Sermon for the 50th Anniversary of Women’s Ordination: Grace Cathedral. 2 November 2025 Isaiah 25:1, 4a, 6-10a and Matthew 27:50-56
If I were to open my phone to the most recent text exchanges I’ve had with Madre Anna Lange Soto, you’d notice that a lot of them have to do with choosing shoes. We pounded some pavement together in the name of God’s justicia in Redwood City and San Jose, so I know that she prefers well-cushioned athletic shoes. And we all know that one thing we women in ministry have in common is that we use our feet. A lot. To get around, obviously, but not just that. Shoes mediate our relationship with the very ground on which we stand. They are useful for slogging through rain or dancing. And let’s not forget that shoes can be beautiful! We ordained women were probably advised by our mentors to wear sensible shoes, but I don’t think that’s advice that trailblazing priest Fran Toy ever took. I have it on good authority that she preferred heeled Ferragamo pumps. Elegant and enduring, which may just as well describe Fran and her legacy.
Then there’s my St. Paul’s sister, Archdeacon Carolyn Bolton, whose choice of boots I always admire. They may look comfortable—sometimes even cozy—but I’ve seen her kick some, um… thing with those boots. Especially when people miss the mark of doing justice, loving mercy, or walking humbly with our God. If you were blessed to see her dancing with Miguel Bustos in the Gospel procession at our most recent clergy conference, well… you’d know she’s got some gospel shoes going on. And Nancy Grandfield, we know that you have faithfully walked alongside God and so very many church leaders—especially laywomen—over the years. But how many of us know that you started out your ministry wearing silk stockings?
I give thanks for the footwear—practical, strong and beautiful—that has sustained women in the ministries which we commemorate this evening. It makes us steady and resilient. Qualities which we’ve exercised ever since Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James and Joseph, and the mother of the sons of Zebedee, stood on shaking ground to bear witness to the resurrection of our Lord. Lest you think this homily is an advertisement for Zappos, let us remember that good shoes are helpful—but sandals, or even well-callused soles will do—as we climb the holy mountain of the Lord that Isaiah dreamed of.
Which, it bears mentioning, is actually an ancient feminine metaphor for God. Indeed, contemporary Hebrew scholarship tells us that one of the names for God—El Shaddai, which our Bible routinely translates God Almighty—might better be translated God of the mountains or even God with breasts. Let that sink in for a moment! Here’s the thing about God or humans with breasts: her strength is manifested in strengthening others. Rather like the Lord of the mountaintop, who reveals himself as host of the feast wherein all are welcome. And if there’s one gift I would take from the ministries of the saintly women who precede us, it’s that we stand here tonight on their strength and their generosity. Their ministries are literally the shoulders—we might say the mountain—that we all stand upon. Those of you who have climbed literal mountains know the drill: it takes commitment and hard work, and there is the certainty of frustrations and setbacks along the way. We may well find ourselves in the middle of some setbacks in the politics of the moment. But we persevere with faith in God and the example of our sisters, who have invested millennia of hope in us. Because we know that the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines. The hand of the Lord will rest on this mountain. And how lovely—how very lovely—on the mountain are the feet of her who brings good news.
