Cascades of Grace

Cascades of Grace: the Background

Cascades of Grace ¹ is a group of women in the United Reformed Church working under the remit of Global and Intercultural Ministries (GIM) to network and empower Black, Asian and Minority Ethnic (BAME, or, in this article, collectively referred to as ‘Black’) ² women in the denomination. The group seeks to address the situation in which Black women comprise a significant proportion of many local congregations, frequently serving as Elders, Church Secretaries, and in a variety of other leadership roles, but become largely silent and invisible beyond the local church, and absent from the leadership and decision-making bodies of the wider denomination. Cascades of Grace believes that the specific skills and insights of Black women are a God-given resource for the enrichment of the whole Church. At the present time, however, there are fewer than ten Black women serving in the United Reformed Church as ministers of either Word and Sacraments or Church Related Community Work. ³

The reflections below are written by two of the founding members of Cascades of Grace.

A Journey into Ministry – Karen Campbell

I wonder what was going through Constance Todd’s mind, just over a century ago, as she recognized her sense of call to ordained ministry. Was she considering the challenge of convincing others of that call? Was she fretting at the prospect of trying to break into what was, undoubtedly, a man’s world? Was she carrying a sense of responsibility to, and for, all women who might also hear God calling them into ministry? And if she could wind the clock forwards 100 years, what would she make of the celebrations taking place in 2017 to mark the centenary of her ordination? Whilst I cannot answer these questions relating to Constance Todd (known as Constance Coltman after her marriage), I am led to pose related questions regarding my own journey into ministry.

I am a woman, and I am a Church Related Community Worker (CRCW), a minister of the United Reformed Church (URC). I was born and raised in the UK and, before going into ministry, lived my whole life in Tottenham, North London. I grew up in a time when racism was very real and overt, when there was a long-standing recognition of the glass ceiling encountered by women who wanted to get ahead in society, and when both racism and sexism were the everyday stuff of popular television shows and stand-up comedians. I grew up knowing that the colour of my skin spoke volumes, although exactly what it said was not always clear; and I grew up accepting that as a black youngster in Britain, I had to be twice as good in order to be equal. It did not occur to me to question such a position. It also did not occur to me to consider the double-portion of challenges of being both black and female. It would be many years before the issue of class also became a real consideration.

At the time of candidating for CRCW ministry, I had never heard of Constance Coltman. I did not go forwards consciously bearing a sense of responsibility towards women, black people generally, or black women specifically. I went forward as me – because I had long heard God calling, and I had finally grown tired of pretending not to hear. I had not heard God say ‘Female Karen’, or ‘Black Karen’ – just ‘Karen’, and here I was, answering the call. As I candidated, I was quite prepared for those tasked with discerning my sense of call to decide they were unable to do so. Unlike Constance Todd, I was not so convinced of my calling that I was prepared to fight to be accepted. There were many question marks and potential obstacles from my own perspective – and I raised them all, even while thinking I may be ruining any chance of acceptance. Yet still, I was accepted – and I took that as God’s affirmation that I was, indeed, being called into ministry.

As I went through my four years of training, most of the people around me were white – the students (of both CRCW and Word & Sacraments), the tutors, the CRCWs already in post; I was conscious of these dynamics, but usually did not think much about it. Somehow, I just accepted this as the way things were. I was already well into my thirties, and had long-since learned to negotiate most situations in which I found myself. So, whilst I was not always ‘comfortable’ during this period, I was ‘OK’. After all, I was not at college in order to be comfortable; instead, I absorbed myself in my studies – theological wrestlings, which I thoroughly enjoyed – and in passing my degree. One thought I did consciously carry – as a black person in a majority white environment, failure was not an option!

It was not until I was well-immersed in my training that a greater significance to my candidating started to become apparent. On worshipping with my sending church – a predominantly black, URC congregation, one of the Caribbean women offered these words of encouragement, ‘Keep up the good work. It’s too late for us older ones, but you’re doing this for all of us!’ Such a thought had never crossed my mind! But then I started to realize I had been hearing similar sentiments for some time – black women in the congregation saying, in different words, ‘We’re watching you!’; ‘We believe in you!’; ‘Show them what we can do!’

