy and lessened my congregational employment. It was a positive thing for me to work outside the church and realise the value of my ministry to other people. When I started working in chaplaincy, I was often told that chaplains exist on the fringes of their churches and that often the ministry of chaplaincy is not valued or understood – so I felt like I’d found a home and I still do. I spent some time in Lutheran hospital chaplaincy but found that quite limiting, so I applied for a position in palliative care chaplaincy. This involved multi-faith ministry and I worked with people to help them make meaning out of what they are experiencing in hospital. And I love it. 

My work now involves ministry to people at the most vulnerable and profound times of their lives. It also involves formation in pastoral care skills and identity through the education and supervision I provide to students and other practitioners. I experience a recognition of my skill and gifts without any agendas, as well as a professional satisfaction I rarely experienced in the church. This work also allows me some distance from a church that sometimes continues to be a painful place – whether on a local congregational level or at a synodical level.

So, where to now? 

In October 2018 the LCA General Synod voted against the ordination of women. This left me feeling devastated – I was so sure that the vote would be positive and I had already started to dream about what my future in ministry might look like. This time coincided with a pastoral vacancy in our congregation, a time during which I was asked to lead worship a number of times. Preaching to and leading God’s people in worship brought so much joy to my heart, a joy that I haven’t found in my other work. Such a wonderful high in the midst of such a devastating low for our church.

So, for now, my home is in hospital chaplaincy and clinical supervision, and yet there is still something fundamental missing. The call is there, stronger than ever, and has become more focussed. I feel God is calling me to love God’s people with word and sacrament – preaching, baptism and communion. How that looks and where that happens is part of the (sometimes!) patient waiting for me. 

I choose to stay in the LCA – it is part of my spiritual DNA, my roots – I can’t leave, as much as my chaplaincy colleagues might want me to. This sometimes feels as though it sits in tension with Jesus’ call to leave behind mother and brothers and sisters to follow him. 

Sometimes I struggle to resist the erosion of my self-esteem that often comes with being told that I can’t do what I think God is calling me to. I can also struggle with the bitterness that can follow anger, while listening to what the anger is telling me. The journey from despair to hope often feels circular.

And yet, hope remains. It is there in the delight on the face of the child who sees a woman leading worship for the first time. It is there in the words of encouragement given so generously by so many. It is there in the prayers of family and friends. It is there in the love and grace of God, in whose image we are all created. 

I choose hope.