My most frequently asked question since being ordained a priest, much to my surprise, has been, “What do we call you?” After telling people that I want to be addressed as “Mother Melanie,” I don’t always get the response I expected. In fact, the response (with varying hints of emotion, confusion, exasperation, and even pushback) is something along the lines of, “Why do you want us to call you that? Our other priest was a woman, and she always asked us to call her (fill in the blank with a variety of terms: Pastor, Chaplain, Reverend, etc.—or just a first name). OR, “Wait . . . isn’t Mother the title of address for a nun?” Please note that none of these people seemed to question why we called the male priest “Father.”

I’ve not done a poll or anything scientific, but I’ve heard various reasons for priests who are women NOT wanting to be called “Mother.” Responses include: “She didn’t want us to think of her as a mother, since she wasn’t one.” “She’s not really our mother, so she doesn’t want us to call her that!” Or, “A title smacks of clericalism. Call me by my first name!” Or, “Calling me mother makes me sound old. Don’t call me that!” Sometimes I haven’t been given a reason. I know both from the responses I get to this request and from knowing clerics who are females that many of my female colleagues want to be addressed as something other than “Mother.”

My short “elevator speech” response to this is typically, “You call the male priest here FATHER. Why wouldn’t you call me Mother, since Mother is the female equivalent of Father?” Often that satisfies the person, but if they look doubtful, I often add, “Or you could call me ‘Father’ if you wish. That is historically appropriate since priests have been called that for centuries!” Usually that leaves the person stammering uncomfortably, either trying to explain to me why I should not want to be called “Mother” or, alternatively, that they’d be happy to call me “Mother Melanie,” because they don’t seem to want to assign a title to me that seems not to reflect my biological sex. I’ve even gotten the retort, “Well, you went to school for this, so you can be called whatever you want!” Which is absolutely the WORST reason that I should be called “Mother.”

Not all priests go to seminary to be priests. Canonically, there must be a program of preparation and formation, but it does not necessarily have to be seminary. Some do attend seminary but choose to do so in a non-traditional sense, and some areas are unable to send priests to a traditional seminary for cost or practicality purposes. What counts is the laying on of hands by a bishop in apostolic succession (and the presence of two presbyters.) So, it’s not “I’ve been to seminary, so you have to call me what I want!” It’s not that at all! Not all priests go to seminary!

And as far as calling me some of these other titles . . . it’s not that it’s “wrong” to call me by those. Unfortunately, though, they don’t give testimony to the fullness of what a priest really is. (And YES, I am a priest. I am NOT a “priestess,” a word used for those who practice Wicca or for those who practice other pagan religions) Although I am a “Chaplain” that is not all I am. True, I am the Lower School Chaplain at Holy Innocents’ Episcopal School. But . . . I am much more than that in my vocation as priest. “Chaplain” is more like my job title at the school. And it’s true, I am a “Pastor,” but I am also much more than that—a pastor is a shepherd of his or her flock, and a preacher, but a priest is much more. As one priest who went from Protestant pastor to priest wrote, “When I was a pastor . . . my lips were not purpled by the Blood of Christ. I did not stand at the altar in persona Christi. I did not have access to the Sacraments and centuries of holy tradition.” So, priests are pastors, yet more than pastors. And yes, I’m considered a “Reverend,” but technically, my title is “The Reverend”—not “Reverend.” “Reverend” is an adjective, not a noun, which modifies the name of the priest. So, it’s grammatically incorrect to call someone “Reverend Smith.” To call a female priest any of these things that I just listed does not give the full weight and responsibility regarding what she really is and does.

As far as calling a priest by FirstName (with no title) . . . sigh. It’s probably a combination of the way I was raised (grave respect for authority) with a huge dose of traditionalism thrown in. I was taught to use titles for people who had any sort of authority over me, whether it be spiritual authority, older adults who deserved respect, teachers, firemen, bosses, professors, etc., you name it. I was raised with the expectation that you used titles unless the person was a peer. Period. Everyone had a title except the boys and girls with whom I attended school and church. So, it seems really weird to me to call someone who I respect as an authority in their field (and when I’m on their turf) by a first name. I almost always err on the side of formality and ONLY call them by first name (with no title) when invited to do so (and sometimes even then I have issues with it). I understand that during the 60s and 70s there was a huge anti-authority backlash. Clericalism was at its height, and people often rebelled against this. People who became clerics after living through this time seem to have a love of informality. The pendulum swung hard toward informality in society in general during the sixties. It’s typically the clerics from this generation—largely, the “Boomers” that tend to be this informal. It’s their choice, for sure (and of course, not every Boomer feels this way!) And I understand that when there have been abuses by clerics, it might be unpalatable to call someone by a title. But I think there’s more of a tendency toward respect when one does use a title.

And there is much more to it than, “Mother is the female equivalent to Father”—Although that is sort of the “shortcut” answer. The long answer has been answered much more thoroughly and capably by Mothers Julia Gatta and Eleanor McLaughlin in the article, “What do you call a woman priest?”* In this article the two priests note, “It does not help to incorporate women into the regular ranks of clergy when special, asymmetrical modes of address are used for them.” Essentially, what you’re saying when you call your male priest, “Father” but your female priest something else, is that they are different, less than, or not quite the equal of their male counterparts. McLaughlin and Gatta also trace the history of the titles of “Father” and “Mother,” explaining that both titles derive from monastic titles which began to be assigned in the 3rd and 4th centuries to the spiritual leaders—spiritual fathers and mothers— who lived in the desert. Over time, “Father” began to be used for so-called secular clergy (non-professed clerics), however, women were not allowed to be ordained priests during this time. So, essentially, “Father” stuck, but “Mother” remained a monastic title. Nevertheless, using the title of “Mother” underscores the “line of continuity in which [female clerics] stand with the spiritual mothers of ages past who exercised charismatic, pastoral, judicial, and prophetic authority within the institutional church.”

Please call me “Mother Melanie” or “Mother Rowell.” Not because it’s my preference. But because it’s the most appropriate title.

*Gatta, Julia, and Eleanor McLaughlin. “What do you call a woman priest?” Episcopal Times: The Episcopal Diocese of Massachusetts (October 1981).