Questing Parson

Interview With Serene Jones, First Woman President of Union Theological Seminary

This is an excerpted interview with Dr. Jones for PBS Religion and Ethics. Click on the link below the video window to access the extended interview.

Watch Serene Jones Extended Interview on PBS. See more from Religion & Ethics NewsWeekly.

Independence Lens Looks At Women

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Strong Women, God Bless 'Em

I love women. Okay, there it is, right out in the open. I love women. Who can say when this love affair started? I honestly don't know.

Maybe it was Francis. Francis was that drop dead gorgeous babysitter my parents hired for my brother. Somehow they didn't think I was capable of taking care of my brother when I was twelve. He was five then. So, they hired Francis to babysit my brother. And I would watch Francis babysit my brother. And after she put my brother to bed I would watch Francis watching television. Did I mention Francis was drop dead gorgeous?

We moved from the town where Francis babysat my brother. When we moved I'd grown beyond my childish ways. Maybe the reason I love women has something to do with Kay. Kay lived up the street from me in the new town to which we moved. Kay was something else. Kay taught me the joys of swapping spit.

I'm going to detour from this history of my progression through the various stages of learning to appreciate women now. This blog carries a PG-13 rating. I'll just give you a quick snapshot. That snapshot acknowledges the obvious fact that the men and women of my generation are much better lovers than the generations that followed us. We were more practiced, more attentive, never in a hurry. We certainly should be. We spent ten years in foreplay.

It was the Women In the World Summit 2012, just recently ended, that prompted my journey back in time remembering, as Willie, said, “all the girls I've loved before.” Things have really changed since those days when Kay and I were coming of age. Women have truly come a long way.

I was fortunate to grow up in the family I did. In an age when women were perceived as mere appendages of their husbands, the women in my family actually ran the show. I don't think I realized that until I was in my thirties. I'm sure my late realization was a direct result of those women's unique ability to let the men in the family think they were in charge.

Mama, my grandmother, had a fourth grade education. When my grandfather died she carried on for thirty plus years, teaching us lessons we never learned in the universities we attended. My great aunt, Mama's sister, when her husband died kept the auto garage he owned, the largest in Atlanta, running with even more success than he enjoyed. Looking back on it I can't help but wonder how many city blocks of downtown Atlanta my aunt owned.

And then there was my mother. Mother's birthday was last week. I have to admit I didn't realize what day it was until I read the acknowledgment on my brother's Facebook page. (But, then again, Mother always did love him best.) [:-), brother]

My mother was a child of the 1920s, and I have no doubt that she and my Aunt Virginia danced until the dawn at the dance clubs of Atlanta. She was a beauty. She was confident. And she had this view of life, far ahead of her day, that gender should be no impediment to whatever one wanted to accomplish. Mother should have had daughters to offset the troubles my brother and I caused. Mother was to be respected. No, let me rephrase that: Mother demanded respect. My mother had no hesitation of engaging in a wrestling match, a real wrestling match, with any adolescent male ignorant enough to think she wouldn't whip his ass in front of his onlooking peers.

The Women in the World Summit, as I said, got me thinking about those genteel Southern ladies who shaped me. The women who are their children have excelled, one was in the first class of ordained women in the Church of England, and one a successful businesswoman. As for my brother and me, we were feminist long before someone trotted out the word.

It was a joy to see that parade of twenty-first century women speaking and being interviewed at the summit. It gives hope for the world. I can attest from personal experience that we're all better when we're nurtured and inspired by strong, liberated women.

I got a hint that the strong woman will continue in the next generation of our family the other day. I asked my granddaughter if her boyfriend was going to be at a family function. “That won't happen,” she told me. I asked her why. “Look,” she said, “I'm a fourteen year-old woman; harmones are raging in my body; I have enough dealing with my moods. I don't have the energy to deal with some male's moodiness.”

So here's the end of this rambling remembrance of strong women and my affirmation that we'll be better still as humans when women are finally treated as equals in every aspect of life.

Thanks Mother; thanks Mama; thanks Aunt Virginia. And watch out world, my granddaughters are headed your way!

