1,855 words
29 April 2002
The News & Observer Raleigh, NC
Final A1 English
Copyright (c) 2002 by The News & Observer Pub. Co.; reprinted by permission of author.

Pullen Memorial congregation breaks new ground

Yonat Shimron
Staff Writer

Raleigh -- The Rev. Nancy Petty sat in her office last Sunday afternoon with the Bible opened in her lap. She closed her eyes and meditated on a verse she had committed to memory. "Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not rely on your own insight," Proverbs 3:5.

Downstairs, the sanctuary of Pullen Memorial Baptist was filling up. In a few minutes, congregants of this 850-member church would vote on whether to call Petty as a co-pastor, alongside the Rev. Jack McKinney.

It would be a momentous vote. If approved by a required three-fourths vote, it would mean Petty would become the first woman in the church's 118-year history to lead this downtown Raleigh congregation. More than that, it would mean she would be the church's first lesbian pastor.

A "yes" vote would bring the glare, not only of the media, but of the larger Christian world. A Baptist church led by two pastors is uncommon, and where it does happen usually involves a husband and a wife. A Baptist church led by a lesbian pastor and a straight pastor is unheard of.

"It's extremely rare, with the emphasis on 'extremely,' " said Bill Leonard, dean of the divinity school at Wake Forest University in Winston-Salem. "I don't know of another such situation."

But Pullen Memorial Baptist is a maverick church, known far beyond Raleigh for its willingness to take a stand on controversial issues. To some it is a trailblazer; to others a heresy. Located on the corner of N.C. State University, this church has been at the forefront of fights for desegregation, for women's rights and for the end to the Vietnam War.

Ten years ago, it also won the distinction of being the first church expelled from the Southern Baptist Convention for agreeing to hold a gay union ceremony. Now it is drawn, yet again, into what has become one of the most divisive issues in the religious world today -- the status of gays and lesbians.

Most Christian groups either forbid the ordination of homosexuals or require that they live in chastity. But Pullen -- as a fiercely independent Baptist church -- has enjoyed the freedom to go its own way.

In part, that's because since its founding in 1884, Pullen has enjoyed strong preaching from men who felt called to rail at what they believed were social injustices. Filling that pulpit would be a challenge for anyone, and particularly for Petty, who, at 38, is modest and reluctant to take the spotlight. But as she sat in silence, Petty offered a prayer to God. "If this happens, if the church decides to do this, I'm ready. I'll do all that I can to be faithful."

A life with the church:

Nothing in Nancy Petty's upbringing could have prepared her for the groundbreaking role her church was now considering.

Growing up in Shelby, Petty was a typical country girl for whom the rhythms of daily life revolved around the Baptist church. Sunday mornings Petty accompanied her father as he drove a bus through the neighborhood picking up children for church. Sunday evenings she helped her mother prepare dinner for church guests. She made friends through church and spent most of her free time at church.

At Gardner-Webb University in Boiling Springs, Petty majored in religion and became president of the Baptist Student Organization on campus.

In her senior year, she landed a job as a summer youth minister at Greystone Baptist Church in Raleigh. By the end of the summer, the church's pastor at the time, the Rev. Alan Sasser, told her he thought she had the talent for ministry and suggested she enroll at Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary in Wake Forest for a master's in divinity.

At Southeastern, Petty had her first relationship with a woman. She had known since she was a teenager that she was attracted to women, but she didn't know how her sexual orientation and her calling as a minister could go together.

To the majority of Christians, the two do not. Swayed by biblical passages that speak of homosexuality as sinful and contrary to God's created order, many Christians who read the Bible literally cannot condone the practice.

"There's no particular theological argument other than it represents the persistence of sin," said Andrew Wakefield, a professor who specializes in the New Testament at Campbell University in Buies Creek -- a Baptist-affiliated college.

Petty knew these arguments and kept her private life under wraps while working as a youth pastor at St. John's Baptist Church in Charlotte. But when she read about a church in Raleigh that had gone through a year-long deliberation on whether to hold a holy union ceremony between two gay men, she was intrigued. And when that church advertised for a minister of Christian education, Petty applied.

In June 1992, three months after Pullen members voted to go ahead with the ceremony, Petty came on board. She still hadn't figured out how to be a Christian minister and a lesbian, but she wasn't going to waste more time finding out.

