I am blessed to have some strong women in my life.
It started with my mom, who was an amazing witness to her Christian walk. She was a faithful Sunday School teacher for 50 years and a popular speaker at retreats on the spiritual life.
But what I remember most vividly is the way every morning, Mom spent 45 minutes in “quiet time.” There was a certain creaky rocking chair in the kitchen she spent that time in, and her four boys knew that this was NOT the time to bother her.
I have memories of being the kid in the other room, listening to the gentle rocking of the chair and the clicks of her coffee cup on the saucer, anxious to interact with her when she was done.
Only in adulthood did I realize this was her prayer time, which she was making a priority for her (and eventually for me).
My grandmother, too, was an amazing woman of faith. She was a painter and poet, so I suppose that’s where I got an artistic flair. Granny met my grandfather when he was a widower, preaching a revival at her church where his uncle was the pastor. By then, as the local school teacher and post mistress, she had been elected “most popular lady” in Bridgeport, Alabama in 1913, and that’s a fact.
Granny and Mom both make me think of Lydia. In the book of Acts, our history of the radical growth of the early Christian movement, Lydia was an outstanding businesswoman, a dealer in purple cloths. She was the foundational leader of the Macedonian church, the first European church Paul founded.
He discovered her in the place he chose to start his ministry north of Greece, a place of prayer outside the city gates where he supposed women would be gathered to pray on the Sabbath (they weren’t allowed in the synagogue, of course). Lydia was the spiritual leader of her household, who were all baptized because of her faith.
Exactly sixty years ago earlier this month, in May of 1956, the denomination I serve Christ in made a bold move. They decided at General Conference (by a slim margin, I might add) to grant full clergy rights to women. It was a controversial decision at the time, but was done with integrity and careful discernment of scripture though the lenses of tradition, reason, and experience.
The church I serve here in Arab, First United Methodist Church, holds a special part of that story dear in their hearts.
One of our active church members, Luke Pinegar, is the son of the first clergy woman ordained in the North Alabama Conference of the UMC. I want to take a moment to tell her story, since her family is such a part of the fabric of Arab.
Luke’s father was the pastor of Holly Pond Methodist Church, and tragically died while serving in that pulpit. Estelle, his wife and Luke’s mother, was appointed by their District Superintendent, Jack Chitwood, to serve out his term as pastor of the church. And the rest is history.
A few years later, in the early 1960’s, after pursuing all her educational and vocational requirements, Estelle Pinegar was ordained as the first clergywoman in North Alabama Methodism. And she served with her reputable, fiery personality all of her days. She served on my wife’s ordination committee, in fact.
Yes, I married a clergywoman. I met Sandy in seminary as the floodgates were opening for clergywomen in the late 80’s. It’s like my dad said years ago with a twinkle in his eye, when I asked what he thought about me marrying a female pastor, “if your going to marry a clergywoman, she might as well be a pretty one.”
I’m proud to say my partner in life is finishing her counseling degree and plans to serve as a pastoral counselor, specializing in working with families affected by chronic illness (something she has unique experience in). She begins her internship at The Vine Pastoral Counseling Center in Huntsville this June.
One of the children of Arab First UMC, Fred Webster, married a clergywoman, too. Dorothy Ann and Fred have been good friends and inspirations to me over the years. His father by the same name was in that famous circle at The L Rancho affectionately called "The Liar's Club," sitting at the table when the Poke Salat Festival was created.
I realize there are many faith traditions among us, and they have different practices on such matters. I totally respect that.
But my question for all of us is this. Who is the Lydia in your life? Who is the person who gave of herself, with her gifts of spirituality and hospitality (whatever those gifts may be), to make your faith what it is today?
Thank God for the Lydia among us.
Steve West is a husband, father, minister, musician, and writer who pastors Arab First UMC. His blog, “Musings of a Musical Preacher,” is found at www.stevewestsmusings.blogspot.com.