 

Watch live streaming video from womenintheworld at livestream.com

Watch live streaming video from womenintheworld at livestream.com

Watch live streaming video from womenintheworld at livestream.com

Watch live streaming video from womenintheworld at livestream.com

A Brief Reflection on Church and State

One can't get away from the news of the First Amendment controversy over women's health coverage in reproductive areas. So, here's my take on it:

I'd planned to write an essay on this down the road. I hesitate to write this short reaction to the week's news. Somewhere down the road I might still assemble my words in a more coherent and in-depth manner. But the issue has me stirred so I write now.

First, once again I have been proved to be of far greater intelligence certain members of the United States House of Representatives. As a consequence I will not here be speaking about reproductive health issues without having a large volume of women's writings from which I can quote. I really don't know much about the dynamics of giving birth. I've been in the room when it happen several times, but it remains a mystery to me.

Now, having disqualified myself on the giving birth or not giving birth choices of women, let me speak to something of which I know.

Does it strike anyone as a bit convoluted that the very politicians who are yelling the loudest that the federal government is threatening the separation of church and state are the very ones who seem to be advocating a Christian theocracy?
The first amendment addresses the problem of establishing a state religion. Hmm, would that be a theocracy?

It would do the Christians sounding off about this separation of church and state a bit of good to realize the separation of church and state is an illusion. It is an illusion because the federal government already gives the church preferential treatment over other organizations. For instance:

My church collects a bit of money each Sunday, and occasionally we get some via mail. We do not pay one cent of tax on the money we take in. Special treatment by the government?

Because I am a retired ordained pastor the federal government allows me to designate an obscene percentage of my salary as “housing allowance” which is exempt from income tax. Special treatment by the government?

There is a flip side to this. Whenever I perform a marriage the couple bring me a license issued by the state. When I sign that document following the ceremony I am acting as an agent of the state. If we had real separation of church and state, the couple would get married at the courthouse and then come to the church for their union to be blessed.

Okay, that's enough. You get the point. I'm not going to turn this into a rant. Grandkids are on the way and I don't have much time. I just wanted to tell all the protectors of the church to knock it off. If you really want to separate the church and state stop passing laws that make the church more special than other groups. And here's some information for you. If you ever get your theocratic way I'm moving to Canada.

How Do You Know

The parson was taking advantage of Mother's Day. The evening activities at the church had been canceled as everyone was planning to be at “Mom's.” He headed to nearby outlet mall, where there was an establishment which had dozens of decadent flavors of cholesterol laden ice cream. He carried his Kindle with him.

Sitting at a small table near the window the parson was feasting on the double dip ice cream in the sugar cone with an obvious relish while reading his Kindle edition of Adam Goodheart's 1861, The Civil War Awakening. It was a glorious afternoon. It was until George Vanderhoff Clegborne, III entered.

“Well, Parson,” called out George, “what a surprise to find a preacher of the gospel at the mall on a Sunday afternoon. My goodness is the day sacred no more?”

“Hello, George,” said the parson with less than enthusiasm. The parson was in no mood for his escape from the pastorate, if only for a few moments, to be interrupted by the likes of George.

“Parson,” said George in a voice that intoned an overstated seriousness, “I hear you're stirring up trouble about the county opening a place for women to live.”

“I'm talking about an emergency shelter for battered women with children to stay, George,” said the parson. “We need one desperately.”

“Seems to me that's a waste of time, Parson. Obviously, these women wouldn't be in the shape they are in if they'd simply taken care of themselves from the get go. I mean, the county is supposed to pay for the bad decisions of others?”

“Yeah, George,” said the parson, putting his Kindle down and licking the dripping of the ice cream from the edges of his cone. “That's exactly what I'm saying.”

“Well, obviously, you don't understand the dynamics at work here, Parson. These women could best be served if we made it clear to them that there's going to be no help from the government.”

“You're sure about that?” asked the parson.

“I sure as hell am,” said George.

“You know, George,” said the parson, “I remember a story once about a little boy who was sitting at the table eating lunch with his mother. The table was in one of those bay widow type eating areas off the kitchen. So the birds were flitting about the feeder outside the window and the mother began telling the boy all about the life of the birds, what they liked, what they didn't like, where they got their food, what they did and did not eat, and on and on.

Finally, the boy, when his mother paused to take a breath, said, “How do you know? Were you a bird once?”

