April 4th, 2012
A Review of Still by Jennifer Harris Dault
There are some books whose stories have you racing through pages, on the back of a prized horse that is determined to beat his competitors. Lauren Winner’s Still is not one of those books. It requires soaking, steeping, simmering. It you are anything like me, it also requires facial tissues. Its short vignettes tell the story of a woman who has experienced heartbreak—or perhaps the knowledge of causing heartbreak. Somewhere in the aftermath of a divorce, God seems to be missing, silent, hidden.
During Lent—this slow, weary journey to the cross—Still whispers to me. I have often said that I am never ready for Lent. I feel and fight each difficult step, knowing and believing that grief is important, but wanting to jump ahead to the joyous celebration of Easter. Still embraces the pain of the middle place, while hoping, praying, yearning to see God revealed in the world. We see glimpses now and again—the woman who takes Communion on behalf of her husband whose illness makes it impossible for him to eat, the friend who blesses the rooms of her house to make it feel safe again after her divorce, the gifts of writers who encourage and inspire, God’s voice speaking—finally—in the midst of a particularly ungripping church service.
As Lauren Winner’s words pour forth from written page, I feel comforted of an ache I didn’t know I had. Churches often make it difficult to speak of the struggle of faith, but here in Still, the thoughts and emotions that sometimes haunt all of us are given voice. That voice offers hope and guidance to all of us who have experienced a “mid-faith crisis.” It gives evidence that we are not alone—not only are we not alone in our thoughts and feelings, but we have not been left by the Hidden God.
Jennifer Harris Dault is a soon-to-be graduate of Central Baptist Theological Seminary. She lives in St. Louis, Missouri and is the leader of Baptist Women in Ministry of Missouri.
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April 6th, 2011
Dear Baptist Soon-to-be Women,
Dear Hope of a Women in Ministry Advocate,
Dear Daughters of the Church,
I write to you because you are who I think about. You are in my thoughts when I talk to female colleagues. You are in my thoughts when I have conversations about a woman’s proper place. You are in my thoughts when I am sitting in class, representing you. You are in my thoughts when I urge my coworkers to be mindful of gender pronouns. You are in my thoughts when I plan the next steps of Baptist Women in Ministry-Missouri. You are in my thoughts when I am in tears mourning the lack of opportunities for gifted women of God.
You are in my thoughts because I hope and pray that your journey is easier than mine. I hope that your gifts are being encouraged, that people refer to you as “the future pastor.” I hope that no matter the gender of your pastor (though at this point, I have to assume male) that you have seen women in the pulpit, preaching and ministering and delivering the word of God. I hope that you know ministry is an option for you. I hope that you have church leaders who see your giftedness and give you opportunity to develop it.
I hope that you are in class with others who look like you – and, of course, those who don’t. I hope that being a pastor can be a “back-up” option for you if you decide the academic life isn’t what you want.
I hope that it is assumed that you are what a preacher looks like. That you are seen as a valuable resource from the moment you step into the room. That you have a prominent role in local clergy groups.
I hope that you are addressed as Preacher and Minister and Proclaimer instead of speaker. I hope your classmates give you nicknames like “Rev” or “Doc” and ask for your insight on their projects. I hope that you can serve in the tradition of your choice and not have to think about whether your calling or denominational preference come first.
I hope Baptist Women in Ministry will be a group of women who enjoy hanging out and brainstorming together instead of a group advocating for a place at the table. I hope that your daughters wear heels and play church, preaching and serving communion and blessing the world.
I hope your voice is always compassionate and full of authority. I hope your voice speaks truth to power and seeks justice for all of God’s people.
And I hope that whatever you are called to be, that you see a way there. I hope that you don’t have to spend nights in tears wondering if there is a place for you.
I hope for you. I think of you. You are my prayer.
With love,
Jennifer
Jennifer Harris Dault is a student at Central Baptist Theological Seminary and is the organizer of Baptist Women in Ministry of Missouri. This post is from her blog.
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March 3rd, 2011
“Hi. I’m Jennifer. And I feel called to be a pastor.” Funny how ministry discernment can feel like the intro to an AA meeting (or at least how they are portrayed in movies and TV).
Last week I flew to Atlanta to meet with other Baptist Women in Ministry leaders. In order to fit the occasion, I put on my aqua “This is What a Preacher Looks Like” T-shirt. And I wore it to the airport. It wasn’t until I hit airport security that I realized I was practicing fearlessness. Who wants to be stuck on a plane with a self-proclaimed preacher? It was too warm for a jacket, so I had nothing to hide behind. I stepped up to the metal detectors with a smile, assuming I was a walking TSA target.
I passed through security with no issues, but ended up in several conversations at the gate. “So you are a preacher?” one woman asked. She was curious to hear about the sort of classes people take in seminary. The woman scanning tickets read my shirt aloud and seemed a bit perplexed–“interesting . . . ” she said, pausing for a moment. “We’re glad to have you.”
On the plane, I ended up sitting next to a woman who was on her way to speak at a Christian conference. While her theology seemed rather different from mine, she encouraged me and even gave me a copy of a book she co-wrote with her daughter.
In Atlanta, I had a fantastic time sharing stories with women who minister in a variety of wonderful ways. We all shared struggles of following our callings–from growing up in churches that taught God does not call women to death threats from communities who were afraid of women in leadership roles. There were also stories of great hope–from a church sharing hot food and company with folks stranded in an ice storm to helping college students explore their own sense of calling.
I returned home full of hope and encouragement for the church and for my own crazy ministry journey.
This weekend, I wore my “This is What a Preacher Looks Like” shirt again for the first day of preaching class (granted, covered by a sweatshirt–it was cold!). Allyn and I attended a lecture given by one of our heroes–Walter Brueggemann. Allyn convinced me to take off my sweatshirt and show off my T-shirt. I had a group of (non-Baptist) students ask where they could get their own.
While wearing a T-shirt hardly seems a great act of bravery, it has played a strangely significant role in my journey of calling. Growing up in a tradition where women are not allowed to preach, admitting that not only does God call women, but that God has called me is huge. And scary. Just today I admitted to a minister friend that I’m not sure I have what it takes. She was wise enough to remind me that none of us do. And isn’t that an amazing act of grace?
Jennifer Harris Dault is a student at Central Baptist Theological Seminary and is the organizer of Baptist Women in Ministry of Missouri. This post is from her blog.
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There are some books whose stories have you racing through pages, on the back of a prized horse that is determined to beat his competitors. Lauren Winner’s Still is not one of those books. It requires soaking, steeping, simmering. It you are anything like me, it also requires facial tissues. Its short vignettes tell the story of a woman who has experienced heartbreak—or perhaps the knowledge of causing heartbreak. Somewhere in the aftermath of a divorce, God seems to be missing, silent, hidden.