On successfully completing my training, I was invited to attend a gathering for newly qualified URC ministers. While all the ordinands were having group photographs taken, I was taken aside, and a request was made for me to be photographed on my own. I was surprised to discover that I am, apparently, the first UK born, URC trained Black minister. Without realizing it, I apparently embody something of significance beyond the ‘me’ I consciously acknowledge.

I am currently the only Black CRCW. By default, then, I am the only Black, woman CRCW. Does this matter, and if so, to whom?

If I understand her story correctly, Constance Todd grew up in a position of privilege. She had wealth. Her family had social position. I do not make this observation to detract in any way from Constance’s courage in challenging the status quo, but I wonder if she was emboldened by being used to having a voice and being listened to, at least in some social situations. Certainly, this is not a privilege which would have been afforded to all women of her time. For my own part, I too recognize that I was able to consider the possibility of ministry from a position of privilege, though very different from that enjoyed by Constance Todd.

It is with the (dubious) benefit of hindsight that I recognize that I grew up poor. My parents came to Britain from Jamaica in the 1960s, and my earliest memory is of my father working day-time as a carpenter, and my mother working night-time in a soft drinks factory. My parents worked hard to ensure we had everything we needed, but there was not much to spare. We were a household of nine people, including my parents, my four sisters, and two brothers. With so many bodies coexisting in a small council house, we each learned to stand our ground; strategies for making our voices heard – or our influence felt! As we got older, then, without even needing to leave the house, I found myself surrounded by strong black women. This was my norm.

I was raised in what I guess would be described as a Black Pentecostal Church. I was used to being surrounded by devout, black Christians, mainly from the Caribbean. In my earliest memory, the pastor of the church was white, but after he moved on, the leadership was always black. This is what I knew. This is what I accepted as ‘normal’. As I reflect further, I realize that the minister was never a woman. There were sometimes women held in extremely high regard, and even reverence, but they were never the pastor. The point is, however, I was used to seeing black people as church leaders, and black women occupying positions of relative seniority.

In my mid-twenties I joined my local United Reformed Church. The congregation was predominantly black; the minister was white. For me, this was neither a problem nor an issue. The majority of the elders – those entrusted with leadership of the local church – were black, and I discovered this had been a deliberate process of empowerment undertaken by the minister over a period of time. Yet, I was taken by surprise when I was approached to consider eldership. Why me? I was not worthy, I was not ready, I was not…! The male, Ghanaian elder who had approached me refused to accept my immediate ‘No!’: ‘You can’t just say no! Go away, think about it, pray about it… and then if you say no, the answer is still yes!’ So I did as instructed. I thought and prayed, and felt I got no answer. So I made a deal with God: ‘I’ll let my name go forward. If, as I expect, I am not elected, there will be no hard feelings. I will accept this as confirmation that eldership is not right for me (or, more likely, that I am not right for eldership!) If, however, I find that I am elected, with your help, I will serve to the best of my ability!’ I was elected!

Once I was serving as an elder in my local church, a number of people started discerning a call in me to serve the wider Church through ministry. I could not hear it! Later, I became increasingly aware of the call coming from within, and at the same time, others around me were voicing the same; but I would not hear it! Then my minister enquired whether I had considered candidating for ministry. Now I could not ignore it! Almost reluctantly, I responded. I went forward. I was accepted. And here I am!

What, then, is the privilege to which I referred? I grew up as a well-supported, strong, opinionated black woman. I was used to seeing black people in leadership; I was used to seeing black women in positions of relative seniority in the church. As I would later come to realize, these are truths not necessarily enjoyed by all Black women in the United Reformed Church. As my sense of call started to emerge, at every stage I was surrounded by encouraging voices – people pushing me on, when I might have failed or refused to hear. Again, this is not the experience of all Black women in the Church. There is no doubt that these privileges helped spur me on towards ministry, yet I must question why I still found it so difficult to make the journey into church leadership. In part, it simply was not within the realms of my imagination; coming from a working class Tottenham family, it was not part of our reality to consider church ministry as a life or career choice. Equally, though, I had never known any black woman in the most senior positions in the local or wider church – deacons, teachers, assistants – yes, but never the minister. It had not previously occurred to me to question these dynamics, I had simply accepted it as the way things were; but now, I had to question.