Michelle Goldberg on Women's Global Reproductive Health

Addressing Domestic Violence

Information released by the General Board of Church and Society of The United Methodist Church:

NEW YORK CITY — United Methodist Women is a contributor to a one-hour interfaith documentary, “I Believe You: Faiths’ Response to Intimate Partner Violence.” The documentary will air on ABC-affiliated stations beginning Jan. 9, and will be available for airing through March 6.

“I Believe You: Faiths’ Response to Intimate Partner Violence” gives voice to survivors’ stories, makes clear the assistance faith groups can provide, and offers encouragement and direction for women trapped in abusive relationships.

The documentary was produced with the support of The New York Board of Rabbis, United Methodist Women, Presbyterian Women, the Evangelical Church in America, Odyssey Networks, the National Council of Churches (NCC) and a consortium of Muslim organizations. The program, which features the music of Janis Ian, airs as part of the Interfaith Broadcasting Commission’s Visions & Values series.

The documentary’s goal is to report on how faith groups are exploring ways to support, advocate for and help the healing of those who harmed by abuse. Its coverage ranges from rural programs such as the Susanna Wesley Family Learning Center in Missouri to urban programs such as First Step in Michigan, from prevention programs such as Healthy Relationships held at Camp Herzl in Wisconsin, to recognition programs like the Mikveh Attendants program in New Jersey, from support groups at Emma’s Place in Minnesota to healing programs at Mayyim Hayyim in Massachusetts.

Appearing in the program are Harriett Olson, head of the Women’s Division (UMW) of the General Board of Global Ministries, and the Rev. Barbara Certa-Werner, executive director, Harbor House Crisis Shelters, a Health & Welfare Ministry of the Wisconsin Conference, and other ecumenical and interfaith clergy and educators.

Others featured in the program include:

The Rev. Ann Tiemeyer, program director, NCC Women's Ministry;

Antonia Clemente, co-founder and executive director, Trinity Healing Center;

Rabbi Mark Dratch, founder, JSAFE;

The Rev. Dr. Marie Fortune, founder FaithTrust Institute;

Rabbi Diana Gerson, executive director of Dayenu, Enough Silence!;

Imam Khalid Latif, executive director, The Islamic Center, New York University, and chaplain, N.Y. Police Dept.;

Robina Niaz , founder and executive director, The Turning Point — Services for Muslim Women & Families;

Dr. Nancy Nason-Clark, founder, The Rave Project (Religion & Violence E-Learning Project);

The Rev. Diane Smalley, survivor and former co-moderator, Presbyterians Against Domestic Violence; and

The Rev. Traci West, author, Wounds of the Spirit: Black Women, Violence & Racism.”

The documentary is made possible in part by the support of Odyssey Networks, United Methodist Women, The New York Board of Rabbis, National Council of Churches USA, Presbyterian Women, and ELCA-Justice for Women.

Dr. Debra Gonsher Vinik, head of Diva Communications, is producer of the program.

United Methodist Women has a link on its Web page with more information you can link to at I Believe You.

Check the Interfaith Broadcasting Web page for a complete listing of stations carrying the program. View the opening clip.
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Editor’s note: United Methodist Women (UMW) and United Methodist Men (UMM) have endorsed the message of the National Declaration by Religious & Spiritual Leaders to Address Violence Against Women. The Council of Bishops of The United Methodist Church signed this in 2006.

UMW and UMM have partnered to launch a domestic violence initiative to raise awareness and provide training in congregations. More information about their awareness campaign is available at Domestic Violence.

UMW urges you to contact your local ABC affiliate and encourage it to air the “I Believe You” documentary often and during prime time viewing hours. When you speak to the program director or assistant, mention the series title, “Vision & Values,” and the program title, “I Believe You.”

UMW has also set up a Web page related to the program. The page includes resources on domestic violence and study questions to help local congregations engage on the issue. The Web page is at I Believe You.

The Web page also gives you an opportunity to take a few minutes to fill out an online Domestic Violence Survey.

The General Board of Church & Society (GBCS) has developed a resource to help use film and video for advocacy purposes: Building the Movement through Film. The document is part of GBCS's Domestic Violence Web site that includes news, resource tools and a comprehensive compilation of United Methodist official policies on this subject.

