MY JOURNEY INTO MINISTRY
November 24, 2002
The Reverend Anne Felton Hines
I've always felt a bit embarrassed about my original motivation to enter ministry. While colleagues of mine will say that they were "called" to heal people's spirits, or to transform the world, I felt the "call" simply while driving along the Pasadena Freeway, and whatever it was that issued the "call" seemed to have far more mundane objectives than saving souls or the world.
I had been divorced a couple of years; I was raising two young children, while working as a secretary and volunteer coordinator at the Alcoholism Council of Greater Los Angeles. I loved my job, but I knew I didn't want to be a secretary forever. The part of the job I loved the most was working with the volunteers, and the occasional crisis counseling I'd be allowed to do when no "official" counselor was available. But it had also become clear that I'd never be promoted to the position of counselor, since I was neither a recovering alcoholic, or had a degree in counseling.
So one evening, while driving home from work, I was pondering the question of what I would do with the rest of my life. And it occurred to me that all the things I loved doing - being with people, counseling, creating worship services at my UU church, participating in Social Action projects, even serving on committees (I'm one of the few people who loves committee meetings!) - all these things I could do as a minister and get paid for it! I had also overheard my minister telling a friend of mine also considering the ministry, that the most important requirement for parish ministry was that one had to "love the pulpit." "Well," I thought, " I love the pulpit!"
So I went to my minister and told him, very timidly, that I was thinking.just thinking ...of the idea of maybe...just maybe ...entering the ministry. I assumed he'd laugh, but he didn't; instead, he said, "Great; let's find a Sunday when you can present a sermon!"
I went to my therapist and said, very timidly, that I'd been thinking that maybe.just maybe.I might go into the ministry. I assumed he'd laugh, but he didn't; instead he smiled and said, "So.you're finally going to compete with men! Congratulations!"
And finally I went to my best friend. I sat down across from her desk and asked, "What would you think of the idea of me becoming a minister?" Certainly she would laugh, I thought; but she didn't. Instead, she looked at me for what seemed like forever; and then said, "You're really going to do this, aren't you?" And I said Yes.
There was no question in my mind as to what Seminary I would attend. I knew about Claremont School of Theology, which would have been the easiest from a logistical standpoint, as I wouldn't have had to uproot myself and my children. But there were two strikes against that school: It was a Christian seminary, and while today a number of UUs graduate from there, in 1977 I knew of none attending that school, and couldn't fathom being the lone liberal voice in what I was sure would be a sea of conservatism and bigotry. Whether or not it was, I don't know. I do know that today, there are many very fine and liberal Christian theologians teaching there.
The other strike against Claremont was that I had never completed a Bachelors Degree, and would have had to go back to undergraduate school for a year or so before entering Seminary; and I knew myself well enough to know I'd never follow through with that.
In contrast, our Unitarian Universalist Seminary in Berkeley, Starr King School for the Ministry, reserved a certain number of places for students like myself, who could either work towards our undergraduate degree while working on our Masters of Divinity (which is what I ultimately did), or who would have the requirement of a B.A. waived. So I immediately applied there, and was accepted for the fall of '77. I was thrilled.
I had planned on moving up there with my two children, knowing that the school gave lots of support to the families of students. My daughter Tiffany, who was around 12 at the time, wasn't thrilled at the prospect, but I was sure she'd be fine once she met other children and learned how wonderful the Bay Area was! My son, Garrett, was only 4-1/2, so was really too young to understand.
However, these plans changed after I received acceptance from the school, and my ex-husband asked me to leave the children with him in Altadena. I was stunned; such an idea hadn't even crossed my mind. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that that was exactly what would be best for Tiffany, and even perhaps Garrett. All of their family, as well as their friends, were in Southern California; they would know no one in Berkeley except me.and I'd be preoccupied with my studies. So after much soul-searching, and many tears, I decided to let them move in with their dad. I wrestled with guilt from that decision all through my Seminary experience, and today I wrestle with terrible regret; I would do it differently now. But I'm a different person now than I was back then.
So, in September of 1977, I packed up all my stuff and moved, alone, to Berkeley to begin my journey into ministry. But of course, such a journey never begins on just one day; it begins over the course of our lives, out of the experiences and lessons which accompany us along the way.
As I embark on a new ministry here with you, I have been reflecting on what some of those experiences were for me.
