The other day, I saw, among new acquisitions at our branch of the Nashville Public Library, Beth Allison Barr’s book, Becoming the Pastor’s Wife: How Marriage Replaced Ordination as a Woman’s Path to Ministry. Of course, if the NPL was going to carry anything on being a pastor’s wife, it would be something by Barr and not by the likes of women whose counsel she disparages—Mary O. Ross (president of the woman’s auxiliary of the National Baptist Convention), Dorothy Pentecost (wife of DTS prof, Dwight Pentecost), Dorothy Patterson (wife of Paige), Marilyn Brown Oden (wife of a Methodist minister); Nancy Wilson (wife of Doug Wilson). NPL is “liberated” and so is Beth, whose other big book title sounds her egalitarian trumpet, The Making of Biblical Womanhood: How the Subjugation of Women Became Gospel Truth.

Not surprisingly, we read on the book jacket that her work has been celebrated or published by NPR, the New Yorker, Christianity Today, the Washington Post, the Dallas Morning News, Sojourners, and Baptist News Global. (No CNN, MSNBC, etc.?) We read blurbs from Peter Enns (who was dismissed from Westminster Seminary for denying biblical inerrancy); Steve Bezner (Truett professor, whose book, Your Jesus is Too American, boasts a Beth Moore foreword); and Karen Swallow Prior (who left SEBTS for being out of synch with the school). So yes, a crew well-loved by egalitarians and “progressives.” And the screed is so comprehensively dismissive as to come off as something of a parody, an overwrought complaint meant to make fun of feminist anxieties, or to track with Hillary Clinton’s infamous quote, “I suppose I could have stayed home and baked cookies and had teas, but what I decided to do was to fulfil my profession [as a lawyer].”

Early on in the book she suppresses her gag reflex to report that traditionalist pastors’ wives prescribe attractive appearance (nicely dressed and not overweight) and she hastens to observe, “Appearances shouldn’t matter, but they often do” (Not at all? No matter what they signal?). She also takes aim at those who lift up a “happy disposition, poised demeanor, friendly nature, and gracious manner”; at “ministry by marriage” and becoming a “total partner” with the husband in his job; at the notion that “the calling of the husband includes the calling of the wife”; at the idea that being a pastor’s wife is a “unique calling and a great honor”; at the frustration of “[feeling] categorized as support staff for male pastors”; and at the wife as “helper” to her husband, implicit in the basic family structure.

Not to worry. Beth is happy at last. She has her own career as a history professor at Baylor. She has a husband whose church (FBC Elm Mott, TX) proudly proclaims, under “Gender Roles,”

We believe God may call men or women to any function in His church. Like Deborah who led Israel and Huldah who brought the word of God to the king, you will see ordained women serving alongside men in equal capacities and with equal voices according to their gifts, abilities and callings. 

We read at the site that the church is smaller than it was a few years ago (guessed as probably the result of some embezzlement and COVID), and that “God has shown time and time again that he’s not done with First Baptist Elm Mott. A faithful few have worked hard to rebuild our ministries.” (Perhaps there’s at least a small connection with the fact that egalitarian churches and denominations tend to suffer decline, a truth in play as the SBC considers the Law/Sanchez amendment to the bylaws.)  

Beth enjoys the acclaim of the right people, and she’s had the opportunity to lower the boom on the wrong people. From her endowed professorship, she’s in a position to bring solace to women like the young seminarian’s wife who broke down in tears under the pressure of expectations, another victim of the “two for the price of one” system run by those who turn a deaf ear to her cry, “But you didn’t hire me!” 

Oh, the horror! And I say “horror” since, in the acknowledgements, she says she’s proud of her kids, Stephen and Elena, who “have seen the worst of Christianity yet come through with faith stronger than mine was at your age.” 

Speaking of breaking down in tears, in recent years I’ve picked up on a great deal of the literature of lament and horrification re the office of pastor and wife. Just this week, our state Baptist paper ran a column by the executive director on caring for your pastor and family, a cautionary word in support of these suffering servants:

5. Remember you pastor’s wife. Too many first ladies are the loneliest and most forgotten heroes in the church. Don’t forget she is God-called to a unique role herself. It’s a difficult calling too. She often lives with others expecting her to be “Patty Perfect.” The demands on her can be overwhelming as she supports her husband, manages her family, and ministers in the church. Life in a pastoral ministry is like living in a fishbowl at times. Recognize that, extend, grace, and be a friend.

6. Provide you pastor a sabbatical: Pastoral ministry is extremely stressful with 24/7/365 demands. Your pastor can quickly drain his tank and run emotionally empty. He isn’t just carrying your burdens; he’s carrying his own. Burnout among pastors is at an all-time high and, at times, even ends in suicide. Plainly stated, your pastor needs a break—and I don’t just mean his vacation days. A sabbatical offers him and his family an extended break from ministry to recharge spiritually, emotionally, mentally, and physically. Trust me, I talk to pastors every week who are one step from walking away. They need a break. You can love your pastor well by blessing him with a sabbatical.