A Word to Women Pastors

You'll forgive a bit of a rant today. Ms. Parson is not here to tone me down any longer. I'd like to direct a word or two toward female pastors.

I watched television for a change last night. There was an interesting program on The Learning Channel. It was a program called “What Not To Wear.” The subject of the evening was a female Episcopal priest. Apparently her sister had contacted the program to help her sister develop a sense of fashion.

Now, the sister was on to something. The priest had a style that seemed best characterized to me as frumpy. But it was apparent under that plain Jane look was a budding beauty. So, the hosts of the program took the priest on a week long, $5000 shopping spree in New York City. Then following her purchase of new, more flattering and feminine apparel she was given a new hair color and style. That was followed by some time learning the proper techniques for make up.

The prgram appealed to me. At the end the family and church members beheld a priest that was beautiful, feminine, and sexy.

As the program played out before me I couldn't help but think of a conversation I had with a clergy woman at a preacher's conference a few years back. She was outside the church that was hosting the event when I walked up to her. I asked her what she was doing outside. She told me she was watching her fellow female clergy exit the building and wondering why seminaries did not offer a course in grooming.

Now all the above serves as prelude for my rant. Herein doth it begin:

One of the greatest things that has happened to the church in recent years is the ordination of women. The blessings this has brought to the church are beyond measure. And it is too important an event for the recipients of female ordination to go through their lives as though their calling was a second thought.

I'm aware that in our world today there's a movement toward more casualness in appearance. I know preachers who deliver their message in blue jeans and golf shirts. But there is a point where one can step over the threshold and go from casualness to a slovenly appearance. (Now, I just looked up that word “slovenly” on my iPhone dictionary to make sure it was the right word. It refers to “a dirty untidy woman.)

Here I insert that what I say about women equally applies to men, but, unfortunately, men do not have to carry the additional baggage of earning acceptance as do women.

I am disturbed every time I see a “dirty untidy woman” with a clergy collar on or standing in a pulpit or visiting a congregant in the hospital. Too many today have wrinkled, out-of-fashion, and ill-fitting clothes. Too many today have apparently misplaced their hair brush. Too many seem to treat their calling as an after thought or, at the very least, not worth dressing up for.

Look ladies, the parson's begging you: look beautiful; dress professionally, go to the beauty parlor, look appropriately sexy. In short, would you please make an effort to appear the type of priest that my granddaughter on seeing you might think: “Someday I'd like to be like her.”

Here endeth the rant.

A Date For the Reverend Ms?

The District Task Force on Reducing the Number of Required Meetings was meeting.  The parson having attended a smidgen over 7,000 meetings in the course of his career was participating with a degree of amusement. As such he didn’t say much. But he listened.

In the course of the listening the parson was drawn to a new pastor. He remembered her being ordained two years previous. He had been struck by the enormity of the event for her, evidenced by her almost uncontrollable sobbing when the bishop laid his hands on her head.

Erin Swanson, was in her early thirties. All her life she had wanted to become an ordained minister. Every course she took in college was seen as a pathway to ordination. Seminary became a rite of passage for her. And on the day she heard her name called out to serve her first appointment, all of her struggles had come to fruition.

The parson watched her during the course of the meeting. Every time a date was suggested where the committee could gather for some purpose, she quickly consulted her iPhone calendar and then reported on her availability. Working out a schedule with the Energizer Bunny in the room became a challenge for the other participants. The entire meeting, for the parson, became a variety show staring Erin and her calendar. And during the lunch break the parson had overheard her conversation with another female pastor about the lack of a social life.

When the meeting had adjourned, with the promise that the Task Force on Reducing the  Number of Retired Meetings would meet again, the parson found an opportunity to speak to Erin outside the church.

“So how are things with you these days, Erin?” he asked.

“Wonderful, Parson,” she responded with a smile.

“When’s the last time you had a date?” the parson asked.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m an old man, Erin, with more years in this church than you have yet to live. So, indulge me. When’s the last time you had a date?”

She looked up toward the sky and replied in a soft voice, “I guess it was the last year of seminary.”

“Nobody has asked you out on a date in two years?”

“Well, Parson, it’s not that. It’s just that there is so much to do at the church. I really don’t have time for a romantic relationship right now.”

