Connected to a congregation
13/04/15 04:50
From time to time I have the good fortune to share a bit of ministry with a colleague who is younger and less experienced than I. One of the advantages of such a working relationship is that theological education has changed a great deal in the span of my career and those who have newer educations often have books to recommend and resources of which I am unaware. I also appreciate their idealism and their energy as well as their perspective on faith and the profession of serving people.
I hope that I have a bit of experience and wisdom to share so that the exchange is fair.
Recently a younger colleague was giving advice to himself as well as to me when he said, “You just have to learn not to take some things personally.” On the surface it is good advice, if very difficult advice to follow. When pastors allow their personalities to get in the way of the ministry, they often end up focusing on themselves instead of the needs of the people being served. And it is true that we often are called to absorb emotions that aren’t aimed at us. I know that when a grieving person expresses anger, anger is a normal part of the process of grief and it isn’t always “aimed” at me, even though I’m the one feeling the fire. That does become a bit easier with experience. I have begun to understand anger not only as a normal part of grieving, but a healthy part of life. Still, angry words hurt and they never stop hurting no matter how much you understand.
But there is another part of the advice that needs to be taken very cautiously. We are called to love one another: “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” (John 13:34-35) And love is, by its very nature personal.
I get personally involved with other people all of the time. It is critical that I keep myself emotionally healthy and have a good understanding of appropriate boundaries. Those are skills that have to be learned and honed over years of experience as well. Really caring - and being really affected by the pain and struggles of those we serve - is all a part of the vocation to which we are called.
Yesterday after worship a sensitive and caring member of our congregation made a comment to Susan that she worries about me. It seems like there have been a lot of difficult challenges in our ministry in the past year. Her concern is deeply appreciated. It is true. I guess that part of it is that after twenty years in the same congregation most of the funerals are for people who are my friends. I guess that part of it is that there have been some distressing community tragedies that I have been called to witness. Another part of it is that trauma is somehow cumulative. The more you see, the more layers of emotions you build up.
Before I was ordained, when I was a seminary student, I took a unit of Clinical Pastoral Education at an agency that had a contract with Child Protective Services of the City of Chicago. When parents were referred to counseling by the courts, our agency provided some of that counseling. That meant that we were working with people who on the one hand didn’t want counseling. On the other hand, however, they were being extremely compliant with us because they wanted to prove to the judge that they were willing to do what needed to be done to get custody of their children. As a part of that experience, I became involved in a case of an 11-month old baby that had suffered 11 broken bones. I believe that the child was literally thrown down a stairway. I never met the person who committed the abuse. I didn’t even fully understand his relationship to the child’s mother. My assignment was to work with another counselor and the mother’s extended family to provide counseling services that would be reported to the judge in the case.
In my conversations with my supervisor, I confessed that I was struggling with the severity of the abuse. There is something about an 11-month-old that doesn’t know how to cry - or is too afraid to cry - that is impossible to ignore. My supervisor reminded me that the severity of the abuse, in fact the situation of the baby, wasn’t the focus of our counseling. I needed to behave professionally and work with the mother and her extended family on their issues and trust the courts and the foster care system to care for the child.
But you can’t “unsee” the things you have seen. You can’t “unhear” the things you have heard.
Since those days, I have had a bit of a hair trigger when it comes to child abuse. I’ve even said to trusted colleagues in the midst of things that “I don’t want to live in a world that allows children to be injured in that way.” Of course I have no choice. This is the world in which I live and I have been called to care for its people.
This past week, I’ve been providing support to a family that has suffered every family’s worst nightmare. Their child was left with an abuser. They didn’t know he was an abuser at the time. The child suffered injuries that resulted in its death, but that process was not swift. After the child was declared brain dead, a process of caring for the body to allow for the most generous gift of organs for transplant took timing and coordination. And they didn’t lose their little one all at once. It took days. Sometimes you just find yourself in that place.
It was apparent from the comment of the member of our congregation that I allowed quite a bit of myself and my own personal struggle to come into yesterday's sermon. It showed that I was struggling. And the compassion of my congregation was aroused.