The church of my childhood subscribed to a theology in which men and women are a partnership, but men are the head, while women play a supporting role. I grew up with this theology; I consciously rejected it; yet even when it was being enacted before me, I was not necessarily moved to challenge it. Perhaps I was subconsciously reinforcing it. In both my childhood church, and the URC congregation, women hugely outnumbered the men – yet men comprised the majority of leaders in both churches. Perhaps, like me – and unlike Constance Todd – the women of the churches could not imagine themselves in formal leadership roles. They were happy actively contributing to the life of the church by leading children’s and youth’s activities, coordinating social groups, serving on the cleaning rota, or food preparation – all the traditional ‘women‘s ministries’, but not as ‘the minister’!

However, I think the issue runs much deeper than where an individual woman is able to imagine herself – there is a question as to what women in the church are allowed to imagine. In some congregations there is no option for a woman to be the figure of authority in the church. Drawing on biblical texts such as 1 Timothy 2.9–14, in which Paul ‘permits no woman to teach or have authority over a man’, ⁴ women ministers are a theological no-no! Whilst I absolutely disagree with such theology, I can understand that if this is the stance of the church, a woman cannot realistically aspire to ordained ministry without being willing to move to another denomination. But what, then, is the reason for the underrepresentation of women in the leadership of the URC congregation – a denomination which does recognize the call of women into church leadership?

I want to draw on a recent conversation which may indirectly provide some relevant insights. Discussing with a colleague the merits, or otherwise, of creedal statements, I asked whether there was any point in reciting a creed by rote, without actually thinking about the words and owning the statements. She replied that there was, because through constant repetition, ‘the words sink into me; they become a part of me’. I wonder if this is true of Paul’s sentiments as expressed in the book of Timothy? Perhaps, like me, many of our black women have spent years immersed in environments in which Paul’s sentiments form the backdrop, so that without consciously thinking about or owning this theology, it has somehow become ‘a part of us’.

Some time after qualifying as a CRCW, I was invited to attend a small gathering, mainly comprising black women in the URC, to consider whether there is a need to explore and address the challenges faced by Black, Asian and Minority Ethnic women in the denomination, our underrepresentation in ordained ministry, and in leadership or decision-making positions beyond the local congregation. To be honest, I went to the first meeting convinced it would be my last. After all, as I reflected on my own journey into ministry, I felt that the biggest obstacle I had consciously faced was myself. If other Black women had comparable experiences, there was not necessarily a systemic problem; rather, we needed to stop holding ourselves back. We needed to imagine ourselves in ministry and leadership roles, and we needed to step up – offer ourselves in order for things to change. But meeting with just a handful of women, I became aware of a wide range of experiences of Black women in the church:

Some Black women are a minority in a predominantly white congregation – and ‘being different’ is not necessarily a comfortable place to be. In some cases, then, they have learned that life is easier if they keep their heads down, go with the flow, and do as little as possible to draw attention to themselves.

Other Black women find themselves as an overlooked minority within a larger minority group – a lone Trinidadian amongst a large group of Jamaicans, or a small group of Nigerians in the midst of Ghanaians. With such dynamics, it can be easy for the smaller group to become silent and invisible, to feel unable to share the specific gifts they might offer from their own particular cultural heritage.

In some cases, it seems that Black women are held back by entrenched cultural roles and values – including a conscious or subconscious deference to men, as the head of the house and/or the head of the church. These sometimes unspoken roles and expectations are frequently accepted and upheld by Black people of both genders, and might explain why, relatively speaking, far more Black men have successfully negotiated a path into ordained ministry as compared to Black women.

