Glass Ceilings

Here's the thing about glass: it's hard to see, because its whole purpose is to be seen through. You're not meant to notice the glass, but what's on the other side.  You look out the window to see what's beyond, not to notice the window itself. You look past the glass at the aquarium to see the fish swimming within. You choose a glass lid for a pot so that you can keep an eye on the contents simmering away inside.

The whole thing about glass is that it's hard to see, especially up close.

It's easier to observe glass from a distance. I can more easily see the windows of the neighbouring buildings than I can see the window out of which I observe them. 

At times, in the past, I have been asked my opinion regarding the so-called 'glass ceiling' that seems to prevent more women from assuming pastoral roles in my previous church denomination. On paper, it has been more than a decade since a resolution passed at a national gathering freed women to serve in pastoral roles at all levels, including lead pastor roles, within the denomination's churches. Based strictly on casual observation and informal conversation with other observers, it seems that little has changed in that decade. Why is that, some have wondered aloud.

I think I was too close to the proverbial glass ceiling to see it well. It was much easier to see what lay on the other side--the opportunities that I longed for--than to see what was up close.

I'm probably still too close to the situation to really give you a good analysis of the glass.

But here is one thing that I've noticed in recent weeks, which I offer as a personal observation, for whatever it's worth.

I have noticed something that I've come to think of as 'the assumption of competence.'

Let me try to explain. 

A few times in the past few weeks I've been caught off guard by people who assume that I'm a competent pastor.

I know that might sound strange. I get that. In another field of work, it would be wholly ridiculous to hire an occupational therapist and then to assume that she is incapable of doing the job for which she was hired.

And yet, my surprise on a couple of occasions when this 'assumption of competence' has happened to me has made me examine why that is. And I've realized that there have been subtle boundaries that I've regularly encountered in ministry. Things that it is assumed that I will not do, or that I should not do, or that should only be done by a more senior (male) leader. Or things that, should I have the opportunity to do them, it is made clear that it is 'very special.' Is it because they are 'too pastoral'? Or because the roles that I've functioned within in the past (and the roles that are often held by women in the denomination, I'd suggest) are niche roles within the church, with fairly well-defined boundaries? I'm not sure.

In the new setting that I'm in now, I find myself at times offered opportunities for ministry that I'd always assumed in the past were off limits to me. The opportunities come without any fanfare, as if they are no big deal. Except to me, they are a big deal. 

Some of these things are things that I've come to be nervous about, because they've felt off-limits for so long. I've wondered if I'm up to the challenge. I've questioned my own competence.

Let me tell you, though, that there's a tremendous gift in having someone assume that I am fully capable. In having something that might seem like a 'big deal' in my mind ever so casually handed to me, of feeling someone else's confidence in me even if I have my own doubts.

Because do you know what? It turns out--I am pretty competent. Still learning, to be sure. Going to make mistakes? Definitely! Perfect? Far from it. But competent? Yes!

Without opportunities to be competent, to rise to the challenge, to try new things, to live into all of the corners of the calling to pastoral ministry--without the support of people who assume competence, who back off and allow success and learning to flourish--we'll still have glass ceilings for sure.

So, for the chance to glimpse and explore my own competence, I am truly thankful. And for more people to be given this gift, I continue to pray.

 

Like My Skin Fits

Many times over the past several weeks, people have asked me how it feels to be switching careers--to be leaving behind the career that has sustained me for the past seventeen years for employment as a full-time pastor.

There are a few different answers that I can, and have, given to that question.

Sometimes it feels terrifying. I am leaving the career that has given me job security, that paid the bills through my graduate studies and once again when my ministry role came to a sudden and unexpected end this fall. I'm leaving the job that has helped to give me some sense of value and worth when my experiences in the Church at times left me questioning who I was and whether I had anything to offer.   And because of the regulations that govern my previous field of work, at some point it will become increasingly difficult to go back and do this again in the future. So, it feels scary.

It feels exciting. I remember vividly how it felt to wait, in the in-between time after the interviews were all completed and when the congregation's response was yet to come. I remember how very much I wanted their answer to be 'yes'--how I felt nothing but certainty that my own answer was a resounding 'yes,' if only they would ask the question.

But most of all, to my surprise, as I have prepared to make this move, I've noticed something in me that goes beyond emotion. The only way I can describe what I've been feeling as I have anticipated the beginning of the month and the invitation to take on this new role, after their 'yes' and my 'yes,' even amid all of the fear and excitement, is this.

It feels like my skin fits.

It feels like something has fallen into place that has long been dislocated, so long that I had ceased to notice that it was rubbing me in the wrong way all of these years.

You see, I have known that this is what I was called to do and to be for almost twenty years. I have been ready to make this move since before I had even graduated from university.

And while I was grateful for the chance to study theology and ministry, and to work in pastoral roles in a part-time capacity, and while I was told by many men who were employed full-time as pastors how fortunate I was to have another career as a fall-back and how bivocational ministry is the way of the future, there was never an opportunity to fully embrace the call to full-time pastoral ministry.

I was never offered the choice.

And I know that this will not be easy--that I have so very much to learn, that there will be many challenges along the way, that there will be hard days, and all the rest.

But right now, it feels like my skin fits for the first time in as long as I can remember.

And for that, I'm beyond grateful.