It was a privilege to be able to document the following story for one of our most faithful supporters of gender equity and the ordination of women in the church – and also both heartbreaking and inspirational. This amazing woman is as steadfast in her faith and support today as she was back then, despite what can only be described as appalling treatment by some of her male peers.

It was 1978. The world was experiencing an economic boom; Christian author Norman Vincent Peale has just published his book The Power of Positive Thinking, and change was in the air. On the one hand, women were finding that finally doors were opening previously closed to them: birth control and new choices about the timing of having children were now possible; access to tertiary education and new career opportunities were becoming available; and the Lutheran Church in Australia was moving towards its largest level of membership on record. Individual class sizes at what was then Luther Seminary were as high as 30, and women had been admitted for the first time to study in the Bachelor of Theology, and discussion on women’s right to vote at Synod was taking place.

On the other hand, some of these changes were seen as too ‘liberal’: conservative minds looked on even moderate shifts towards gender equity with fear, seeing them as ungodly and unscriptural. Nonetheless, in Australia, women were now allowed to have their own bank account independent of their husbands, and gender inequity in pay rates finally began to be addressed…but the church still had a long way to go…

In August 1978 our pastor asked for the third time whether someone would volunteer to represent our parish at General Convention of Synod. One of the items on the agenda for discussion was the right of women to vote at Convention of Synod. It was to be held at King’s School, Parramatta, Sydney – Australia’s oldest independent boarding college – and the boarders’ accommodation was what would be available to attendees.

My mind slipped back to the fantastic days when I was a boarding student at Immanuel College, Adelaide, and I thought to myself ‘I’m going back to college!’ This was of special significance to me because unfortunately, I had never been able to complete my Intermediate Certificate due to an unexpected appendectomy at age 14. Recovery was much longer in those days, and when I eventually asked my father when I could go back to Immanuel, he told me to my great distress, that “girls really don’t need an education”!

My husband agreed to my attending Synod, and so I booked a seat on a Greyhound Bus. However, the day before I was due to leave, the parish secretary contacted me to let me know that he was not sure if I would have a vote, despite being a duly elected delegate, but nonetheless still I felt called to attend.

It was a long overnight journey of over some 16 hours, with arrival scheduled for 10 am in the morning in Sydney, and if you’ve ever travelled on a bus, you’ll know it’s not the most comfortable method of travel! This was the case for me, and it was with very little sleep that I arrived at the Central Bus Station in Sydney. Along with other folk attending Synod, I was met and then transported to King’s School.

Walking into the registration area, I experienced a great sense of relief to finally be there. It wasn’t until I went to register at the desk that my position was clarified. The gentleman who attended to me at the desk asked me if I realised that I wouldn’t be allowed to vote as I was a woman, and so I was given a Tag noting “Observer”. There were a handful of other women attending, but I believe they were mostly the wives of delegates or pastor, and did not have observer status. 

This was difficult for me to comprehend: I had represented my family of three at congregation and parish levels for many years (my husband was not a member of the Lutheran Church), so why should it be different at a national level? I remember that my cousin, a minister, tried to get me to have my photo taken to mark the occasion, as apparently, I was the first woman ever to attend General Synod! I had no wish to ‘big-note’ myself, so I declined.

At the first evening meal with approximately a dozen men seated around my table, the kitchen staff brought out a big bowl of food and asked who would serve it. Across the table from me, a disapproving pastor said loudly: “Give her the spoon – she’s the stirrer!” Fortunately, this wasn’t typical of how other attendees treated me, but it was quite distressing to experience this.

That night, I found it difficult to sleep – being a boys’ school the dormitory upstairs did not have blinds or curtains. This was also the case on the second night, and the next day I approached the medical officer to ask if I could have a couple of sleeping tablets, which I received – this becomes relevant further in my story.

