Reflections on the 50th anniversary of the ordination of women as priests — The Rev. Gwenda Wells

The Anglican Church of Canada is celebrating the 50th anniversary of the ordination of women to the priesthood  this month. The Diocese of Islands and Inlets is hosting a gathering at Christ Church Cathedral in Victoria, BC on Nov. 24 and 25.

The Rev. Gwenda Wells was one of the first women ordained as priest in the Diocese of Ottawa. Perspective asked her what it was like when she first considered ordination and when she began her ministry. She kindly shared this reflection.

I certainly had no thoughts of ordination earlier in life, though I was inspired as a young teen by a newly ordained United Church minister who served in the ecumenical ministry in Lac St Jean, where I grew up. Original, brilliant, Phyllis Smyth opened her home to a group of youth to sit around and chat about things that mattered. She introduced us to the Jesus of the gospels, and she made us feel we belonged. She was young, urbane and completing a doctorate from a Scottish university, something to wake us all up a little in our 1960s industrial Quebec town.

In my university days in Ottawa, I made my way to St Matthew’s in the Glebe, all because of the music — still, after all these years, it is excellent liturgical music that leads me best into prayer. While there, I suddenly felt drawn to the figure of the priest presiding at the altar — I’ve always described what led me to ordained ministry not so much as being called as being drawn, drawn as one is drawn into a powerful current. This sensation was something so compelling that I arranged to meet the rector, the Rev. Keith Calder, to talk about it. He mentioned that Bishop Bill Robinson was considering leading the diocese into what was then a diocese-by-diocese venture and encouraged me to arrange to meet the bishop. He then put me to work visiting seniors and attempting to offer some leadership to a very rowdy Friday evening youth group. The bishop was attentive, curious to hear about what had brought me (and apparently several other women) to his office. With no hesitation, he recommended I consider studying theology. Trinity College at the University of Toronto was the place to go at the time.

That spring, I somehow got myself out to synod to be an observer, arriving at the end of the first day of business. As I went to join several young Anglicans whom I had met through Canterbury Bookstore—a great gathering place in those days —I was surprised by what seemed a rather frosty atmosphere, then learned that Bishop Robinson had announced in his charge that he intended to go forward with the ordination of women. There was often a strange blend of strongly positive and equally opposed opinions in those days, even among my peers and friends.

As a student at Trinity that autumn, I met real live women clergy for the first time. I remember the surprising letdown I felt the first time I attended a Eucharist celebrated by a woman: as I was walking back to my pew, I realized that I had forgotten to notice the difference!

I spent one of my summers between years of school in the Naskapi community of Kawawachikamach in the Diocese of Quebec, where the Revs. Alyson and Bruce Barnett-Cowan shared the ministry. There, I learned more than I even realised about faithful community, about rising strong through trauma, about Spirit and survival. I’d love to see more Anglicans from the south, and especially theology students, getting to have an experience like I had that summer.

It is surprising how few obstacles there were, though that didn’t stop all of us women from feeling we had to go above and beyond. Perhaps it was helpful, once I was ordained, that I didn’t have a conventional curacy, as I really just let the context determine what to do next.  Though we did have a good post-ordination programme, more than anyone else it was the parishioners who trained me.

Because I was at ease in Quebec, I was sent as a deacon out to the far reaches of Clarendon deanery in Western Quebec. My obstacles were different from those of my mates in city parishes: I had to figure out how to get around the rather spread-out parish in the months before I got a driver’s licence and car. I had to consider how to offer meaningful ministry to people whose lives were rooted in farm and forest-related economies. Each weekend that first summer, I would stay overnight with a farm family in Gracefield for my first service, then hop on the bus to travel to my 11 am service in Maniwaki, run up what felt like a hundred stairs, alb tucked over my arm. The warden rang the bell and church began. I had to learn how to get people singing when a certain number were functionally illiterate. I learned to drop my notes and preach from the gut, and I learned that I’d probably do all right if the parishioners felt, each in their way, that I belonged to them somehow.

I guess there were times when I faced challenges as a woman priest. I remember odd things like having a bank teller say she couldn’t cash my paycheque, written out to the Reverend G. Wells. But there was so much to learn and become that I hardly knew the difference that came from being a woman. I found support from the people I served, and from my colleagues in the deanery, which was then under the leadership of Bishop Peter Coffin [who was an archdeacon at the time]. Every last one of them was terrific, and I quickly discovered that we were all in this together. We laughed a lot. And I found support from being in an absolutely beautiful piece of the earth, the Gatineau Hills, which I love to this day.

My next parish was a little further down the Gatineau, in Wakefield with Lascelles, as it then was. There, the support came from the extraordinary lay leaders: educators, organizers, folks with remarkable international development careers, and parents, who more than met me halfway in my attempts to try venture into creative youth ministry….

I must acknowledge my admiration for the other women clergy of those early years. Each one found a unique way into the ordination of women. I could mention so many but will name a few: The Rev. Dana Fisher for her wit, natural grace and deep spirituality. Dana introduced the liturgies of the Triduum to the several points of her parish in Combermere before most city parishes did so; the Revs. Susan Churchill-Lackey and Pat Johnson for modelling how ordained ministry could be fully integrated into family life; and of course, the Rev. Sally Eaton, who radiated such passionate commitment to clinical pastoral work and women’s causes. Sally embodied the spirit of the Christian feminists whose work I devoured: Rosemary Ruether, Elisabeth Schussler-Fiorenza, Phyllis Trible, and the Latin American women: biblical scholar Elsa Támez and poet Julia Esquivel. Sally—I can see her still, in her natty clerical shirts and denim skirt, sweeping though  the corridors of the Civic Hospital, or checking in at The Well/La Source (then in St John’s Elgin Street) where she invited us women clergy to join in creating innovative women’s liturgies, liturgies to heal and nourish women of all backgrounds. Sally knew how to make things come together. She had a strength and radiance about her that was quiet but formidable. I chanced upon her many, many years later, in Haida Gwaii: In her retirement, she had moved there by sailboat, loved the life but in those days found it hard to find kindred souls in the Anglican church to match her indomitable spirit.

Now, as a member of the Board of the Montreal Diocesan Theological College, I am inspired by the women who have brought their leadership skills with them from countries around the globe: what strength and adaptability they bring to their education for ministry and their ministries once they are ordained. Our churches are deeply enriched by their gifts. Occasionally, I have been fortunate to meet First Nations clergy with exceptional ministries, women and men who often get their salaries from the work they do beyond the church. I remember, at a long-ago national celebration of the ordination of women, a Cree priest who was a mother, grandmother, addictions counsellor, school bus driver, archdeacon, and accomplished traditional craftswoman. I count myself fortunate indeed to have shared in ministry with such beacons of faith and action. I am eager to see who will be drawn to ordained ministry as we move into the next 50 years.

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