Perhaps the path to ministry began with my childhood experiences in the Episcopal Church. In order to attend an Anglican church, we traveled every Sunday - and often times during the week as well - from Altadena to Sierra Madre, where I watched in awe as Father Smith processed down the aisle in grand vestments, swinging the thurible with incense back and forth, preceded by a young boy carrying a tall cross. (Some 30 years later, I would be moved almost to tears while visiting another Episcopal church and witnessing a young girl carrying that cross - something unheard of when I was a child!)
My mother claims that when I was 2 or 3 years old, I would babble loudly in response to Father Smith's recitations of the various elements of the Mass - perhaps the beginning of my preaching career! I sang in the children's choir, played various parts in the annual Christmas pageants, became confirmed, went to Confession before every High Holy Day, received Communion every Sunday, occasionally attended the Stations of the Cross on Friday evenings, and even joined the Junior Altar Guild. Eventually, I would argue with Father Smith and other priests about God, rules of the church, and the notion that there was only one true religion -- the Holy Catholic church - of which we considered ourselves to be a part. (Never mind what the leadership of the Roman Catholic Church thought!)
Or perhaps my journey into ministry began in high school, when one of my friends in the church youth group made a racist joke about African Americans, and when I objected, the priest in charge of our group said derisively, "Oh Anne; learn to take a joke!"
Or the experience during a Sunday School class, when another assistant priest claimed that only those who believed in the "one true faith" would be saved. I challenged this, suggesting that it didn't make sense that God would send a good person to Hell simply for not being a Christian. When he insisted, I asked, "What about someone who's a really faithful Jew?" And the priest replied, "Look what they did to our Lord!"
I was stunned, and in tears told my mother afterward. When we arrived home, I overheard her phone the priest, and say to him, "If I ever hear about you making such statements again, I will report you to the Bishop!" (Priests didn't usually tangle with my mother!) Those experiences deepened my commitment to speak out against injustice and ignorance.
Perhaps my journey began when I was a student at Immaculate Heart College in L.A., where I attended because my piano teacher taught there. I had pretty much lost any interest in religion by then, but was "blown away" by the nuns at that school. The well-known artist, Sister Corita, was teaching her unique serigraphs there, turning common trademarks like Sunkist into joyful slogans such as "Kissed by the Sun." On the Feast Day of the Immaculate Conception, the art department would create an altar out of cardboard boxes, covered with radical slogans of peace and justice; and the nuns would all wear garlands of flowers on their heads, cascading down their black and white habits. They brought such figures as William Sloan Coffin in as speakers, and were on the cutting edge of education.
I was seriously considering converting to Roman Catholicism, so inspired was I by these courageous women; I think I even toyed with the idea of becoming a nun, until the man I was dating - whom I would later marry - reminded me what that would mean for our relationship! But one day he began challenging my belief in God, especially in Jesus as the divine Son of God. He had heard of a church in Los Angeles called Unitarian. We went to a service there, which I actually didn't like; their minister, Stephen Fritchman, wasn't there that Sunday, and instead they had some barefoot folksinger who sang songs ridiculing Jesus and the Church - something for which this neophyte non-believer wasn't quite ready! But I picked up some of the pamphlets and took them back to my dormitory, where I conspiratorially read them, and realized I'd found a religion that embodied my passion for justice and freedom. I never returned to the Episcopal Church as a member, or to thoughts of joining Catholicism. And though I also didn't return to the Unitarian Universalist church until several years later, after our daughter was born, I was that day converted to this faith.
Any and all of these experiences might have been the ones that set me on the path of ministry, as well as experiences which I may not even recall. Such is the way with our spiritual Callings.
There are, however, certain experiences that have surely deepened my commitment to ministry. I told you that the first conscious thought of ministry was rather mundane. But during my second year in Seminary, when I was serving as a student intern at the Mt. Diablo UU Church in Walnut Creek, I received a request from the minister to officiate at a memorial service the following Saturday. It was for a non-UU family who had happened to be visiting the Bay Area on vacation, when the mother - a woman in her 60s - had suffered a fatal heart attack.
When the minister called and asked me to do the service, I froze; after all, I had never done a memorial service before. I said, "Gee, Peter, I dunno; if I'd had more warning maybe I could have planned for it; but now." And Peter said, "Anne, one thing you'll learn about memorial services is that you rarely have a lot of warning!" Oh, yeah.!
So I phoned the husband of the deceased woman and arranged to meet with him and their grown children. At that meeting, they showed me photos of the woman as they described her life and the kind of person she was. They told me what an alive, vital woman she had been; how she was involved in human rights issues and cared so deeply for her family, as well as for the larger world. We talked for about three hours, and put together a simple ceremony for the next day.
