Rev. Mo.

I used to possess a very suspicious nature when it came to titles.

I remember when the denomination I grew up in made my father a Bishop. Not because he had changed positions or had any more qualifications, or anything else had changed. They made him a “Bishop” because they changed the title of all "3rd degree ordained ministers" to Bishop. It was a marketing move, almost an adversarial move, to establish authority over clergy of other denominations. Now anyone authorized to participate in ordinations was a “Bishop”.

Overnight.

So as you can imagine, this only increased my cynicism.

It left a bad taste in my mouth.

That is part of the reason why I made countless light hearted comments about being a Pope, back when I chaired the Leadership Council of my beloved scrappy little denomination The Progressive Christian Alliance.

I was trying to foster a healthy skepticism of my own role both within myself and in others.

Even if we were a council made up of anarchists and wild women of the word and sacrament just trying to keep the ship afloat.

Of course in the end, we succeeded in our efforts with a bit of grit and stubbornness and I gladly passed the work to other highly capable hands.

I'm proud of the role I played and I’m proud of the people we ordained.

Every one of them had already been doing the work. Every one of them was ready for greater commitment. I am proud of us.

It did not escape my finely tuned hypocrisy detector however, that I, who had been so antagonistic to the very idea of titles, had served as the Ordination Chair & a Spiritual Director & The Chair of the Leadership Council the highest leadership position in the entire denomination as I walked people through acquiring their own title.

It also did not escape my detector that as an act of defiance and mass blessing, I had then ordained hundreds of people as "Ministers of Love" through Mercy Junction, to serve as wedding officiants amidst persecution of officiants of queer weddings.

That is a whole lot more "Rev."s in the world.

What had happened to that skepticism?

To be honest, I think it died on the altar of service.

What I had been raised in was a system in which men used titles as bludgeons.

Tools of manipulation and control.

I am X so you listen to me.

The Rev. heads the Church, the Man heads the woman, etc. etc.

The ecclesiarchy of daily life.

Each title was a rung on a ladder.

Each step up was a step on the people below.

That isn’t relevant to my life anymore.

The ministers who I deal with now, are ordained because of their heart for service. Or I simply don't deal with them.

They are doing the work, and so they are ordained to the work.

Ordination is, or at the very least should be, a recognition of work already being done for a community. It is a recognition that your feet are already in the muck, your hands are already grasping the plow, and your heart is already broken to feed the hungry.

Sermons or Homilies (or any other form of religious speech) are invitations to join in. The minister calls to their congregation not from a place of perfection or purity, but from one deeply invested in the suffering of the world.

Come and follow me.

That is the call.

The eucharist then, if it is anything, should be a reflection. This, this is how we feed the people. Openly and with no respect of position.

Add whatever ritual, whatever rite, whatever you want, it is all meaningless.

Without a dedication to those outside the circle.

The hard shit.

That is ordination.

Ordination is not done for a deity, but by and for the laity.

Not for the ritual, but for the sacrifice.

There is no sanctification that does not begin with the work of your own hands.

And there is no true ordination that does not flow from whatever community one is already deeply in the weeds with.

Real life, real hurt, real joy, real humanity.

The blessing comes from the people. So that you may serve the people.

It is not about learning or no one would know enough.

It is not about wisdom or no one would be wise enough.

No book, no ritual, no vow spoken can equal a hand that brushes away a tear.

The right ideas or knowledge mean nothing without faith.

Faith, however, is an action taken or it is also nothing.

Faith is mud under fingernails.

The burden is the honor.

The burden is the honor.

The burden IS the honor.

But what of my father the “Bishop”?

What of those like myself who have the “ability to ordain”?

If we are doing it right, we who take part in that process are only recognizing what a community has already decreed.

A judge does not create the love of a family that becomes a marriage or an adoption.

They simply put words on paper.

Titles are rubber stamps.

Do not mistake the sign for the signified.

Please understand me. I do not want to minimize the moment a community calls their servant. That blessing is powerful, unique, and life-changing. I do not want to minimize the importance of other clergy recognizing someone similarly called and formally welcoming them in. That is a moment of recognition that holds its own deep beauty.

I am minimizing the need for ecclesiarchy.

Asking us to abandon it in our minds.

We as ordainers do not hold the power.

We only recognize it.

Celebrate it.

Rejoice in it.

This whole process revolves around the recognition that you are doing the hard shit.

And is presupposed upon a dedication to doing it, again, and again, and again.

Dedication to throwing your life into the gears of the machine and trusting it will make some small difference.

Now you may hear that and think it sounds awful.

Good.

Ordination should never be done for ease.

Should those who have put time in have rest?

Yes. of course. This isn't about that.

Every field deserves a time of fallow.

Real rest, real healing.

That is part of the work too.

A difficult but important part.

But that is an important discussion worthy of its own time.

_______________________________________

So why this discussion?

Well I started this with the discussion of titles.

And I want to discuss the title Reverend Mother.

I have been discussing this with my wife and Co-Abbess Jeannie

And I think I have turned a corner.

Over the past year, I have begun real healing of some deep wounds and church trauma.

The Earthfire/HTH community has been so extremely life-giving and helpful in that process and I cannot begin to express the gratitude I have for everyone in it.

Similarly, I cannot begin to express the heartbreak of having to move across the country away from most of our community.

And yet, amid this terrible and beautiful change, I felt a new work stirring.

Something different. Something focused. Something ancient and new.

A work centered on the land and radiating out from it.

Something that I have felt grow inside me and blossom together with Jeannie.

The transformation of the Abbey from an Intention to a Reality.

We made this and carried this together. And I want to devote myself to nurturing it.

I feel the echo of something so familiar in what we are doing here.

Like the love and gratitude and fierce dedication I felt swell and overflow into the world, with the birth of my daughter.

It feels like a life,

a hope,

I have held within myself.

When I took up the mantle of Reverend, it itched.

It felt ill-fitting and onerous.

I bucked it like a mare being broken.

I was called, but still, I have often felt the need to test the boundaries.

How far can I push this?

How wild can I still be?

How much of myself can I really bring into this?

But now I am questioning, if maybe it itched so much because the other half of the equation was missing.

When I think of what Reverend Mother means to me, rather than feeling like a suit made for someone else, it feels warm and natural.

When I think of dedicating myself to the nurture and growth and abundance of this community, I feel a relief and joy that I did not before.

When I think about the work of being an Abbess. The complex and beautiful nature of this strangely familiar and oddly counter-cultural calling.

When I think of the women who have done it before through times of uncertainty and strife; so many (often queer) saints struggling to stitch up a bleeding world, it makes me feel as if I have a history of women who understand.

A cloud of witnesses.

And that feels right.

And doable.

And worth doing.

And maybe.

Maybe, it can be incredibly difficult yet delightfully easy too.

Like mothering.

Like love.

So

Reverend Mother Alaina please.

Or just Alaina

After all, I am so much more than a title.