‘Aging in’ to our roles, and proud of it

I have just celebrated thirty years of being an ordained minister in the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America.

(I haven’t had a marriage last that long.)

The last ten years have been the easiest of all of them. That’s largely, I’m sure, because for most of that time I served a wonderful, progressive congregation. But to be truthful rather than falsely modest, some of that has had to do with me.

I started out as a shy young woman, adept at faking confidence. I write well and I’m a decent speaker, so leading worship services was never a source of anxiety. But much of the rest of ministry was. I always felt I was scrambling to be good enough. This being a family newspaper, I can’t fully say what my mantra was when I felt frightened or disillusioned or just plain sick of the church, but it was something akin to “F—k it! I’ll just go and get an MBA.”

Because, of course, I needed a third master’s degree. In business. I can’t even read a stock report. But I did need a mental release valve. I needed to know I could escape. When I was a child my mother used to sing the song “Don’t Fence Me In,” and since I learned most things from her, I knew I didn’t want to be confined by circumstances.

Though, of course, I was. As a single parent and breadwinner I had to provide my own version of stability for our small family. We made several moves and my children attended several different school districts, but I mostly stayed put in one geographic area. I didn’t seek status in the church; I didn’t aspire to a bigger, better parish (I’ve been very fortunate in serving a few amazing ones; why ask for more?).

But even as I celebrate what, for me, is a genuine — and genuinely amazing — milestone, I recognize something else: In our culture, we don’t “age in” to being seen as having accrued wisdom; we “age out” as being perceived as irrelevant.

Naturally, I feel I am too young to be irrelevant. After all, my oldest, wisest friend is 92. I still seek his advice and counsel. Age doesn’t, in fact, mean you are clueless.

The denomination in which I serve has become increasingly progressive and social justiceoriented in the last thirty years. At the same time, much of what passes as “Christianity” in the United States is something unrecognizable and pernicious.

Happily, I see a wealth of talent among many of my younger colleagues and I value them. I also worry: The vitriol and polarization in our country is nowhere more explicit than in faith communities. It is a hard road being a pioneer for social justice in this climate. (And I am thinking about a close colleague whose governing board didn’t want him to put the word “justice” on the church sign. He was more patient than I would have been. That kind of nonsense would just trigger my “Freak it! I’ll go get an MBA!” mantra.)

The toxicity of ageism is real; but aging doesn’t have to be perceived as something toxic.

That’s because accrued wisdom is a real thing, too.

For the last ten years of my ministry I have had a far greater sense of confidence than previously. I’ve seen enough, processed enough, gone through enough to know a few things. So I really don’t care what people think of me. I know I’m educated, grounded in a solid tradition and refined by experience.

And of course, there are always more things to learn.

Or, as Dag Hammarskjöld wrote, “For all that has been — thanks. For all that will be, yes.”

Yes.