That might be a bit too much in some situations. But in my case, it is deeply meaningful that my congregation supports me when I face things that are difficult for me. And that they surround not only me with their prayers, but also other people that I serve.
By this I know that they are Jesus’ disciples, that they have love for each other.
I hope that I have a bit of experience and wisdom to share so that the exchange is fair.
Recently a younger colleague was giving advice to himself as well as to me when he said, “You just have to learn not to take some things personally.” On the surface it is good advice, if very difficult advice to follow. When pastors allow their personalities to get in the way of the ministry, they often end up focusing on themselves instead of the needs of the people being served. And it is true that we often are called to absorb emotions that aren’t aimed at us. I know that when a grieving person expresses anger, anger is a normal part of the process of grief and it isn’t always “aimed” at me, even though I’m the one feeling the fire. That does become a bit easier with experience. I have begun to understand anger not only as a normal part of grieving, but a healthy part of life. Still, angry words hurt and they never stop hurting no matter how much you understand.
But there is another part of the advice that needs to be taken very cautiously. We are called to love one another: “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” (John 13:34-35) And love is, by its very nature personal.
I get personally involved with other people all of the time. It is critical that I keep myself emotionally healthy and have a good understanding of appropriate boundaries. Those are skills that have to be learned and honed over years of experience as well. Really caring - and being really affected by the pain and struggles of those we serve - is all a part of the vocation to which we are called.
Yesterday after worship a sensitive and caring member of our congregation made a comment to Susan that she worries about me. It seems like there have been a lot of difficult challenges in our ministry in the past year. Her concern is deeply appreciated. It is true. I guess that part of it is that after twenty years in the same congregation most of the funerals are for people who are my friends. I guess that part of it is that there have been some distressing community tragedies that I have been called to witness. Another part of it is that trauma is somehow cumulative. The more you see, the more layers of emotions you build up.
Before I was ordained, when I was a seminary student, I took a unit of Clinical Pastoral Education at an agency that had a contract with Child Protective Services of the City of Chicago. When parents were referred to counseling by the courts, our agency provided some of that counseling. That meant that we were working with people who on the one hand didn’t want counseling. On the other hand, however, they were being extremely compliant with us because they wanted to prove to the judge that they were willing to do what needed to be done to get custody of their children. As a part of that experience, I became involved in a case of an 11-month old baby that had suffered 11 broken bones. I believe that the child was literally thrown down a stairway. I never met the person who committed the abuse. I didn’t even fully understand his relationship to the child’s mother. My assignment was to work with another counselor and the mother’s extended family to provide counseling services that would be reported to the judge in the case.
In my conversations with my supervisor, I confessed that I was struggling with the severity of the abuse. There is something about an 11-month-old that doesn’t know how to cry - or is too afraid to cry - that is impossible to ignore. My supervisor reminded me that the severity of the abuse, in fact the situation of the baby, wasn’t the focus of our counseling. I needed to behave professionally and work with the mother and her extended family on their issues and trust the courts and the foster care system to care for the child.
But you can’t “unsee” the things you have seen. You can’t “unhear” the things you have heard.
Since those days, I have had a bit of a hair trigger when it comes to child abuse. I’ve even said to trusted colleagues in the midst of things that “I don’t want to live in a world that allows children to be injured in that way.” Of course I have no choice. This is the world in which I live and I have been called to care for its people.
This past week, I’ve been providing support to a family that has suffered every family’s worst nightmare. Their child was left with an abuser. They didn’t know he was an abuser at the time. The child suffered injuries that resulted in its death, but that process was not swift. After the child was declared brain dead, a process of caring for the body to allow for the most generous gift of organs for transplant took timing and coordination. And they didn’t lose their little one all at once. It took days. Sometimes you just find yourself in that place.
It was apparent from the comment of the member of our congregation that I allowed quite a bit of myself and my own personal struggle to come into yesterday's sermon. It showed that I was struggling. And the compassion of my congregation was aroused.
That might be a bit too much in some situations. But in my case, it is deeply meaningful that my congregation supports me when I face things that are difficult for me. And that they surround not only me with their prayers, but also other people that I serve.
By this I know that they are Jesus’ disciples, that they have love for each other.