I’ll never forget the first time I saw a priest drinking a
beer.
It was at my grandmother’s house
and I was maybe five years old. The
local priest had stopped in for a visit and he was enjoying a late afternoon
refreshment with my grandmother and my uncle.
His collar was slightly askew and his top button of his cassock was
undone and he smiled when he saw me. But I think it was an awkward moment for
both of us.
I’m a Presbyterian in a pretty informal beach town. So, although I am a “man of the cloth” I
rarely wear anything that distinguishes me as clergy. I don’t wear a clerical collar (although some
Presbyterians do), I don’t even wear a clergy robe or hoods or even a stole
while leading worship (though I have some pretty great robes with stripes that
I trot out for ordinations and such) The
truth is that I barely ever wear a suit and tie. In fact, there is very little that
distinguishes me outwardly as a pastor.
And I like it that way. I like
looking and feeling like a “regular” guy who is just like everyone else. Honestly, I take pride when people meet me
and are surprised that I am a pastor. (“You don’t seem like a pastor,” one
person said to me, “you seem normal.”)
But sometimes, that is part of the problem. Because I look and even feel like I am just
like everyone else, I forget that, really in most people’s eyes, I am not. No matter how much I might want to escape
being seen in my role, I am always “on.”
After thirteen years pastoring at the same church and the same small
town, most everybody knows that I am “the pastor”. It’s the way I am introduced to friends, it’s
the reason I am the biggest party-killer in town. It’s also the reason why my neighbors were
all nervous when we first moved in (“What if the pastor hears my wife and me
arguing?”) It’s the reason why kids who have been Facebook friends with me for
years “unfriend” me when they go to college.
Even my wife and kids know that others look at them differently and
that’s because of me too. (“They are
‘the pastor’s wife’ or the “P.Ks”.)
When I take a political stand or I post a status update on
Facebook, it reflects on my church and even some would say on God. I am the host of every gathering making sure
that others are included. I have to
break the ice and remember names and be cordial or someone will tell someone
that “those Presbyterians” sure are (fill in the blank with favorite derogatory
remark spoken when feeling slighted.)
I’m not complaining. I really do know that I signed up for
this. It comes along with everybody in
my church knowing my salary and me knowing that someday I will have to leave
this community after I leave the church.
But bluntly, there are some pretty great things that go along with this
role too. We pastors are really
significant to people’s lives. We get
invited into holy moments where others are asked to stay out. We can walk into
emergency rooms and bedsides and family gatherings. We are handed babies to bless and are told
family secrets.
And pastoring comes with some great perks, too. I have enjoyed wonderful dinners, great
bottles of wine, thoughtful gifts and some amazing opportunities to meet people
because I am someone’s pastor. I have met
ambassadors, CEOs, celebrities, political figures and college presidents. I sat at the head table of a gala event with
a presidential cabinet member just because I was giving a prayer before
dinner. (A pastor friend of mine was
whisked away to a Caribbean Island to perform a wedding for a big movie
star.) On top of that I am prayed for by
literally dozens of people every day, I am always greeted warmly when I arrive
at church, I am introduced to everyone’s friends and family members, I have a
key to every room in the church. I can
walk into any meeting in our church, any conversation on our patio and
interrupt whatever they are doing to say something…and they thank me for doing so.
Now let’s be clear here.
And this is the thing most of us forget.
Tod Bolsinger cannot do any of this.
Tod Bolsinger, the person, isn’t
all that interesting and really wouldn’t be invited to much of this. Tod Bolsinger, the person, can’t interrupt
anyone without being a rude, inconsiderate boob. (If I try that at home, my 13 year old
daughter says, “Daddy, you are interrupting.” ) But “THE PASTOR” can. The Pastor is invited into all those places
given all those perks and treated with such respect because of our ROLE and NOT
our self. While in order to be authentic
I have to bring myself to my role, I can never forget that I am not my role. When I confuse my role and my self, I
inevitably take too much too personally and bear burdens that are meant for God
and not any human.
When people get angry or hurt, either mad at God or mad at
the church, who do they focus their rage upon?
The Pastor. When as Pastor of the
church I have had to fire staff members, work with Session to cut budgets of
key ministries, make decisions that others didn’t like or implement change
others didn’t want, who gets the brunt of the attack? The Pastor. Only when I am clear about the difference
between my self and my role can I protect myself from taking the
disappointment, anger, awkwardness, projections, and distance of others personally.
We pastors are only going to develop the staying power to
stay in our positions if we first admit that this is really OUR problem. Not only our congregants and the
public-at-large, but WE continually confuse our “self”
with our “role.” And until we get clear
that “I am more than my role” nobody else will either.
(In my next post, I will return to the “Three Conversations”
that led me to take on a coaching and consulting role with pastors and how my
own utilization of some good coaches and mentors have helped me to clarify my own
sense of self and role.)
Recent Comments