And then there are those Black women who are convinced of their call to ministry, but feel they have met with gatekeepers to the candidating process, or whose sense of call has not been recognized. They may feel disappointed at best, deflated, disempowered, or even defeated.

All of this was a revelation to me. It is not so much that I was previously unaware of such situations, but rather, I had never actively engaged with them. These stories were not my story. My largely positive experience seemed to be the fortunate anomaly. I became aware, then, of a sense of responsibility towards other Black women – a commitment to share my story and hear the stories of others, enable other Black women to do the same, so that together we can encourage and empathize, celebrate and grieve, find solidarity, and each recognize that ‘I am not in this alone!’ As women at that exploratory gathering we formed ourselves into a core planning group to develop work under the name ‘Cascades of Grace: Voices of Black, Asian & Minority Ethnic Women in the URC’. Our aim is not simply to be ‘by Black women, for Black women’; rather, we are convinced that the absence of Black women from visible and prominent roles at every level in the denomination is necessarily detrimental to the whole Church; we are less well-off for being without the unique gifts and skills God has given through our women of diverse cultural backgrounds. We seek to empower Black women for the benefit of the whole United Reformed Church, and beyond.

So, here I am, a minister of the United Reformed Church. I consider ministry, in itself, to be a challenge. Whilst it is a privilege, it can also be hugely demanding. Being black and a minister adds another dimension to the challenge. Being a woman and a minister is another dimension again. Being black, a woman, and a minister can sometimes feel like a weighty load to bear. We are still a very small minority in the denomination, so whilst I have no desire to ‘represent’ anyone apart from myself, I realize that the choice is not in my hands. When I look at myself, I see ‘Karen’; but I am conscious that, depending on where I am, and who I am with, others see my colour and/or my gender, and will judge those they perceive to be ‘like me’ based on what I do or say. I have no conscious desire to be a role model to anyone beyond my family, and yet I recognize that Black women need to start seeing other Black women occupying those places where, until now, we have been absent, and speaking out in those places where we have been silent. And so I find myself accepting responsibilities not just as ‘me’, but consciously as a Black, woman minister, still carrying the conviction that I must be twice as good in order to be equal, and determined not to fail those women who are watching, and waiting, and urging me to ‘show them what we can do’.

By all accounts, Constance Coltman was a remarkable individual. Whether deliberately and consciously, or simply through a determination to have her call to ministry recognized, she championed the cause of women desiring to break into the hitherto male domain of ordained ministry. Hers was a huge achievement – but I wonder, at what cost? And I wonder about the cost for those trying to further the work, by continuing to challenge and dismantle the barriers women still face, and Black women more particularly. Being a minister is a demanding business. Being a pioneer is much more so!

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Pushing Beyond – Tessa Henry-Robinson

I am presently in training for ministry of Word and Sacraments in the United Reformed Church (URC), and describe myself as a ‘Womanist’ theologian – a term coined by Alice Walker ⁵ in 1983, to react to what she perceived as Feminist Theology’s essential neglect to include the context and particular experiences of Black and other marginalized women. ⁶ To make the connection between Womanist and Feminist, Walker offers that the term is almost similar to Black Feminist but ‘does not need to be prefaced by the word “Black”’. In her reckoning, ‘the word “Womanist” necessarily concerns black women’. ⁷ This is because it was inspired by the term ‘womanish’, a well-used word amongst the African diaspora in the USA and the Caribbean to describe girls and women who are acting grown up – who embody ‘wanting to know more and in greater depth than is good for one – outrageous audacious, courageous and willful behavior’. ⁸

What Feminist and Womanist perspectives have in common, is that they are both theologies of liberation which make use of a hermeneutic of suspicion to challenge traditional ways of reading the Bible. ⁹ Both are concerned with the lived experiences of women. Feminist theologians, in common with many other theologians who study the use of power in society, argue that ‘every theology has a gender politics, whether it is stated or not’, and so ‘bring[ing] gender questions into theology is nothing new’. ¹⁰ As such, Feminist Theology ‘seeks to speak of God without writing sexism into the sky on a divine scale’. ¹¹ It must be noted that there are several strands, but Nicola Slee points out that the identifying marker of Feminist Theology is that it is committed to liberating and empowering women. ¹² In contrast, Womanist Theology, according to Linda E. Thomas, ‘is critical reflection upon black women’s place in the world’ from the position ‘that God has created and takes seriously black women’s experience as human beings who are made in the image of God’. ¹³ Both theological perspectives are interested in challenging sexism, but Womanist Theology cannot stop at sexism, as racism and classism acutely affect Black and other marginalized women on a daily basis.

