Broad Is the Way: Stories from Mayerthorpe

23 Learning to Be a Woman

twenty-three Learning to Be a Woman In the spring of 1960, when we were living in Edmonton, Jim decided to use his study leave to attend a sensitivity training workshop at the United Church Training Centre in the Qu’Appelle Valley in Saskatchewan . He proposed that I should enrol for the same training. I readily agreed. I hadn’t been away from our children for more than a day since the birth of our youngest, and I was ready for a change. Sensitivity training was an educational invention in vogue at the time, designed to train people to work effectively with groups. Before embarking on what my mother called “taking holy orders,” I’d had a career working with a variety of community groups and was intrigued with the idea of learning something new. Jim thought we could afford the trip, so we both planned to go. We had a greatly loved babysitter who agreed to live in for a week and a good friend in the congregation who would drop by and make sure all was well. I looked forward to shedding my role as a minister’s wife. I would simply be a participant, an equal among equals. I wouldn’t have to worry about keeping out of trouble—something I seemed to have no difficulty getting into in a church setting. Jim was looking forward to some respite from pastoral concerns, and was leaving his clerical garb and persona at home. We got out our camp clothes, packed a few books in case there’d be time to read, and off we went. Along with the other participants, we arrived at the centre in time for supper. The first evening was spent mainly in socializing, the stock phrase being “getting to know each other.” To my dismay, the group consisted almost entirely of ministers, all men. There were only three women, myself and two deaconesses, probably in their fifties. It was not the heterogeneous mix of professionals I had expected and hoped for. However Brian Jones, someone we knew well, was there, and I was pleased about that. Brian had been the minister in Sangudo, the pastoral charge nearest to us, while we lived in Mayerthorpe. In those 98 years, we were starved for any kind of serious discussion outside of church concerns. Brian and his wife used to drive fifteen miles over a meagrely gravelled highway a couple of times a year to have dinner with us. Into the wee hours we’d toss around ideas for the sheer fun of it: philosophy, politics, theology, novels we were reading—it didn’t matter. Those evenings were lifesavers for all of us. So if Brian was here, it couldn’t be too bad. The workshop comprised lectures and exercises to practise the skills we were supposed to learn as well as meetings of the training group—the most crucial part of the program, we were told. The training group met every morning from nine until noon. Jim and I were told that ordinarily a husband and wife would not be allowed in the same training group, but the workshop didn’t have enough registrants to create two groups, so we would have to work together. However, we were not to act as if we were married and were told that under no circumstances were we to jump to each other’s defence in the heat of a training group discussion. Wondering what we’d need to be defended from, we looked forward to the morning as a unique experience. The training group took place around an oval table, where all twelve of us, together with our two male facilitators, could see and hear one another. The first session began with one of the facilitators making a single opening remark, saying that the main order of business was to talk about what was going on in the group. Since nothing had yet gone on, we expected further instruction. But not a word was added to this announcement. The room fell silent. Finally someone said, “Don’t you even have an agenda?” No answer from the facilitators. Again, silence in the group. The discomfort was palpable, and finally someone burst out, “Let’s make our own agenda.” Immediately we were launched, arguing about what to talk about. Many of the early suggestions had to do with church problems, but the discussion branched out widely after that, with no attempt to find consensus. We moved aimlessly from topic to...