When Paul describes the gentleness of a nursing mother, he’s not describing a passivity or assumed tenderness; he’s describing a gentleness that comes from a place of deep self-sacrifice, self-giving, and tireless commitment. Nursing an infant requires gutsy, down-in-the-trenches, hour-by-hour dedication. And it is motivated by the depth of love that a mother has for her child. 

Recently, Jared Wilson posted a somewhat unlikely piece on his blog, The Gospel-Driven Church. Enlisting Paul’s description of ministry in I Thessalonians 2:7, Wilson encouraged his fellow pastors to engage their work with gentleness, “like a nursing mother taking care of her own children.”

Before I go any further, let me express how much I appreciate Wilson’s writing. Like any public figure, he’s faced his times of being misunderstood, but those of us who regularly read him know that he is a man committed to Jesus and shepherding his people well. Barring his irrational attachment to the Patriots (Go Steelers!), I have nothing but good to say about him.

So my response to his post has less to do with what he wrote than with his being a man who has never nursed an infant a day in his life. (As my husband used to mumble to me during 3 o’clock feedings, “I’d love to help you, honey, but I’m simply not equipped.”) This kind of situation is Exhibit A of why I’m such a proponent of a female voice in the Church. There are things that men simply cannot know instinctively. Just as there are things that women cannot know. This interdependence is a good thing. In fact, God’s making us male and female is one of those design features that seems so obvious that it’s easy to forget its genius. So don’t think of this post as a contradiction to Wilson’s original post but an addendum. An “expert testimony” of sorts on what it means to be gentle like a nursing mother.

Among my generation of women, breastfeeding has made something of a comeback. With the American Academy of Pediatric’s recommendation to nurse infants to at least twelve months, many young mothers are choosing to breastfeed despite the fact that their own mothers often did not. Because of this, they are also learning the hard way about how unbelievably demanding it can be.

Nursing an infant is manual labor, folks.

Despite its resurgence, breastfeeding still exists under a bit of stigma, relegated to back rooms and behind closed doors. In my opinion, this sequestering of nursing mothers is as much a loss to society as it is to the mother and child, leaving us all a tad ignorant of what breastfeeding actually entails. We have a popular notion of nursing that is often worlds away from the reality.

So when we encounter Paul’s metaphor to engage in pastoral ministry with the “gentleness of a nursing mother,” it’s easy to conjure up an idyllic picture of mother and child blissfully settled in a rocking chair, complete with a vintage Instagram filter and soft edges. The perfect embodiment of domestic contentedness. (*sigh*) But let me warn you; if you try to apply this notion of gentleness to pastoral ministry, you’re in for a rude awakening.

And in order to understand this, all you have to do is read the rest of the text. Immediately following the metaphor of a nursing mother, Paul writes:

So, being affectionately desirous of you, we were ready to share with you not only the gospel of God but also our own selves,because you had become very dear to us. For you remember, brothers, our labor and toil: we worked night and day, that we might not be a burden to any of you, while we proclaimed to you the gospel of God.

When Paul describes the gentleness of a nursing mother, he’s not describing a passivity or assumed tenderness; he’s describing a gentleness that comes from a place of deep self-sacrifice, self-giving, and tireless commitment. Nursing an infant requires gutsy, down-in-the-trenches, hour-by-hour dedication. And it is motivated by the depth of love that a mother has for her child.

It is a gentleness that allows itself to be inconvenienced, to be awakened at odd hours of the night and interrupted at meal time.

It is a gentleness that is vulnerable enough to freely offer the most private parts of oneself only to be bitten in return.

It is a gentleness that is attentive, that calculates feedings and ounces gained, not as a way to keep score, but to be assured that her child is flourishing.

It is a gentleness that has the faith to believe that the same God who daily provided manna in the wilderness will also provide the next round of nourishment for your little one.

I Thessalonians is not the only place that Scripture uses the metaphor of breastfeeding. In his first epistle, Peter writes that we are “like newborn infants, [who] long for the pure spiritual milk, that by it you may grow up into salvation if indeed you have tasted that the Lord is good.” We’re not talking Similac or sippy cups here. We grow up into salvation as we partake of the very life-giving nature of Christ Himself. And this is where the application to pastoral ministry becomes even clearer. Pastors minister to their congregations, not through their personalities or their programs, but by offering them the life-giving milk of the Word as they themselves have received it.

As any nursing mother can tell you, your ability to nourish your child is directly tied to whether you yourself have been nourished. When a mother is under stress, when she has not consumed enough calories, when she has not rested properly, her milk supply drops. And suddenly what should be a rewarding experience for both mother and baby becomes a time of frustration and helplessness. When the milk won’t flow, everyone ends up in a big puddle of angry, messy tears.

Breastfeeding mothers are some of the most resilient people I know. Their gentleness is strong, powerful, and life-giving. They embody a gritty attentiveness that flows from a place of persistence and self-sacrifice. But is a gentleness that can only be sustained as she herself is sustained. So that ultimately, when Paul enlists the metaphor of ministering as a nursing mother, he is not simply speaking of gentleness in some abstract, idealized way. He is speaking of a gentleness that comes only by feeding on the One who is Gentleness Himself. By feeding on the One Who carries the lambs in His arms and gently leads those that are with young.

Hannah Anderson is a wife of a pastor and a mother of three children.  This article first appeared on her blog Sometimes a Light and is used with permission.