I have twice candidated for ministry of Word and Sacraments in the URC – first in 2008 and then again in 2014, some 92 or so years after Constance Coltman was ordained as a minister in the Reformed tradition. The first time I candidated I was unsuccessful; I was told that no call could be discerned. Since then, I have had to accept that this might have been the right decision, especially as I was freed to attend to a pastoral situation regarding my mother in her last months of life. Still, I grappled vigorously with that sense of call that I still strongly felt, and found the need to cultivate tools to deal with what felt like rejection. This grappling led me to want to understand God generally and get a better sense of what God might be saying to me specifically. It was at this time that I realized Black, Asian and Minority Ethnic (BAME) women comprised an insignificant number of ministers within the wider denomination. As a BAME woman who embraces the description Black, and is keen to serve God in a Church that embraces the description ‘multicultural church, intercultural habit’, ¹⁴ for me seeking understanding by reflecting theologically on issues with which I am confronted is where I find strength.

At that time, I estimate that there were fewer than one handful of Black women serving in the ministries of Word and Sacraments and Church Related Community Work (CRCW). Monitoring undertaken by Racial Justice and Intercultural Ministries (RJIM), now known as Global and Intercultural Ministries (GIM), then revealed that Black membership was increasing significantly. ¹⁵ This piqued my interest further and I became determined to develop a deeper understanding of the situation Black women find themselves in, in the URC. Meanwhile, through various preaching engagements and other activities, I began to realize that while Black women were very present and active in their various congregations, even remarkably so, they were virtually missing – invisible and inaudible – in leadership and decision-making in the wider Church. In her time, Coltman faced a similar situation. When she felt called, Coltman was confronted with the realization that women were either excluded or simply missing from ordained ministry in the Reformed tradition in Britain. It was this recognition that empowered her to draw attention to this problem to the very gatekeepers of the tradition.

A century later I find myself drawing inspiration and lessons from Coltman’s experience. For me, being a member of the URC is not incidental to my life – it is very important, and as a Black woman, mine has been a unique experience. Womanist Theology argues that Black women’s experiences should be central to any theological discourse concerning Black women and their community’s lived realities. Womanist theologian, Delores Williams, urges also that Womanist Theology’s language must ‘be an instrument for social and theological change in church and society’. ¹⁶ In becoming a member of the URC, I sought to live out my faith in a denomination that allows me the freedom to believe in a God with whom I could have a direct relationship, rather than a God who is not readily accessible to me; a denomination which, in describing itself, includes me. That said, however, I began to realize in my deeper conversations with God, that God is not necessarily to be found in every situation, decision and encounter. The reality is that some situations are simply unjust, potentially oppressive and sometimes prejudicial. God is none of these. Thus, my interest became the ‘visibilizing’ of Black women, wanting them/us to become empowered to speak up in the wider Church. This meant that potentially unjust, oppressive and prejudicial situations which might be causing Black women to be left out, invisible, inaudible and missing, needed to be identified and challenged. Recognizing and challenging the unjust forces which insist on keeping women out is key to breaking through barriers.

Being a woman seeking training for ordained ministry at a time when only men occupied this field was certainly a turning point – not only in Coltman’s life, but also in the life of the Reformed tradition. Failure to recognize and challenge injustice necessarily obstructs progress, and stymies both self and the holistic-development of the denomination. Similarly, then, a turning point is needed in the situation of Black women and the URC – and Black women can do something about this. Williams points to the need to ‘search for the voices, actions, opinions, experience, and faith of women whose names sometimes slip into the male-centered rendering of black history, but whose actual stories remain remote’. ¹⁷ Interestingly, it is only when I was able to recognize that I was in the middle of a situation in need of change that I became empowered not only for myself, but for other Black women in the URC – so when invited, together with a group of women, to talk back from the vantage point of our diversity, and engage with other Black women in the denomination to empower and encourage, I was ready. We met and formed ourselves into a group called Cascades of Grace (COG).

