We Certainly Had Our Ups and Downs: A Reflection on 27 Years in Ministry

Rev. Lori Walber was ordained in 1996; she was the first woman ordained as a minister of Word and sacrament in the Reformed Church in America’s Minnesota Classis [group of local congregations] and the denomination’s second woman west of the Mississippi River to be ordained to a pulpit. She recently retired after 27 years of leading the congregation of Our Savior’s Church in Brooklyn Park, Minnesota. In this Q&A, Lori shares about her experiences in ministry: trials she’s weathered, life-giving encouragement that sustained her when the going got tough, and wisdom for the next generation of girls and women called to lead God’s church.

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In your formative years, what were you taught—or what did you perceive to be true—about women in ministry?

I grew up Catholic and didn’t see any female leadership roles in church. My formative years were in a small Dutch town on the Wisconsin side of Lake Michigan. Women in leadership were nurses or teachers. As a teen, I worked with Youth for Christ, which was very conservative but formative to my calling.

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How did God call you to ministry?

We moved to Minnesota for my husband’s job. I took the job at our church (Peace, Eagan) as their Minister of Children. Shortly after starting, I sensed I had to take another step, either a master’s in administration or children’s education. So I decided to go to Bethel University in St. Paul to get my master’s in Christian Education. I was two-thirds of the way through, having completed all courses but the languages, when I realized how energized I was talking about theology in the parking lot after class. One morning I looked at my husband and said, “I think God is calling me to be looking at the MDiv program,” and he agreed. I took those classes and graduated in June 1996.

I applied to so many places. Then I realized there weren’t a lot of places that were going to ordain me. That included my home church, which had walked alongside me all along. When I finally came to the consistory upon graduation, they said, “We want to keep you on, but we won’t ordain you.” In the meantime, I was the stated clerk for the classis [group of local congregations] and very involved. I did have a supporter from a classis committee who said they would work to get me ordained as a specialized minister. Eventually the church consistory said they’d ordain me, but not increase my pay at all, cutting my hours so that I met the classis’s minimum salary. A few months later, in October, I took the call to Our Savior’s Church, a half-hour away.

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Describe your first experiences in ministry. What was it like to start living into your calling?

It was definitely an eye-opener. It was a good fit, but I’m not sure that I was set up to succeed by the classis. The church was ready to close. This was their last chance. There were under 30 families, and I had four years to turn it around. The church was small and struggling, but there were committed believers who thought the church still had more life in it. We did become financially stable, but attendance didn’t ever thrive. We would be on the cusp of turning things around, then a family would move away.

At the start, we lost two influential families because I was a woman. Then we settled in and did life together. We certainly had our ups and downs. It took a while for some families to get used to seeing a woman in the pulpit. But I brought a nurturing sense that they weren’t used to, and I came in with an attitude of being willing to serve however they needed, to do whatever it took to see the church survive. I put nails in, cut grass, and a lot of other work behind the scenes.

Despite the challenges, where did you see signs of transformation and God at work in your community and context?

We became multicultural in the early 2000s and that made a huge difference in the life of the congregation. When I moved there, the elementary school across the street was all white. Our Savior’s Church was all white. When I left, the church was about 40 percent white, 30 percent Laotian, 30 percent West African. They moved into the nearby apartment buildings within walking distance. We were more laid back than they were used to, but they said, “We like it here. There’s biblical preaching, and it’s welcoming.”

My theology also changed a bit. I was fresh out of seminary with a rather conservative theology. I realized that I wasn’t welcome in those conservative circles. I’d sign up for continuing education, and people said I probably shouldn’t, or that I wouldn’t be comfortable there.

What was black and white became gray very quickly. As I dealt with real people and real problems, what was so defined for me really wasn’t anymore. It became different as I walked alongside congregation members with troubles in their family. My eyes were opened and I had to readjust my thinking. With the congregation being multicultural, I shifted worldviews. When I retired, the elementary school across the street spoke 67 languages. As society changed, I opened my eyes to who we were. It was not “us” and “them.” It was just “us.” That was defining for me.

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When the going got tough, what kept you going?

I had a pastor who I worked with who had worked alongside women in ministry; he said I could do this. He walked alongside me and advocated for me at the consistory level. To this day, had I not had that support, I’m not sure I would have made it. There were no women role models. I heard about them on the East Coast and in Michigan, but not in my area. None in Iowa, Minnesota, the Dakotas. I felt very much like a pioneer, trying to make my way.

The congregation of Our Savior’s Church never questioned my place. When I stepped out of the church walls, I would come across men who obviously didn’t expect me to be there. But I saw women grow in places in society, becoming CEOs. And I realized I could be there.

My daughters in their formative years, high school, and beyond, have never had anything other than a woman minister. They grew up with me as their pastor. Our grandchildren were born, and I was able to baptize all four. It’s been important for me for them to see that there aren’t any boundaries for them. 

I was the only woman in classis for a while. That’s lonely. I had to earn their respect. Not being accepted was hard. It brought me to tears a few times.

The other thing that sustained me was serving at the regional synod level and denominational level for a few things. When I saw that they were so open to women in leadership, that was encouragement. I would head over to those people at gatherings and feel more at home.

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With all these lived experiences in mind, what encouragement or wisdom do you have for other women who are called by God to be in ministry?

Be patient. I had to earn respect. It wasn’t automatically given to me. If I worked at it, I was given it. By the time I retired, churches in the classis were more okay with women in leadership. Someone said, “I’m not sure about women in ministry, but you’re okay.” The mistake I made was to take the pushback or attacks as personal. It really wasn’t about me; it was about being a woman in leadership. But there are prejudices that need to be chipped away. 

Remember you’re capable and God has called you there. I had a post-it note on my computer  that said, “God is bigger.” That helped keep things in perspective. You have to find the joys and celebrate the little victories.

Find a support team or someone—whether it’s women clergy in the community or a male colleague who can walk alongside you. It also helped to find my affirmation and support from outside the congregation when it doesn’t come from within. 

Lastly, when I think about the lives I have touched, that gives me hope. I went back and reflected on my time as a pastor; I counted more than 100 Liberians who had come in and out of the church doors during my time at Our Savior’s. That’s a lot of people I have touched. Add that to all the other people I’ve touched and the number grows. We have to remember those touches.