Some Early Morning Reflections on the Longest (and Darkest) Night of the Year (and Soul)

I've been thinking a bit more about some of the issues I've been ruminating over lately regarding privilege and entitlement, now that I've had a chance to sleep on them a little. Perhaps "afflicting the comfortable" really is just part of the job description of a minister, no matter how uncomfortable it may feel to all concerned. But (to quote a former parishioner) “who comforts the afflicter?” Clergy talk and talk until we are blue in the face about the importance of self-care and spiritual renewal, but when push comes to shove, who among us is truly brave enough to look to our own needs first when our people really need us?

I once believed that Ministry was a profession just like any other profession: grounded in the mastery and practice of a particular body of knowledge and set of skills. But after 25 years, I’ve come to understand that ministry is really about a set of relationships. A relationship with God (or whatever passes for “God” in your particular understanding of Universe), along with a calling to a higher purpose in service of a larger good. A relationship with an institutional organization, and to its historical traditions and values. A relationship with a community of people who have invited you to become their leader, teacher, coach and caregiver; and to individuals within that community, each of whom is continually making up their mind about whether or not they are willing to call you THEIR minister. It is a tremendous privilege to be addressed by the title "Reverend." But it's not a privilege we are entitled to by virtue of education or credential or expertise; rather, it's a title we have to earn again and again every day by being worthy of people's reverence. Which is certainly not a burden to be taken lightly.

Likewise, these relationships can be incredibly fulfilling, and profoundly rewarding in their own right. But like any relationship, they are also often destined to disappoint. Destined perhaps even to break people's hearts (including our own). It’s merely a natural consequence of the fact that nobody’s perfect. I know full well that my people aren't perfect, and that I’m not a perfect minister either. And even if I were, that still doesn’t mean that I’m going to be everyone’s cup of tea. No minister is. But that still doesn’t keep me from being a very good minister (or at least doing the best that I can)... even when I disappoint, or can’t quite live up even to my own expectations for myself.

In his book Put on Your Own Oxygen Mask First, Bill Easum talks about the dangers of a "high mercy gift." UU's are probably more comfortable talking about healthy boundaries, the dangers of co-dependence, and developing "serviceable Ministerial relationships," but I think the issues are pretty much the same. In my own mind, it's about finding the proper balance between "service" and "leadership" in the role of Servant Leader. This may just be my wise cynicism rearing its ugly head again, but I'd venture to guess that an awful lot of conflict between clergy and members of their congregations boils down to different expectations about who is going to lead and who is going to follow, and who expects to be served by whom. And I’m afraid that an awful lot of ministers I know tend to exude an aura of privilege and entitlement when they would really be much better off practicing humility and sacrifice.

But Privilege and Entitlement are not the exclusive property of ordained clergy. Not by a long shot. I’ve also seen way too often with my own two eyes how easily a minister’s willingness to sacrifice and serve humbly is subtly transformed into a kind of humiliating servitude. Not through malice or design. But by the unrealistic and unrelenting expectations of affluent, educated, “successful” people who are accustomed to getting what they want and to having things their own way. They come to church (when they aren’t doing something more important) for their weekly dose of inspiration and “intellectual stimulation,” and leave feeling good about themselves and all that they believe they stand for. But how many of them really practice what we preach? Or am I just naive to believe that this is any different than it should be?

What does it truly mean to be people of faith, serving as leaders in communities of faith, and practicing a particular faith tradition? That word “faith” is often interpreted as “belief without evidence,” but it’s so much more than that. It means confidence. It means trust. In Latin, it is “fidelity” -- a word which we have imported directly into English with nary a varied nuance. When we are unfaithful, and trust is broken, people lose confidence in us -- and it can happen in a heartbeat. Building Trust, on the other hand, often takes a great deal of time and effort and shared experience. Clergy can’t MAKE people trust them, although the role itself these days comes with both a great deal of implicit trust and a great deal of cultural suspicion built-in as standard equipment. The best we can do as individuals is to endeavor always and in all ways to be Trust-Worthy, and hope that those around us will see that for what it is.

And then comes the hardest part of the business of all: learning to trust ourselves. And funny how that phrase works both ways: learning ourselves how to trust others, and learning as well how to trust our own skills, abilities, knowledge, insights, motivations and “faithfulness.” This is where the discipline of learning how to give ourselves over to something larger than ourselves comes into play. And it isn’t easy. But who ever said that anything in life that is truly worthwhile is ever easy?