When Coltman was seeking to enter the process of training for ordained ministry, she found herself having to challenge and change the existing mindset regarding the ordination of women. When I candidated, thanks to Coltman, I took this right for granted. In true Coltman fashion, COG is engaged in attempting to change mindsets regarding Black women in the URC. Through a process of empowerment and sharing, we aim to become a more visible and audible inclusion in the life of the denomination.

In challenging Revd Dr Selbie 100 years ago Coltman directly changed things for women. She began what would be an all out fight against oppressive and stereotypical hindrances, although she might not even have realized the magnitude and reach of the task she had taken on. COG needs to continue this fight with a different emphasis today. All women can celebrate Coltman’s determination in countering the obstacles presented by her challenger, and forging ahead to become the first woman ordained in the Reformed tradition in Britain. In celebrating, however, Black women must be careful not to try to fit into a mould that was not designed for us, and recognize that we have the power to change the shape of the mould.

When God is calling, it is important to answer the call in your lifetime. It is not for anyone else to suggest that ‘women are not typically ministers so perhaps it is not your time’, or to resign oneself to saying ‘I hardly see any Black women in ministry, so perhaps I am wrong about my calling’. If Coltman had thought like that, the door would have taken much longer to be opened for women to become ordained ministers. It was in this vein, and with constant prompting, that I candidated a second time and was accepted. In searching for the tools to deal with the practical concerns regarding Black women’s invisibility and inaudibility, it was important to embrace the right to challenge boldly any instances of wrong – even in, or should I say, especially in situations to do with spiritual and faith development. For example, when first candidating for ministry, I found myself in the situation of being a black candidate facing an all-white panel of assessors; such a situation should not be allowed to reoccur. In 2014, I faced a slightly more diverse panel – a development which I believe is owed to the fact that the URC is on a journey of change, and is consciously trying to be true to its description as a multicultural church with an intercultural habit. I believe COG has a role to play in ensuring that this progress continues and that processes are trustworthy.

While being mindful that discerning God’s call is a very sensitive issue, and any outcome is possible, it is important that everyone who offers him/herself to be considered for ministry can feel able to trust the candidating process. That said, how does one raise the challenge that all is not well with any process to do with faith development without feeling that one is challenging God’s decision? Coltman certainly came face-to-face with this dilemma. The answer is that you need to have confidence in your relationship with God and the willingness to make yourself vulnerable.

Constance Coltman left an empowering legacy for the Reformed tradition, of doors being opened for other women to follow, but I cannot help but wonder how much has genuinely changed. The thing is, God has been calling people of all walks of life – female, male, gay, straight – for centuries, and God has never stopped calling. So, while we have come a long way since Coltman’s ordination, we still have much more to do and much further to travel. As women, as Black women, and as members of the URC, it is critical that we hold the denomination accountable to include those who are still marginalized today. This will involve being observant, honest, trustworthy, and ready to challenge and work towards changing unjust practices and stereotypical understandings. So, while I am grateful for the door Coltman opened 100 years ago, I am mindful that there are doors which are still closed; doors which should not just be cracked open and then shut again, but open in a wide, welcoming and trustworthy way, to include not just some, but all women, who hear God’s call. Better yet, we need to get together to construct wider doors to accommodate the whole diversity of people that God is calling into God’s service – through ordained ministry, but also serving God in multiple ways in the wider denomination.