“Sure you do.”

“I don’t, Parson,” said Erin, looking toward the ground. “When I gave my life to Christ and answered the call to ministry, I had no idea how demanding the job is.”

“How demanding is it?”

“What? Parson, are you kidding me?”

“No, Erin, I’m not. Actually, I’m making fun of you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Tell you what, Erin. My son has this friend who’s single. He’s a Christian businessman whose very successful. And I doubt very seriously he is intimidated by a female pastor, because his mother’s one. How about I set you up on a blind date; just to let you get away from the parish for one evening?”

Erin looked at the parson intently for a moment, “I don’t know, Parson. I don’t know if I have an evening I could spare for a date.”

“Okay, Erin,” replied the parson. “I won’t hound you about it. But if you change your mind just let me know.”

“I’ll do that,” she smiled. They both turned to walk to their respective cars.

Halfway to his car the parson turned and yelled out, “Erin, when was that church of yours founded?”

“1842,” she called back. “But it was a tabernacle then.”

“1842,” the parson echoed. “OMG,” he continued in a mocking tone while seeming to count on his fingers, “can you believe that church existed for a 166 years without you fretting over every detail of its life?”

Erin stopped in her tracks and stared at the parson. She seemed to be weighing things. She smiled and called out, “I’ll think about it, Parson. I’ll think about it. But you should tell him I’m an expensive date.”

Here's To Bald-Headed Women

Rain pelted the windshield in competition with the swish, swish determination of wipers that interestingly provided the beat for the pitter-patter of bursting balls of wet. The parson and his bride stared intently into the cool air being pressed into cold by precipitation and day giving way to darkness.

The weather was somehow appropriate. The parson and Ms. Parson were headed for a party.

The parson did not talk. Ms. Parson did not either. The weather demanded concentration. The party's purpose was stark in reminder of mortality.

Spotting the upcoming ninety degree curve to the right was aided by the white fence that paralleled the road. The parson slowed to navigate the slick curve that was prelude to the driveway he sought on the right. Turning in they road up the long drive that bisected the manicured lawn. Ten yards from the house a light came on; a garage door began its ascent up the track. The parson opened his door. Ms. Parson opened hers after grabbing the small plastic case sitting on the floor between her feet.

“Come on in,” a voice called from within the illuminated cavern of the garage. The couple dashed the few feet from car to shelter and were greeted by the sister of the party's hostess.

Inside there was a sense of frivolity in the air. Hugs were exchanged. Smiles were shared. The parson and Ms. Parson made their way into the living room to greet their hostess, being careful along the way not to step on the oxygen hose that let from a back room where the sounds of a motor agitated the air along the floor to the nose of the hostess seated in a corner arm chair.

“You doing okay?” the parson asked as he leaned over to greet the hostess with a hug.

“I'm great,” she said. “I'm so glad you two could come.”

The parson and Ms. Parson sat on a sofa opposite the hostess. Music came from the speakers and conversation began. Soon the wine was flowing, the peanuts were being consumed. Everyone was laughing and joking and telling stories on each other. For an hour they celebrated friendship, Christian bonds, and the joy of life.

“Are you ready?” the hostess asked Ms. Parson.

“If you are,” replied Ms. Parson.

The hostess rose slowly from her chair. Securing a good grip on a loop of oxygen hose she walked with Ms. Parson, who had retrieved the plastic case from the coffee table, to a bathroom in the rear of the house.

Their departure did not forestall the conversation. The hostess' mother told tales of the hostess' sisters, both of whom were sitting in the room. Again laughter filled the room. No one glanced toward the back room.

In due course a sound was heard as the hostess returned, oxygen tube still looped in her hand and playing out on the floor behind her. She headed to her chair, settled herself in it. She smiled. Ms. Parson settled herself onto the sofa beside the parson. And the parson lifted his glass to toast.

“Here's to bald headed women.”

The laughter began again. The talk went on for hours. The celebration ended with prayer.

The rain had stopped as the two drove home. Little was said. A quiet contemplative atmosphere pervaded the night. The night had been one of celebration and rejoicing for a new beginning.

Tomorrow the radiation armed battle with the Stage Four Cancer would begin.

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