One day in the fall of 1972, my junior year in college, I set off alone on a bike ride. I had just decided that psychology, too, was not the right major for me. I rode away from campus and into the inner city of Greensboro asking myself what I was meant to do. I knew I wanted to work with people in a helping profession, but I had changed my mind every semester or two as to the particular nature of my work. Riding my bike, I felt my first call to ministry. It was strong and surprising to me. The church of my childhood had been pivotal in my life, and I had great affection and respect for both the youth and senior ministers there. Could I, should I become a minister?
In the following weeks, I piddled around with my thoughts about ministry and eventually set them aside. I did not personally know any female ministers. The college I was attending on full honorary scholarship did not even offer a major in religious studies. The idea of pursuing the ministry would have demanded that I push boundaries and go into unknown territory. I was not ready.
So, I became a teacher and poured myself into my work. I taught in public schools for fourteen years. I also became involved in religious education at the Tennessee Valley Unitarian Universalist Church. I taught religious education and served on and chaired the Religious Education Committee. I also served on the Board and lead the Caring Team of the church. Meanwhile, Peter and I became parents, and I stayed home during Ben’s and Sam’s early years. During those years, I served on Search Committees for Directors of Religious Education. I began to sense that this was work I would love when the time was right for our family.
In 1997, this church, the Oak Ridge Unitarian Universalist Church, was searching for a half-time religious educator. I applied and was hired on the spot—virtually during my job interview! (I found this very puzzling until years later I learned that I was the only person who had applied!) From the first day on the job until today, I have loved my work and thrived as a religious educator. I believe it is work I was meant to do. I also believe it is work I was meant to do in this place and with these people. I have found the work to be rewarding and meaningful not just because of its nature but because of the people that I have known and served and worked beside and come to love.
In the fall of 2007, I was credentialed as a Master Level Religious Educator. I took several on-line seminary courses in order to meet the credentialing requirements, and I completed an extensive list of required reading. I thoroughly enjoyed all that I learned. My love for my work deepened as a result of understanding the work more deeply.
In December 2008, when Jake began his five-month sabbatical, he made arrangements for me to lead most of the Celebration Services. We were just beginning these services, and they did not fit the format that a visiting minister would expect. Unexpectedly, these services became a highlight of my week. While I knew that I could speak effectively and was capable of leading meaningful worship, I had not yet met the Preacher in me. The homilies I shared in Celebration services tended come from a deep place inside me, and they seemed to meet people where they were and invite them into a deeper place as well.
After Jake’s return, I thought about whether to pursue ministry and discussed this with him. I knew the pull was there for me, but I also felt conflicted. I am a religious educator in the very core of my being, and I needed to discern whether becoming a minister would be deserting my religious educator center or honoring it. I was reassured by colleagues that Unitarian Universalism needs ministers with strong backgrounds in religious education. Eventually, I came to realize that my choice was to either lean into ministry or hold myself back.
In November, 2009, I made the choice to lean in. I believe in my soul that this path toward ministry is right for me at this time. I plan to continue my work as the religious educator at the Oak Ridge Unitarian Universalist Church while fulfilling the requirements to become a fellowshipped Unitarian Universalist minister. The process will take me several years.
I want to be very clear that I have no desire to become a minister in order to move on to a new setting and a new bigger better career. I have grown into ministry right here, and I see this as a joint journey for the congregation and me. Jake says that ministers grow out of healthy and strong churches, and that has been my experience here. I deeply appreciate all of the opportunities that this church has afforded me, and I look forward to the journey ahead, step by step, in faithful partnership. My understanding is that the Oak Ridge Unitarian Universalist Church has never ordained a minister. Just think, we have history to make!
Below, I have included below a poem that was part of my spiritual reading a few weeks ago.
In faithful partnership,
Tandy
from THE HEART OF LEARNING: SPIRITUALITY IN EDUCATION
edited by Steven Glazer
He asks me a question I’ve never considered before.
When is it that you know you have to go someplace else?
At first I think I don’t know, don’t go, never have, just try to please,
do what’s expected, bloom where I’m planted.
But then the answer germinates in the soil of my mind.
I see a potted plant, roots protruding from the drainage hole
in the bottom, ready to go, bursting to grow.
After weeks or months or years of putting its root system down,
of consolidating its power, husbanding its resources, it has reached
a crisis point, lost its equilibrium, has to go, has to grow.
I run down to the cellar and root around for a larger pot,
A little larger only, so my vulnerable plant won’t wilt in the
Unstructured vastness of a new world without apparent walls.
I have to smash the old pot to rescue my restless plant,
Impacted root system now naked in my hand. A small sacrifice,
but a radical operation to deliver the plant from death.
Without the space to grow, it will shrivel and die.
When is it that I know I have to go someplace else?
When I have to grow or die.
By Diana Chapman Walsh
written at a retreat with Parker Palmer who is the “he” in the poem.
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