In moving forward in my training and in my work in the URC, I realize that I need access to diverse sets of tools – tools that dismantle and break down, and tools that build-up and repair. Through hours of reflection in company with God, I have recognized the need to start by dismantling common misconceptions, especially those pertaining to God, which we often hold dear. Equally, many of us may need to repair our knowledge of God, recognizing that God is a just God, not one who seeks to raise some people while making others invisible. I understand God as being one who holds the door open for all, and invites everyone, in all of our diversity, to sit at the table. I see this in Jesus, in the biblical accounts of his encounters with various women. Jesus held the door open for the woman at the well (Jn 4. 8–10) who asked him ‘How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?’. ¹⁸ (As the scripture explains, Jews did not share things in common with Samaritans). In his interaction with the woman, Jesus invited her to participate in fullness in the kingdom and gave her a witness and a ministry in which her voice was crucial. This is evident when Jesus answered her, ‘If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, “Give me a drink,” you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water’. The invitation is also extended to the woman who Jesus saved from being stoned, saying to her would-be attackers: ‘He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone’ (Jn 8.3–11). ¹⁹ Jesus showed the woman that a different way was possible; that women did not have to be boxed-in by a culture of violence and neglect. At the same time, he demonstrated to the men that they too were guilty of sin, and had no right to condemn the woman. Through this open door Jesus welcomed the Canaanite woman – a Gentile – who despite the odds, during their conversation was able to break into God’s kingdom, supposedly reserved for ‘the lost sheep of the house of Israel’ (Mt. 15.21–28). ²⁰ Although from a different culture and religious background than the disciples or Jesus himself, presenting very real challenges for them, Jesus listened to what the woman had to say, if seemingly reluctantly, and in so doing allowed her to participate in owning and transforming the space previously reserved for the few.

In my view, what all of these women had in common is that they used tools to build up a relationship with Jesus, and they were all invited in. Their voices were listened to and embraced. However, it was not all roses and daffodils, because in different ways they were all met with suspicion and mistrust because of who they were. The woman at the well, a many times married woman living with a man who was not her husband, had to work hard at convincing people of what she heard and saw. The woman who escaped stoning was suspect because her sin was seen as greater than the sin of all of the men who would have stoned her. The Canaanite woman was met with suspicion by Jesus himself, who called her ‘dog’ – arguably, a derogatory term, although there are scholars who would beg to differ with this assertion. ²¹ All three women were able to push beyond these obstructions and break into history – able, in my reckoning, to bring into their encounter with Jesus, their ‘audacious, outrageous, willful, courageous, and wanting to know more attitudes’ that led them to be invited to participate meaningfully in service to God.

I believe that God is a God of radical welcome, who calls the Church to be the same. Sadly, this is not yet the reality. Our very structures cast some people as outsiders – broken and excluded, but I believe we have the tools to bring about change. It is through our individual and collective willingness to be observant that we will recognize when change is needed, and through our commitment to being truly welcoming that real change will occur. Coltman demonstrated all of this. She was able to begin the process of changing the mindset of her challengers and those others bent on excluding women, so that 100 years later, hope is still held, and God’s promise is still present – even when it might feel otherwise.

As a Black woman who is keen to live out my faith in service to God in a multicultural Church that embraces all people, I believe that it is my duty to seek understanding when the system appears to be failing. I believe strength is gained from having to deal with all sorts of injustice, and it is that strength which becomes a God-given tool for change. As with Coltman, in her time, perhaps it is these tools – gained through our adversities – that Cascades of Grace, and Black women generally, must use as we pursue God’s promise of justice and healing, and as we boldly accept the invitation that God extends for us all to sit at God’s table.

Final Thoughts

One hundred years ago Constance Coltman stood out as a woman who was breaking new ground in the Reformed tradition. In 2017, the small number of Black women ministers in the United Reformed Church stand out, because they too represent and are part of a bigger process of change. So, it is with gladness that Cascades of Grace join in celebrating the centenary of Constance Coltman’s ordination, and it is with determination that we continue our work to empower Black, Asian and Minority Ethnic women, to recognize and release their gifts for the enrichment of the whole United Reformed Church. And we pray for the time when women, Black women, and all marginalized people, will no longer be seen to ‘stand out’ when hearing and accepting their God-given invitation into ministry, but can freely take their place amongst the whole diversity of people who are called into leadership in Christ’s Church.