The Impact of the Church Through its Women

I’m exploring the stories of five women throughout this month through A Legacy of Faith. These women displayed faith and courage, and hope, all of whom impacted my own story. You can read the first installment here: Enduring Faith Begins at Home, and the second here: A Quiet Faith Still Impacts Others.

The Church

Church is a hot topic these days, especially here in America. From fallen celebrity pastors to disagreements about theological stances (hello, women in leadership) to racism to how we’re supposed to care for the poor and disenfranchised —the church has wounded, betrayed, and stirred disillusionment.

I considered skipping this topic or at least fashioning it in a way that feels more palatable. But I can’t not because I want to jump into the foray of those heated debates because I’m not. That’s not the heart behind this. I simply want to declare the value of the church’s influence in my own life even though I know others have been hurt and disappointed through the years by people who should know better.

But there’s also rich community, valued friendships, tender care, and unconditional love.

Before I continue, I want to say to those who have been hurt by people within the church: I’m sorry. I’m sorry for your pain, for the abuse you endured, for the injustice that exists. And from all I read in the Bible, that’s not how it’s supposed to be —now what we often see in the American church run by sinful, prideful, power-hungry people where the systems don’t always honor the very people Jesus himself calls us to serve.

How the church can be

But I also believe the church is not the sum of its sinful participants, not even its leaders —it is bigger and more expansive than what we see or experience within one set of walls (Hebrews 12:1). And when the church functions as she was intended, the result is beautiful because it is centered on Jesus (Matthew 16:18), build by God (Acts 2:47).

The church is a place where people gather to worship God (Deuteronomy 4:10), hear Scripture read (2 Kings 23), declare the good news about Jesus (Acts 2:38) “devoting themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer” (Acts 2:42). 

In our terms today, we sing, we listen, and then, for many, we eat.

Oh wait, maybe you didn’t do that —but that’s how I remember my childhood church: the singing, the preaching, and food in the basement sitting on those horrible folding chairs.

My childhood church

My childhood church wasn’t a large church, not by today’s standards in this mega-church era. At its highest, we might’ve tipped our hats toward 100 people, but more often than not, we hovered around much less than that.

 For me then, it wasn’t about the numbers. It was about the people. And through my years at my childhood church, there were a few whose lives I know gracefully intertwine with mine.

The first woman I remember was my pastor’s wife. I was 9 years old when my mom and I started to attend regularly while my dad and brother attended on occasion. We were newly transplanted to the Midwest from the East Coast, and I struggled to settle in. A lot.

Enter Carole. Carole, though short in stature, was a giant of faith to me, and still is. She treated me like me, a person all by myself –not my mother’s daughter, simply me.

She lived her out her faith

I remember one of the first times she told me about Jesus during Sunday school. Funny, I don’t remember the story she told me; I just remember that she did because I wanted to know this Jesus, too. The way she spoke about Him, the way she talked to Him through prayer. He sounded nice, and I wanted to know Him, too. The night she told me about Jesus, I decided to talk to Him for myself. And when I told her what I did the next day, she celebrated. I know now that at 9 years old, I didn’t fully understand what I did —but that’s okay. She made it alright for me to learn — Carole discipled me.

I just knew I wanted to be like her, like Carole. I wanted to love like she did. I wanted to care for others like she did. And then I wanted to lead like she did, only then I didn’t know that’s what she was doing, either. I just saw she loved and cared about me, and that mattered. I mattered.

But there was more. You see, Carole not only led in our church, but she was also a radio personality which, simply put, was absolutely the coolest.thing.ever. She was spunky and fun and gave us a tour of her radio station. Carole introduced me to musicians who sang about God —groups like Petra and DeGarmo and Key. 

Does God prepare us?

But then came the year she gave birth to her baby boy, Michael. I remember because not only did she give birth to him, but she and her husband buried him. It was my second experience with death, though this was the closest I’d been, close enough to see the grief in her tears, the weight of sorrow through their darkened home with a faith in Jesus that sustained her.

Sometimes I wonder if God prepares us for the burdens we carry. Does He offer glimpses of what’s to come through the stories and faith of another? Not to tease or trick us, but to show us those who have walked a similar journey, to show us what’s possible.

Carole did that for me. From teaching and leading as a woman in the church to trudging through the valley of death with faith while still leading in ministry, Carole was a living, breathing example of what an enduring faith can be. 

She still is.

So many others

But she wasn’t the only one at my childhood church who helped set a foundation of faith. There was Linda —a teacher who loved kids so much I became a teacher simply because I wanted to be like her, and whose dad became my Illinois grandfather. And Lois, another pastor’s wife who used her words to write and teach about Jesus. And Joyce, my Sunday school teacher who instilled the value of memorizing the Bible. And Margaret, a woman whose marriage I wanted to emulate and who modeled a mother’s heart her girls with such a tender and generous love. And Vicki, who taught me how to babysit by letting me watch her girls while showing me that family isn’t merely defined by blood. 

No, the church isn’t perfect. It is filled with imperfect humans who may wound us. But if we look, if we really consider those we sit next to each week, we may find others who journey ahead of us or alongside us, women who live out their beautifully imperfect faith. And if we peer long enough, we may just see their loving imprint upon our own faith and heart.

To the women (because there are many more) of the Free Methodist Church in St. Charles, IL —thank you. Thank you for living out your faith in a way that a young girl could see and be forever changed.