I have no shame in admitting that I’m one for some reality television. Whether it’s HoneyBooBoo, Lisa Vanderpump, or Snooki, I’ve been open about my affinity to giving an occasional mazel to bad acting, horrible plot lines, and exploitation of people grasping for stardom. I usually watch reality television in the dark… alone on my bed… with low volume because I don’t want my husband to know my elitist standards for art are watered down with every mazel Andy gives from the club house. [If you have no idea what I’m talking about, bless your heart. And I mean that in the Southern way.;)]

But something changed recently. What felt far away in the Beverly Hills kitchens of housewives I couldn’t relate with or the Jersey shores I’ll never party on, felt close and real and sad. TLC’s newest sensation The Sisterhood is a reality show that follows pastors’ wives. 

I refused to tune in. People, I have STANDARDS! But one night while folding laundry [I do domestic stuff when I watch this trash so I feel less guilty], Sisterhood came on and it was like roadkill: busted up and disgusting, but I couldn’t help but look.

We shouldn’t be surprised. The commodification of women on reality television from childhood into adulthood is perpetuating. Toddlers compete for Tiaras, girls dance for the adulation of their Dance Moms, Teen Moms sell their story to the highest bidder, and women parade around for their Bachelor.

But pastors’ wives? The imaginary line I hold for my nebulous television standards was totally crossed!

The pastors’ wives are from African-American churches in Atlanta and are referred to as First Ladies. And I’m not talking Michelle Obama First Lady, but more along the lines of First Lady of the congregation with preferred parking, reserved church pew seating, and a wardrobe that would make my mother bite her tongue and shrivel up into the prude she secretly is.

As a pastor’s kid and now a pastor’s wife, I’m highly sensitive to the expectation held that a woman is an extension [and a lesser version] of her husband’s occupation. While the First Ladies fight and spend their day shopping and peppering their conversations with misapplied scripture, it’s as if they are defined by their husband’s occupation. There is no expectation for a lawyer’s wife, a garbage man’s wife, or a grocer’s wife to show up at their place of employment and:

  • Be expected to do what their spouse is doing because they said I do
  • Be treated like superstar by marital association to a person who signed up to be a servant to all

The reason the show was so jarring was because deep down inside, the fear I felt prior to marrying a pastor was showcased on reality television: will I live up to the expectations that people in church automatically assume for me—or worse—the expectations I assume for myself? 

I love supporting my husband and I’m incredibly proud to his wife. I love being able to show up at church and support him. But I firmly believe it is detrimental when anyone [albeit spouse, child, coworker, or friend] loses their identity in the presence of another person. Pastor or not.

Above my role as a wife is Child of God. My gifts and talents as abolitionist, creator, and motivator will not disqualify me from being faithful to the call upon my life in fighting for justice and freedom, as well as being the wife of a pastor. I will not let the preconceived notions of reality television or the reality of church, dictate the my value or calling.

This pastor’s wife is going to kiss her husband and leave for work. If Andy was in the clubhouse he was would raise his glass and give me a Mazel! So mazeltov my dear friends.

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