ick

Some pastoral conversations verge well into the 'ick factor,' if you know what I mean. There can be a lot of reasons for that - some of them are downright humorous - but the ones which really get to me are the conversations you find yourself in when, halfway through, you realize that you are probably being used, and it's too late to cut things off easily.

"Hmmm," you are saying to yourself. "This does not sound like a hypothetical situation." Which is correct. Let me explain.

I got a phone call this morning from a woman who has been attending Wholly Busy Congregation for awhile. [Side note: I've been looking for an anonymous internet name for my current congregation and have settled on Wholly Busy, I think. I do love this place. But the schedule verges on the insane.] She is a refugee from Neighboring Congregation, which fell apart in spectacular fashion about a year ago, culminating in the firing and subsequent divorce of their clergy couple pastors. I've largely stayed away from the stories about this event, because a.) I don't really want to know; and b.) I'm never getting a full picture of this thing anyway, because the people who came over to Wholly Busy are from one particular side of the debate.

For the past year, Senior Pastor and I have been working to connect these folks to Wholly Busy as appropriate, primarily to keep them from forming a support group with one another and thus perpetuating their hurt, frustration, and occasionally WAY inappropriate behavior here. Frankly, we weren't terribly excited about welcoming a bloc of pissed-off parishioners who can't find anyplace to vent their anger. (I wonder why.) But kicking them out didn't seem right either.

So, this morning I got a call from one of the ringleaders of said bloc, who started with an Innocent but Slightly Weird Question (RED FLAG WARNING: most 'ick' conversations start out this way). Which then, as you can guess, quickly devolved into a long list of her complaints about the way the situation was handled at Neighboring Congregation, and how the Powers That Be screwed it up, and how it is an EVIL place (trust me, the capital letters came through in her voice).

Sometimes, I find that pastoral conversations leave me without words. When someone confesses a deep secret or hurt; when someone wonders about the presence of God in their suffering; when someone is struggling deeply with faith - in those times, it can be hard to find the right words. Yes, sometimes silence is best anyway. But articulating anything meaningful can be very difficult.

But then, there are times when I know exactly what I ought to say. Either God is whispering in my ear directly, or my own agenda is enormously clear in the moment (tricky to discern, some days), and the words are there. Like magic. But they can't be said. That's icky.

What I wanted to say was something like this: "Okay. You insist that you have moved on and that you no longer want to attend Neighboring Congregation. You have not been there for a year. And yet you are still insisting on meeting with the Powers That Be because you claim that you are just trying to use your energy in positive ways and make sure that this NEVER, EVER happens to another TOTALLY WONDERFUL PASTOR again - a perspective you insist is utterly rational and objective.

Lady: you, and your friends, are fucked up. Let it go. It's not your congregation anymore. Move on. Get a life. You left: now finish leaving, and knock it off. Okay? Thanks for calling."

No, I did not say this. I did say something more gentle about letting go of the past and moving forward, about letting that congregation do its work on its own, all of which appeared to fall on deaf ears.

And then I put down the phone and shuddered a bit, and started studying again for Sunday's sermon, at which point I re-read the Ezekiel lesson: "A voice said to me, O mortal, stand up on your feet and I will speak with you...I am sending you to them, and you shall say to them, "Thus says the Lord God." Whether they hear or refuse to hear (for they are a rebellious house), they shall know that there has been a prophet among them."

I guess that's what the 'ick factor' comes down to: that being a prophet is much easier said than done. And when I know that I could have done it and didn't, or did it halfway, then it's...icky.

There's no solution to this one, I know. Just putting it out there.