My husband died in February. I knew All Saints' Day would be painful. I wasn't really ready for how painful. I practiced my sermon many times, to try to get to the point where I wouldn't cry....or at least just get teary, but not really cry.
But, I really cried.
And I immediately started telling myself the following story:
Although your congregation loves you, there are surely some who maybe wish you were a man, maybe especially the older people in the congregation. And although your gentle spirit is something that helps you be a good pastor, too much tenderness, especially teary tenderness just feeds the idea that women are too mushy to be leaders. And don't forget that your internship supervisor wrote in the little box on your final evaluation - the only box that really matters on that long form -- that you might make a better teacher because your emotions will not serve you well in ministry.
And I considered having the webmaster not put that sermon up on the website - no need for everyone to have access to that mess you just made up there in the pulpit.
I kept telling myself that story all through yesterday, and into the wee hours of the morning, when sleep was just a wish.
I dragged myself into the office this morning - and told my office administrator a little bit about yesterday (she is a member of another congregation).
And the phone rang.
93 year old Bob called to thank me for my bravery. He told me how proud he was of me for my courage and leadership and honesty this year following Ken's death.
His words erased the plot line I'd been writing over and over for nearly a day.
I opened my email, and there was a note from another man, thanking me for my fine sermon and authenticity.
I'm turning to my stack of stationery today - to write a few notes to people who might need me to help them rewrite a plot line they've been writing about themselves. I'd invite you to do the same.
Jennifer Shimota Krushas pastor, widow, child of God facebook post 11/3/2015
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