Loaded for Bear

Several years ago a person walked into my office loaded for bear. It was clear that they were upset about something. I invited them to take a seat but instead they chose to stand. They pointed at something in the most recent bulletin and began to berate me about a change that I had made.

“Who do you think you are?, he screamed. “We’ve been doing things a certain way for years and with good reason. Just because you’re the Rector and the priest doesn’t give you carte blanche to do anything you want.”

I let the words hang in the air. I could hear his hard breathing and see the anger in his eyes. I had learned from another priest that instead of answering their question, it would be helpful to respectfully ask one of my own. That priest also reminded me that no one had the right to speak to me in this way. 

“What have I done that you would treat me this way?”, I asked.

“What have I done that you would treat me this way?”, I asked.

“I told you what you did?”, he replied.

“We’ve been worshipping and working together for several years. When you’ve had a problem you’ve come to me and we’ve always found a way to work together. Why is this different?”

Another pause. This time his breathing slowed and I saw the change in his eyes. Instead of anger there was pain and sadness. 

He sat down and began to tell me the terrible news he and his wife had received but had not told the parish. His wife had received a terrible diagnosis and he had been holding in the grief and trauma for weeks. It was just a matter of time before he exploded. 

I held his hand and we prayed. I listened to the whole story. I listened to the fear that came with the question of what life might be like without his wife of 50 years. I listened to the anxiety that came with the question of "what do we do now?”. I told him that while I didn’t have those answers that we could walk together, we could all walk together on this road. I reminded him that God guides all our steps and that even if we didn’t know where we were headed it didn’t change who we were following, our Lord. 

He apologized for yelling at me. I told him that he was forgiven. 

One of the most challenging and rewarding parts of being a priest, a pastor, is walking with someone in their joy and their pain. It is a privilege to see inside their soul. What we need to remember is that as we walk with them, as we listen to their crises and sorrows, there is an emotional, physical, spiritual, and psychological cost to us. We are also human beings. To share in another person’s suffering comes with a cost. 

What we need to remember is that as we walk with them, as we listen to their crises and sorrows, there is an emotional, physical, spiritual, and psychological cost to us.

As pastors we hear the sins, frailties, doubts, fears, and anxieties of those who we serve. We see the effects it can have on a person to hold onto these poisons. We ask those whom we serve not to hold onto them, but instead to cast them onto the Lord. It is important to remember that even if people see us as a safe space to release these things we are not the ultimate place of deposit for these elements. We guide and transport them to the one who says “come to me all who labor and are carrying heavy burdens…” 

It is also the reason that we as clergy also need to bring what we are carrying to those who can help us. We need to lean on our colleagues in the psychology profession, and to commit to the practice of spiritual direction. No matter how good we think we are at processing grief, tragedy, and pain we also need to be aware that there will always be some that try to cling to us. 

And it doesn’t always manifest itself as anger. I remember carrying the death of a parishioner in my heart for months. It was during COVID and the hospitals were closed at the time, even to clergy. The most I could do was to pray and offer a final blessing through a phone held up by a nurse to an unconscious patient. Like many of my colleagues we lamented not being there, not being present in the way we had been called to be. It wasn’t until I confessed that grief to a fellow pastor that I realized just how much I and my ministry had been affected. 

 It wasn’t until I confessed that grief to a fellow pastor that I realized just how much I and my ministry had been affected. 

Swimming alone is dangerous because we may not even realize just how much our ability to swim has been compromised by what we’ve experienced, by what we have invited others to share with us. But swimming in a community helps us to be accountable to one another, to protect one another, and to keep swimming. Remember that no one has the right to hurt you, abuse you, or treat you like a punching bag. The good news is that whenever we go into a situation where healing is needed we are not going alone. We are not the healers but we have vowed to serve the God who is.