In the Pulpit on the Corner

Often I find myself reflecting on ministry and wondering, “What the heck am I doing?” 

They call me a pastor. Some would say I am a “shepherd of a flock,” others “the mouthpiece of God,” “His instrument,” or “His hands and feet.”  While yet others (like the church I grew up in) would say I am a, “Called, ordained, servant of the Word.” Oh, they all have such a nice ring to them, and we say them in such grandiose ways. Yet, I’ll be honest, most of the time I feel more like a prostitute than anything grandiose.

Hi, I’m the pastor (a.k.a. Prostitute for God’s Followers). That may seem harsh and maybe even a bit tongue and cheek or cynical, but it is all too often true. I remember a friend telling me once that I was simply a professional Christian – meaning I was paid to be a Christian. That hurt, yet more and more lately, I feel like I resemble that remark. 

From inspired preaching equaling the amount of cash coming into the church and the number of butts in the seats, to finding myself lingering in the parking lot paying favors and enticing “Johns” to see my views on issues, it all seems rather absurd and unreal.  About as unreal as all the makeup, costume jewelry, and hairspray used to make a harlot look the part.    

One could say as the pastor, I have been reduced to making “the transaction.”

It’s my job to keep people happy, to give them pleasure. For many of us pastors, pleasing takes keeping people comfortable and inspired. “Inspire me!” they demand as we sit there with snagged panty hose and running mascara, exhausted, but needing to get ready for the next trick. 

Sadly, the pulpit has often become the corner at which I display my wears. My make-up, costume jewelry, and hairspray consist of videos, PowerPoint presentations, dramatic lighting, well-crafted soliloquies, and a stage presence that demands an audience. “Entertain us, don’t bore us!” “I need to feel the Spirit.” “Fix my problems.” Maybe rather than the pastor demanding an audience, it is the audience that demands.

Then there is the reality of prostitution of this nature:

·         Where have all the real relationships gone? 

·         Does anyone really love me?  

·         When do I get to receive, not just take the brunt of the attacks?  

·         Who sees me for who I really am?

·         Why does everyone seem to want to be my pimp, but not my friend?

And thus, I am left alone. Used. Standing in the dim light of the church sign – which reads “All People Welcome,” only to realize I am the pastor and often don’t feel “welcome” myself. 

So, in a final attempt at hope, I squat down in that pale light, take a seat, and open the “good book.” 

There I find a savior who does not judge me or label me.  

Who sees past my prostitution.  

Who stands between me and my aggressors and asks of them, “Who will cast the first stone?”  

Who allows me to spill out my life upon his feet.   

Who says that I am somebody and that I am loved.  That in my weakness he will make me strong.  That he will give me the words, the thoughts, the power of the Spirit to speak for me.   

Who sends me to go and make disciples (people who have relationships and community together based on love) and who guarantees that he will be with me to the very end.  

Not a pimp – but a friend!

I dry my eyes with my sleeve, seeing the mascara run onto my blouse. Take off my wig.  Pull down my skirt to its normal length.  Grab my high heels in my hand and the “good book” in the other, and make my way back home.

Tonight will be different, because tonight I am more than a woman of the night - more than a pastor. Tonight I am called - not a name or label or to make a transaction, or even to please or entertain someone.  But I am called to be who God made me to be -  simply HIS!

_______________________________________

Disclaimer: Many will read this blog post and simply apply it solely to my own pastoral situation - maybe even write me off thinking that I have serious issues. Yet I consider this to be for all pastors who at some point find themselves struggling, alone, even feeling used. This is my "ode to pastors" and the genuine struggle that many women and men called to this "divine office" face in some shape or form. Overall, my hope in sharing this is that readers will take a moment to see from a different perspective, maybe even slip on the shoes of the pastor briefly, and understand that we are simply human, trying, and seeking grace amidst the storms of life and ministry.