I Didn't Get Ordained

About four years ago I was at a pivotal time in my life, I had just finished a unit of CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education). CPE is essentially a chaplaincy internship that allows you to do chaplain work in a setting (church, hospital, etc) with peer-supervision, education, and supervision by a certified Supervisory Chaplain. This was a very challenging time in my life. I did the unit while pregnant with my second child. The unit was originally supposed to end right before my due date, or close enough to it that I could squish my hours in order to finish my clinical time before the birth. At the last minute, the time frame changed and I would be giving birth to a child approximately two-thirds of the way into the process. I still decided I could do it.

My supervisor and I struggled with personality differences, and while I'm sure I learned about chaplaincy, what I learned most about was how to deal with a supervisor who does not like or understand you. Essentially, I learned to humble myself and suck it up. This was actually a skill I really needed to work on, so it was purification by fire. Surprising even to myself, I completed the unit and graduated with a newborn child and a unit of CPE under my belt. I felt like a total bad-ass.

I took some time off my career path to be a mom and move to a new town. Once we were settled in our new home, I decided, OK, I'm on this path to become a chaplain, I should take the next step. I discerned the next step to be pursuing ordination. This was actually a very complicated step. I had been a part of a Baptist church where I lived only one year before leaving for college. This church was supportive and kind to me, and I had always attended when I was home on summer breaks or for short trips home. I was more attached to my church in college, but by this point nearly all of the pastoral leadership had gone and there were few people left who remembered me. So I decided to ask my home church to consider ordaining me.

Keep in mind, however, that I have been faithfully attending a United Methodist Church for the last several years because my husband is a Methodist minister, and that was the community I wanted to be a part of. The problem was, I did not want to BE a Methodist, and certainly did not feel that I wanted to be ordained in the Methodist church. (And another note- ordination in the Methodist Church is a very long and tenuous process, so it has to be entered with a great deal of certainty to be endured.) So I went back to my Baptist roots. The church from home had a wide range of theological understanding in its membership, and while I might be on the liberal end, I still felt there was room for me there.

The pastor of the church was extremely kind and open, expressing encouragement and excitement that I was pursuing my ordination with them. They didn't really have a process in place, so I think in a way I helped them create one. The process was a simple one. I had some questions to answer in essay form that the committee would look over, and then I would have two interviews. The first would be with the committee, the second would be more of a formality to give anyone a chance to ask questions before they affirmed me and ordained me in the church. The pastor warned me that there might be some tough questions about homosexuality, and I vowed to keep it simple and vague if the question was simple and vague.

The pastor said I could do the interview over the phone or Skype, but I felt this was too important to do over the phone. I flew down for a long weekend and prepared myself for the interview. I felt confident that I would be able to answer questions intelligently and with grace. I was fearful of the homosexuality question because I knew that there would be many people who would disagree with me if I had to be specific. But I just wanted to be a chaplain, and chaplains are called to be in diverse places for a diverse group of people, it was part of why I liked the role so much.

I sat down at a long conference room filled with at least six people, one of them was the pastor, some staff members, and some leaders in the congregation. I sat with a peace and feeling of openness that comes to me in stressful situations. I felt connected with God in that moment. I laughed internally at the poor young man who was falling asleep from sleepless nights with a newborn. This was the church right here.

They asked questions, which I can't remember honestly, because only two questions remain in my memory. Almost to the end of the interview, a person I have known for a long time asked me the homosexuality question: "What do you think about homosexuality?" I was surprised at who the source of the question was, but I had my answer ready. I said it so diplomatically and with a smile, that I was sure I'd nailed it. I said "I don't think about homosexuality. I have friends who are gay, and I love them as much as any of my other friends. As a church, I believe we should have a space for all of God's children and love everyone." (Looking back, I cringe at my supposed "good" answer- essentially white-washing all the pain and trauma that LGBTQ individuals endure by saying I don't even see it.)

Everyone smiled and we moved on. A few more questions, and just as we were about to wrap it up, the same person asked THE question: "If a homosexual couple were to ask you to marry them, what would you do?" And that was it. I knew the moment she began asking the question that it was over. I wasn't going to be ordained. I may have had a nice shiny answer for the first question that made everyone smile, but this one I did not have a shiny answer for. ALL I had was the truth. So I took a deep breath, looked right in the eyes of my questioner, and the rest of the room, and told the truth. I told the truth with a smile and with a strange sensation of peace and power. I told them I would treat them like any other couple. I would meet with them and do premarital counseling, and unless there was a strong reason I felt they should not be married (because of abuse or not being ready), I would marry them. Smile. Eye-Contact. If I was going to answer a bait question, I wanted every eye on me as I took it.