Of course, there are rocks on both sides, but It’s clear to me that we’ve overdone the cause of dreadful plights. And I have to wonder if whiny pastors remember or ever learned how tough other jobs are, whether, for instance, in the military, the construction trades, small-business startups, or commission sales.

That being said, my wife, Sharon, and I have trouble identifying with these distraught takes on the life of such couples. After seven years of college teaching, I read a call to the pastorate, so we sold the house and headed to seminary with two small boys in tow. I thought she might be wary of the shift, but she was delighted at the prospect of following in her mother’s path as a pastor’s wife. And, sure enough, she relished and flourished in the role, whether in our first church, a downtown, county-seat FBC in Arkansas or our last, a church plant in Chicagoland. At the former, as a stay-at-home mom with three kids, she hosted Baptist Young Women’s group in our home, joined in Continuing Witness Training evangelism throughout the town, and laid bricks for church construction in outback Brazil. At the latter, she went door-to-door inviting folks to our new venture, prepared two big crock pots of food each Sunday for post-service lunch, hosted young women in our apartment weekly for fellowship and service projects (all the while working a full-time job for the local school district and parenting our high school daughter). This is just a sampling of her involvement, but you get the idea.

As for me, of course, there were challenges and strains at many turns. An early surprise excitement came when I drew a sharper line on divorce and remarriage than did my predecessor, who drew no discernable line. A furor erupted when, in teaching through 1 Corinthians 7, I observed that, of course, there were some weddings I’d not feel free to perform. (Yes, good people disagree, but I went with the two-exception rule—freedom after abandonment or adultery.) That was exciting, but it was also exhilarating, since sorting out and contending for an important biblical matter was a big-boy-pants opportunity, even as folks emerged to have my back. And pressing ahead with a range of programs providentially supplied by what was then the Foreign Mission, Home Mission, and Sunday School Boards, we saw some gratifying developments. There were blessed revival meetings, and even the funerals were welcome opportunities to extend the gospel to attendees who were lost. (With its being a big, old church, I found myself doing thirty-one funerals my first year, six in a two-week span. And no, I don’t think my ministry induced fatalities.) 

Up in Evanston, I taught adjunct at four Chicago colleges, subbed in two local high schools, commuted to SBTS for some teaching, and led a Baptist Collegiate Ministry group at Northwestern University. When you have fifty in church (most of them college students) with an offering of $38, you and your wife and your daughter depend on outside income to keep things rolling. Of course, there were disappointments, whether from promising attendees falling by the wayside, landlords telling us, “Time’s up,” with our Sunday morning space, or having the city council deny us access to a favorite park for an outreach event, consigning us to a low-traffic, “back forty” green space. 

But in all this, down South and in the Upper Midwest, we were energized by our joint sense of calling; by the knowledge that this was the real, New Testament deal, with spiritual impacts; by out-of-the-blue blessings and eleventh-hour financial rescues; by the appearance and enlistment of folks who were strong partners in the work and lifelong friends; by the camaraderie of other believers in the city and region; by the invitations to join church members in their meals, pursuits, and recreations; and, by the fact that, unlike others in the congregation, you’re both prayed for continuously and fervently.

Along the way, I was enlisted to fly down from Chicago to Louisville to teach some courses, and, now and then, a student would tell me he needed an A in a course for the sake of a grade point tied to entry into the doctoral program. Of course, I would explain that it was up to him. And then he’d concede that, if he didn’t gain the credentials to do the cool thing, i.e., teach, he could always use his MDiv to pastor—a handy fall back. My standard response was along the lines of, “You should be so fortunate as to pastor. Teaching’s fine, but, in my book, it doesn’t compare to the energizing and gratifying post of shepherd to a local congregation. Sure, pursue the doctorate-for-teaching if you’re so persuaded. I did that, back when I had no inkling that I’d head to seminary later on. But don’t think the classroom is a superior arena.”

My early years of college teaching were fine and smack in the middle of my calling in those days. We had some gratifying years of growth and service, and I still welcome opportunities to teach. But I had no idea what an amazing and, yes, wonderful ride we were in for once we were called to a church: never been loved and supported so much, and, alternatively, resented and resisted so much, depending upon the month and issue. The nitty gritty of the care of souls. 

Oh, and about the awful state of living in a “goldfish bowl.” I’m reminded of the motto we wore on our patches in Infantry School: “Follow Me.” It went with the statue of the soldier rising from cover with rifle in hand, gesturing back to his troops to follow him. As one of my seminary profs said regarding evangelism, “Be a player coach. Get on the court and don’t just say, 

You guys go get ‘em.’” So, I assure you that Sharon was content to say, “Follow me,” as she raised our kids, ordered our home for hospitality, dove into the work of the church, exhibited a winsome appearance and manner, and such. No whining. Just sincere, exemplary, and glad service.

Sharon, my Proverbs 31 wife, approves this message.

(In the photo, Sharon’s at the far right. We’re on a hotel porch in Redenção, Para, Brazil. It’s 6:00 a.m., and we’re praying before we head out for church construction in the cooler part of the day.)