A colleague recently posted to a social media group, “I think clergy with tattoos should be more hirable. Clearly they can take hours of being poked by tiny needles. Isn't that exactly the same as church meetings?!”
Now, I don’t actually think about church meetings that way. It is true that there are a lot of meetings that are tedious. That’s usually because they are meetings for the sake of having meetings. But a well-designed meeting with a clear agenda and active participants is an opportunity to do important work. And those meetings are awesome.
But this post isn’t about that. This is about the other way that being a pastor involves being poked by tiny needles.
I think that I first heard the phrase non-anxious presence in a class on pastoral care. In that context, one of the things that I am supposed to provide when I am on a visit—or even when I am in a hospital room as a beloved member nears their final breaths—is a non-anxious presence. I am, as a pastor, supposed to be the one who is calm, collected, and comforting.
And that attitude, in that setting, is fine. We all know how to get through the visit, or officiate the funeral, or make it to the end of the committal, and then go to someplace quiet and sit with our own grief.
But the reality is that the idea of being a non-anxious presence spills over into other areas of ministry. And clergy are expected to keep a pleasant attitude and a smile as people in—and out of—our congregations poke us with the needles of their unfiltered opinions.
Some of the needles are tiny. I’ve been chastised for using the words the Christian tradition because it denies that Christianity is the one true religion rooted in the inalterable and inerrant word of God; for giving a children’s sermon about how you never need permission to do the right thing, because it encouraged disobedience and delinquency; and choosing hymns for a service that happened to all be in minor keys. Among other things.
Some of the needles are big. I have been told more than once that I am too political; that I am of the world and not of the word; that some marginalized group that I defended in a sermon is, in fact, dangerous and disgusting; and that I am endangering the immortal souls of the people in my congregation.
Some of those needles are huge. During a budget conversation a while ago, someone made an off-handed joke about the pastor doing this work for love and being willing to take a pay cut. But as we prepare to end the year with low attendance, low engagement, and a five-figure budget deficit, I am left to wonder whether this church will be able to honor a sabbatical this coming summer, or afford a full-time pastor a year from now.
And I know that none of those people—well, most of those people—didn’t mean anything terrible by it. They were letting me know that I had pushed a button. Or, if I hadn’t pushed a button, that a button had been pushed. And they were pushing a button of mine in return. And many of them probably didn’t even know that they were doing it.
But that doesn’t change the fact that it takes a lot of emotional energy to maintain a pleasant attitude and a smile while someone is chastising you for speaking the truth, as you understand it, in love.
What makes a tattoo a tattoo is not the needles, but the ink. And even though some of those conversations are from years ago, I can still hear the voices and see the faces and feel the emotions as I write about them. They are marks on my soul. And they stay with me. And it is so easy for me to catch a glance at one of them and proceed to stare at it for hours.
So one of the things that I am working on is letting go.
I don’t know if I can get rid of the tattoos that I have. But I hope that I can refuse to accept the tattoo that someone wants to give me. I hope—and I recognize that I am bending this metaphor beyond repair—that I can look at the picture, and maybe even keep that picture in an album somewhere, but not end up with it inked indelibly on my soul.
If you are a pastor, I would love to hear how you have dealt (or are dealing) with this. And if you are not a pastor, I would love to hear how you have help (or are helping) your pastor deal with this.
Thanks for reading!