Before I left, they warned me that there was another daughter who had been estranged from her mother for many years, and while she'd attend the service out of respect, she probably would not want to participate.
Saturday arrived, and I met the family at the church. It was a very small gathering - mostly family - perhaps a dozen or so. I'd put chairs in a circle, and talked a little about the circle of life (someone had brought a newborn baby), and I offered some readings. Every person except the estranged daughter shared stories about the woman; there were many tears, but smiles and laughter as well, as they recalled her life. As I was about to end the service, the other daughter who had remained silent suddenly asked to speak. She began to cry softly as she talked about her love for her mother, and the void that her mother's death was now leaving in her life. After a pause, she said, "She was my mother; she was my mother."
As I drove home after that service, I was filled with awe and humility. Not only was I feeling a deep connection with the deceased woman and her family, but these people had put their trust in me - a total stranger; they had invited me into one of the most intimate moments of their life. I realized at that point, " This is what ministry is about. This is what I have been called to do."
After I graduated from Seminary, I was ordained by the Walnut Creek church, and it was a grand affair. But there was another experience which occurred about five or six years into my ministry at San Dieguito which I count as my true ordination into ministry.
It happened on a late Friday afternoon, the end of one of those incredibly draining weeks where you feel you've accomplished nothing on your "to-do" list. I had just returned to my office after visiting an elderly woman in a nursing home who was being force-fed through a tube because she was refusing to eat any longer. I don't know when I have felt so helpless, standing by her bed -- she unable to speak because of the tube down her throat, and I unable to think of any words to say that could possibly bring comfort.
So there I was, back in my office, feeling totally alone; and I began to weep - tears that would not stop, tears of anger and sorrow and helplessness. And as I wept, I thought to myself: "They never told me it would be like this; they never said how awful it could be."
And I felt a voice within me say, "If they had, would you have chosen differently?" Without a pause, I responded, "No; I would still have chosen ministry - even if they'd told me about days like this." And that is the moment I count as my true Ordination.
Not all of ministry, fortunately, is that intense; every minister I know has a long list of funny stories to tell about weddings, memorial services, and other events in the life of the church. In preparation for today's sermon, I was reading the final sermon I delivered at the San Dieguito Fellowship before ending my ministry there, and was amused to read of an incident which I had forgotten.
It happened one Sunday morning when rain had forced us to squeeze into our little "Searchers Hall" for our worship service, rather than meet in our beautiful outdoor amphitheater. About five minutes before the service was to begin, I was informed that the R.E. program had planned to use Searchers Hall that day for the performance of a children's play by a local theatrical group. Could we skip the worship service, I was asked, and hold the play instead for the entire congregation?
Now, quite frankly, if I were asked that today, I'd probably say no (so don't even think about it!); worship is too central to a religious community to simply throw it out with no warning.
But I was still young in my ministry when this occurred, and not all that clear about the centrality of worship. I felt caught in the issue of "fairness," and who had authority. Besides.what if my sermon that day was no good, and the congregation ended up wishing they'd seen the play instead of agonizing through a bad sermon? I felt paralyzed by indecision.
Finally someone suggested we call on our 5th UU Principle and take a vote, which appealed to my desire not to have to make a decision! We allowed for people to speak for and against the question. We then brought it to a vote, and the worship service won - by quite a large majority, I am glad to report!
But the worst part of the experience was that the minister of the nearby United Church of Christ had taken the day off that Sunday and had surprised me by showing up for my service! Jerry had a great time later describing what he witnessed at my church to the rest of our colleagues in the interfaith community; one more glimpse for them into this strange religion called Unitarian Universalism!
There have, of course, been many wonderful, funny, poignant, and even wrenching moments in the past 18 years of my ministry - a week in the war zones of El Salvador, seven weeks as Minister in Residence at Starr King School, my ongoing correspondence with incarcerated UUs, and more; I will save those for future sermons! But what all these experiences have taught me is that a minister's job is not only, as I said a couple of weeks ago, to "comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable." My task is also to remind us all of the beauty of life, no matter the darkness; that in a world so filled with fear and violence as ours, goodness and love still abide. And in response, in spite of everything, the words "thank-you" are the greatest prayer one can offer.
This afternoon we will be formalizing and celebrating the new ministry we have begun together. And so today I turn my face to the future, with joy and gratitude, eager to experience whatever wonderful, funny, poignant, and even wrenching moments present themselves to me in these next steps on my journey of ministry.
And for all of it, I say "Thank-you."
© 2002 Anne Felton Hines. All rights reserved.
