When I was just 3 or 4 years old, I had a friend named Jessica who was going through a hard time. Her mom had died and being only 3 or 4 years old herself, she was working through her grief by being mischievous. I, being the benevolent friend that I am, supported my tiny friend’s grief process by being mischievous with her.

“Will getting into trouble make you feel better? Count me in!”

We had a lot of fun together, especially the time we decided to “help” the janitor clean the bathroom. In our little brains, that meant to take the soap from the dispenser and spread it all over the floor and the sinks, but not the toilets because “that’s gross.”

To that janitor and our teacher, I would like to say, “I’m so sorry. I realize now that we were not helpful in any way.”

I also wanted to comfort Jessica. Her mom was gone and for a 3 year old, that’s really confusing. For all of us, in grief, death is disorienting. But we as adults have more practice. Jessica just knew her mom was gone, but she expected her to come back.

So, I did what any 3 or 4 year old does. I proclaimed the good news of the final resurrection, when all trial and tribulation is over, we will meet God in the morning in the sweet by and by, hallelujah. Our pain is temporary, but unity with God is forever, I preached.

We then wrote letters to her mom and released them on a windy day asking the angels to hand deliver them in heaven.

There’s a time in a little kid’s life when she knows who she is and what she wants.

Toddler Grace didn’t question it for a moment. Toddler Grace wasn’t afraid of Toddler Jessica’s pain or her grief. Toddler Grace wanted to offer presence and comfort. Toddler Grace proclaimed the gospel without worry of orthodoxy or doctrine. Toddler Grace told Toddler Jessica that she was loved and was not alone in her grief. Toddler Grace was pastoral.

But then I grew up. And I began articulating my sense of call- this is what future pastors say when they are explaining to their communities, families, Seminary admissions, and synods why they think God wants them to be a pastor. But, unlike the moment with Jessica, my sense of call became muddied by my conservative upbringing and what my community, and even what I, believed about a woman’s right to be in pastoral leadership.

I began hearing, “No,” not from God, but from myself, some family members, and from my conservative classmates.

This, “No” sounded like this:

“A woman should be seen (preferably in the nursery or in Sunday school) but not heard.”

“Don’t you know what Paul said in the bible? He said he doesn’t permit women to speak!”

“But Grace, men are supposed to be the spiritual authority, so if you are a pastor, who will be your spiritual authority?”

“It is arrogant to think you (as a woman) could be called ‘Pastor.’”

“Jesus was male, and priests are supposed to be the Icon of Christ, so how could you, as a female, possibly be an Icon of Christ?”

And then the ripest one of all, when I was in seminary, one of my professors was angry that I spoke in class. He told me I was lucky that the seminary required him to teach women, otherwise he would have thrown me out completely. I beat him to it and transferred to Luther the next day.

The majority of the Christian church throughout the world believes that I have no right to a call to ministry, and that is a hill they are willing to die on. Many would accuse me of blasphemy if they knew I was behind a pulpit. They think I have no right to follow God’s call on the pure fact that I am female.

And nevertheless, on Thursday, I was entranced into candidacy for ordination with the ELCA. This means, for the next 2-3 years, I will be closely scrutinized, tested, quizzed, interviewed, reviewed, critiqued, and criticized.

The validity of this call to Ministry of Word and Sacrament will be scrutinized by strangers even more and I will go through many interviews all of which are deeply personal and each last an hour and a half.

I will write 50 pages of essays for my candidacy committee on the topics of why I think they should let me be a pastor- on top of course work, being a chaplain intern, and doing a year long pastoral internship.

No sane person would choose this invasive process for funsies or even because of arrogance. Most people would avoid this at all costs. There are a million reasons to say no to Christ’s call, but there is One Reason to say yes.

There is One Reason, One Hope.

How do we speak that “Yes” to those around us?

How do we welcome the gifts that Christ has provided for us?

We might have been told, “A woman must be seen only in the nursery,”

but God says, “You don’t have to hide, I have a place for you here as a full member of the body.”

They might have said, “Paul says you can’t speak.” But God says, “We need your voice. I will pour out my spirit on all; your sons and your daughters shall prophesy,”

They might say the authority rests in the hands of only men,

but we believe that the authority comes from God.

They might say we are arrogant to think we are called to anything,

but we are reminded in Ephesians chapter 3, that we “have access to God in boldness and confidence through faith in him.”  

They might say because we don’t share the same gender identity as Jesus, that we can’t be a part of the priesthood of all believers,

but we know that all of us are made in the image of God.

We might have heard, “You don’t belong here,”

But Jesus tells us that we have a place at his table.

When we come to his table, we are participating in a meal that gives us life. As Christ gives us his body at this table, we are fed this grace.

And when we meet at this table together, we hear God say, “You’re the reason I said yes.”

Amen.