I thought about my dear friend who had rocks thrown at him as a child. I thought about seminary friends who had to hop denominations until they found one that let them serve in their calling. I thought about an old roommate who struggled with depression as he was faced with his identity, a curse for his southern cultural upbringing. I thought about the kid in my high school who had to dress out for PE in a separate changing room because of violence against him in the boys locker room. I thought about my two boys and how if they ever needed to tell me they were gay, I would NEVER tell them that they were less or deserved less happiness or protection under the law.

I felt the cloud of witnesses - my friends and colleagues - and told the truth. That I would stand for them even if it cost me something. And it did cost me something. It was the first time I ever had to make a so-called sacrifice for something I believed in, for justice, and it was far too easy. I was ashamed that I had not been more of an advocate before. I was ashamed that I had never laid anything on the line for my friends before.

After the interview, I was thanked and told that they would get back to me. I knew what that meant. The pastor called me later and thanked me for my candidness. He said that there were folks in the group who supported me, but that enough members of the group were uncomfortable with my statements about homosexuality, that they didn't feel they could ordain me yet. I told him I understood. I also told him that perhaps they should begin a conversation about homosexuality, since it was clear they needed to. He agreed. It was a gracious parting. The person who asked me the question called me later and apologized. Another person who was unable to be there had asked them to ask the question. I told this person: I wish that you had been brave. I told her I couldn't have lied and thrown my dear friends under the bus. It was for the best because if the church was not fully able to support me, I did not want a false support. There is nothing worse to me than something that is not genuine or does not have integrity.

I was on a risk-high after that interview. The one thing I wanted, I was denied. I no longer gave a shit what people thought about me theologically. There was nothing else to lose! When people were concerned about keeping the rejection hush-hush, I had the opposite response. I wanted to shout it from the roof tops. I DIDN'T GET ORDAINED! BECAUSE I SAID I WOULD MARRY A GAY COUPLE!! ALL OTHER QUALIFICATIONS AND CALLING GO OUT THE WINDOW! My goodness if I was going to lose something- at the very least I should let it count for something!

So now that I wasn't going to be ordained, I could just talk about everything. I love gay people! I think hell is on earth- not an eternal place of damnation. I don't think Jesus died to make an angry God happy about having payment for my sins. It was like a theological purge. I no longer had to wrestle with the things I just did not stand for. I no longer worried about who I would upset with my risky liberal ways. I realized that I didn't even really fit in the liberal box. I was me- Sarah- a person who had too many questions, and finally I didn't care. I could even dare to not be a Christian if I really wanted to. I'm sure some people would say that of me already- but I ran plum out of concern for those opinions.

I just had this rush of elation: God is SO much bigger than all of this bullshit. I will keep exploring, keep asking, keep fighting for equality and love and justice. And I will be right. And wrong. And dumb. And smart. And misinformed. And well-read. And all of the things. And God is big enough to handle all of that.

I didn't get ordained, and while it will likely prevent me from some forms of chaplaincy, it freed me from the sin of self-preservation. I did not have to pay nearly the price that my brothers and sisters have had to pay, and it was good for me to realize that. My sacrifice was pennies!! What was I doing being such a timid person and dancing around my solidarity for people just in case it made someone uncomfortable? Ridiculous. I don't always remember how free I am until I remember that feeling that I had when I looked at everyone, smiled and said: "I will marry a gay couple." It felt fantastic.

Where am I now? On the other side of working as a hospice chaplain, writing a book about the story of my grandparents, and exploring all of the questions.

There is a German folk song that my grandfather sang with his Quaker youth group as the rise of Hitler stifled free expression: Die Gedanken sind frei" ... Here's a translation of the first part:

Thoughts are free, who can guess them?They flee by like nocturnal shadows.No man can know them, no hunter can shoot themwith powder and lead: Thoughts are free!

While I can- not only are my thoughts free- but I can speak them out loud- and I will. No one can take that away from me. My thoughts will always be free. What a powerful feeling.

I didn't get ordained, and it was so good for me.