While I would not be allowed to vote, there was one session scheduled at which anyone could speak, so I decided I would write out my situation and what I felt was necessary to say. Why shouldn’t I have a vote, since I voted at congregational and parish level? It didn’t make sense to me. Half-way through my writing, I was struggling with the wording: I recalled seeing a library downstairs, so I went down to find it and some clarity of mind.

Switching on a light, I sat to write: as I put pen to paper it was as though there was a pressure on my hand and the words flowed, and it seemed to me that my Lord assisted me – there was quite a difference in the writing! Now at peace, I went back upstairs back to bed and slept well.

The day of the open session where I hoped to speak, a young minister who I knew asked if I would like to go with him for a drive to the pharmacy to get a prescription filled for his wife, who was a personal friend of mine, and I agreed. He took a very long way around, and I realised too late that the open session was due to start, and consequently we would not get back in time for me to speak. I found out years later that he was against women having a vote at Synod.

The afternoon before I was to return home I went for a walk as I had been told there was a beautiful little chapel which had been re-built from the original, stone for stone, just inside the main entrance. It was open and I had heard previously that the chapel bells were rung most afternoons, and I was told the gentleman who rang them used a keyboard to produce the sound. I have always loved music, and this intrigued me and gave me a great desire to witness it, but I would need to stay another night to do this. I called my husband to see if he minded if I came home a day later; he was happy for me to do this, and I checked with the matron whether I could stay another night and was told this was OK as well.

I also advised my pastor – also at the Synod – that I had rung my husband and would travel home a day later so that I could see and hear the bells being rung. 4pm came the next day and I was sitting on a form outside the chapel, ready and waiting.  

Unbeknown to me my young pastor spoke to the doctor, the medical officer on campus, who for some unknown reason chose to send an ambulance to pick me up and ordered me to be taken to the psychiatric hospital at Parramatta! Two burly officers accompanied the ambulance, and forcefully manhandled me into the ambulance, despite my resistance and questioning as to what was going on. I was just peacefully sitting on the form outside the chapel when they arrived – it was hard to understand why they were there.

I found the treatment to women barbaric, to say the least, in that institution in the four days that I was kept there. I saw women patients being treated as mindless creatures, stripped on arrival like criminals, forced into a hospital gown on and put into bed, with no respect for them as persons. For myself, there was no doctor there to clarify my situation until the following morning. The doctor on duty (not the one who had ordered my confinement) came to my bed and asked why I was there. My reply was simply “You tell me!” Unfortunately, they couldn’t release me until my husband came to pick me up, as I had nowhere else to stay. My husband then had to drive from South Australia to Sydney to get me formally released, and naturally he asked if I was mentally okay. The doctor on duty very clearly said I had not had a nervous breakdown or did not have any other mental health condition, and that the doctor who ordered the ambulance and my incarceration was out of order because he had not consulted with me! Later, this ‘out of order’ doctor also sent me an account for a non-existent ‘home visit’ – I could not believe his audacity! I returned his account by post, asking ‘how dare he?’! At the time I thought of making a formal complaint to my local MP, but unfortunately, I felt I had to play down the situation. I would also have liked to be in touch with the government in NSW – how dare they treat women like that! I often felt guilty afterwards that I had let other women down by not pursuing this. My young pastor simply did not ever discuss the events with me, nor apologise for his role. 

Despite this experience, I did not let it deter me, and was a formal delegate for further synods and continued to speak in favour of women’s’ eligibility to represent their congregations, and also to be ordained.  

Years later, at the SA/NT District Convention in 2012 at Alice Springs, St Stephen’s proposal regarding the ordination of women was on the agenda. When I went to speak at the microphone, I said to the Chairman that I wasn’t sure if I was still ‘in order’ to speak to this proposal as there has been a change in the wording.  The Chair told me he would stop me if I was out of order, but I was able to fully speak my piece. 

The events of Sydney are some 43 years ago now, and my faith in my Lord and Saviour is stronger than ever, and I still strongly believe any women who have a desire to study theology and serve as a pastor have been called by God: 

Who are we to question His calling?