A month after coming on board, she called the Rev. Mahan Siler, the senior minister, and asked him to meet her for breakfast at the Brownstone Hotel next door to the church.

"I need to tell you," Petty said. "I'm a lesbian. If I need to step down, I will."

Siler reached across the table, patted her hand and said, "We've decided that question at Pullen. You're OK."

Pullen's acceptance:

Once her secret was out, Petty made a decision: While she wasn't going to hide who she was anymore, she didn't want to make an issue of it either.

Over the next 10 years, there were no revelations about Petty's sexual orientation from the church pulpit and no announcements in the church bulletin. Some heard it privately; others never did.

Years after Petty moved in with her partner, church member Vickie Leigh, congregants bashfully inquired whether they were living together. And this past summer, when Petty from the pulpit mentioned her partner and their children -- Jasmine, 9, and Russian-born Nora, 4 -- members asked her whether this was the first time she had publicly "come out."

Pullen members were Southerners, after all, and politeness mattered. But they also tried -- not always successfully -- to let other people live their lives authentically, without casting judgment.

For Petty, it was a huge relief.

"I never wanted to be identified as a lesbian minister," Petty said. "What I am is a minister. I happen to be a woman, and I happen to be a lesbian. But first of all, I'm a minister. That's how I want people to see me."

Petty's goal was not to be an activist on behalf of gays and lesbians, but to help people regardless of their sexual orientation care and nurture their relationships with one another.

Many believe Petty succeeded, and they cite her people skills as her greatest asset.

"One of the great gifts Nancy has is an ability to relate to people," said Renee Keever, a member of Pullen church. "She's an extra good listener who gives wise counsel."

In the 10 years Petty has served at Pullen, she strengthened the adult religious education program, introduced a new family life retreat program and coordinated a peace vigil each time someone was murdered in the city.

But it was in those times of transition, when senior minister Siler left for a year's sabbatical in 1994, and later when he retired in 1998, that Petty became a de facto pastor.

"She's been with people through times of crisis and she's done a lot of work with people one-on-one," said Pat Long, a member.

But when the new senior minister, the Rev. Jack McKinney, invited her to lunch at Foster's last year to talk to her about his proposal, she knew the days when she could keep her secret among friends were coming to an end.

A huge step:

Petty remembers her reaction to McKinney's proposal that they share the pastorate.

"I thought, 'Wow!' Here's this young man who has this position, and he's asking me to share it with him," Petty said. "It was a sacred and powerful moment in terms of what he was willing to risk and give up for himself to give me an opportunity. A huge piece of my heart leapt up and said 'Yes,' but I also felt I needed some time to think about it."

As in the Baptist tradition, the two ministers knew they would have to bring their proposal to the entire congregation for a vote. At Pullen, such votes are no trifling matter; they are preceded by a long and complex process called "discernment." The two spent the summer thinking about it. Then they went to work.

First, McKinney and Petty dropped in on the deacon council, the personnel council and the coordinating council to seek their approval. Then, letters were mailed to every member; a series of public meetings was held and summaries of the discussions disseminated. After members signaled they were ready for a vote, a business meeting was called on April 21.

Petty decided ahead of time she would wait in her office while the vote took place.

"People needed the space to say what they wanted to say without my being there," she said. The meeting on a hot, sunny Sunday afternoon lasted less than an hour. Remarkably, Petty's sexual orientation was never discussed.

Instead, members wondered whether Pullen's tradition of strong preaching -- from the likes of Edwin McNeill Poteat, William W. Finlator and Mahan Siler -- would be diluted under the shared leadership.

"My biggest fear is worship," said Pullen member Cynthia C. Brown. "It's my opinion that this church has always sustained itself through worship. I think worship will be changed."

Others wondered whether a dual leadership was a good way to run a church.

"We're creating a new committee of two," member Jim L. Brandt said. "The problem with that committee is that there's no chairman who can break the tie."

Another member concurred. "It's the management style I'm voting against when I vote against this motion," he stood up to say. Despite the criticism, it was clear many favored the proposal.

After 40 minutes of discussion, the ballots were handed out. When the results were announced, McKinney climbed the stairs to Petty's office to deliver the news.

"Hello, pastor," he said, and gave her a big hug.