I was a pastor’s wife for many years. Back then, there were certain expectations for pastor’s wives. Number one: you always stood by your man after church. Number two: you taught Sunday School. Number three: you sang in the choir, or, even better, played the piano and directed the choir. Number four: entertained people in your home. A lot. Number five: always looked put together. Number six: provided a free work force for your husband and the congregation. Number seven: keep the home fires burning, so your husband could concentrate on the important work of the church. There were some things that I managed to do fairly well in this role. However, for the most part, I don’t think I lived up to the congregations’ expectations for the most part.
Times have changed—for the most part. Most women work outside the home. And not all pastor’s wives are women. In seminary, when the schedule of life and church work all got to be a bit much, my women colleagues and I would commiserate that what we really needed was a pastor’s wife. Someone who could handle the worries of life while we could just concentrate on the needs of the congregation and the mission of the church.
I am thankful that pastor’s spouses are not expected to do and be all the things that were assumed “back in the day.” There was a lot of guilt, lack of privacy, overblown personal costs in that role. I can remember one day in particular: I had the car loaded and the kids buckled in ready to drive off on vacation, and the phone rang. Yeesh! To answer, or not to answer? I answered. It was a parishioner in crisis, needing my husband. Resentment welled up in my heart, as I selfishly prayed that it wouldn’t derail our trip. I quickly squashed such unworthy feelings, but still. Other times, I can recall getting phone calls from the funeral home wanting to talk to my husband, and if I didn’t know, I would get chewed out for not knowing. It could be a very strange life sometimes.
Memories and failures aside. Can I just say, that I think my husband, Michael, is so much better at being a pastor’s wife than I ever was?
Stick with me here. He isn’t the model of elegance or throw tea parties, he doesn’t play the piano, he doesn’t teach Sunday School, and he doesn’t do the meal planning. First, he is his own person. I tried to be, back then. And sometimes I managed it. Eventually, I created my own space, at the risk of a lot of pushback. But my husband, is his own person. I love that. What he does as my partner, as a part of the congregation, and an extension of whatever ministry happens here, is his own choice. He does not feel obligated to fulfill a certain role or societal expectation. Second, he is my rock. He holds me emotionally, and prayerfully in a way that makes it possible for me to keep going on those rocky days when the world seems to be spinning out of control. I can count on him. I trust him. And he knows when everything has just become too much. (And he likes my sermons…extra credit points) Third, he does indeed keep the home fires burning. Not the way I thought I had two back when I was a pastor’s wife. But I know I can count on clean underwear in the drawer and an emergency grocery run as needed. He has been known to have an uncanny knack for when I might need a glass of wine waiting by my chair when I get home after an exhausting day. AND, he prepares my coffee the night before, so when I get up before him, my coffee is only a button push away. Fourth, how many pastor’s wives will fill in for their spouses on a Sunday morning when they wake up with pneumonia? Just saying.
Marriage is hard. Ministry is hard. None of us is perfect. But today, as I awake to a new day, I just had to take a few minutes to celebrate this man to whom I am in partnership to say, that he is a much better pastor’s wife, er, husband, that I ever was. Thanks Michael!