FATHER TIM AND ALL PARSONS

An academic colleague of mine, Dr. H. once generously wrote a very flattering letter of recommendation for me with this comment: “In many ways his effective commitment to both church and to scholarship is reminiscent of the sort of nineteenth-century minister who would have tea in the morning with the ladies of the altar guild and then retire to his study in the afternoon to write, say, the definitive commentary on the Epistle to the Galatians.” Yes, I think that sums me up, although I doubt that I ever had that level of scholarly ability. (I do not have sufficient mastery of Greek, for one thing.) And then there is the fact that the nineteenth century is long past. I am certainly aware that I never quite fit in modern times. After 32 years in the ministry, I still don’t feel I’m doing it right.

Dr. Joseph Sittler, with whom I studied for far too brief a time described the heart of the clergy problem.

This basic force is a loss of the sense of the particularity of the church, the consequent transformation of the role of the minister into that of a "religious leader," and the still consequent shift whereby the ministry is regarded as a "profession" and theological education has come to understand its task as "professional education.” Had this shift in meanings not occurred the three specific forces I am about to name could hardly have been effective. But the shift has occurred -- and the minister is macerated by pressures emanating from the parish, the general church bodies, and the ‘self-image of the minister.’ (“The Maceration of the Minister” from The Ecology of Faith. )

Here’s the kicker. Sittler identified the problem of ministry as a “profession” fifty years ago. Ministers are still being chewed up. When I studied with him in the late 70s, he maintained that clergy needed to ditch the idea of being professionals. We ought to go back to being parsons–literally “persons.” Wikipedia quotes Blackstone’s Commentaries to explain the term “parson.” “A parson, persona ecclesiae, is one that has full possession of all the rights of a parochial church. He is called parson, persona, because by his person the church, which is an invisible body, is represented.” That’s what clergy are supposed to do–represent the church in his or her person. It’s not just what you do, but who you are.

It makes me think of Father Tim, the Episcopal priest at Lord’s Chapel in Jan Karon’s fictional Mitford, North Carolina. He really is at core a parson. And yet he, too, experiences the “maceration of the minister.” Despite his faithful work, Father Tim is burning out, or at least he is as far as I have read in At Home in Mitford. The January, 2002 described Father Tim this way:

He drives himself in his work, facing an unending parade of spiritual needs and practical demands: spelling a woman who lives with her senile mother, taking livermush (a local delicacy) to his bedridden sexton, baking a ham for a parish wedding, tending to the leaks in Miss Sadie's roof. He has diabetes, and must discipline himself to jog and watch his diet. He seethes inwardly at Emma Garrett's bossy interference. His difficulty in making a commitment to Cynthia and his clumsy letter-writing while she is away create some rocky patches in their romance. He approaches retirement with fear and denial. He worries about his thinning hair. . . .

Prayer suffuses the lives of Father Tim and his parishioners, and nothing is too small to ask God for, whether it be help with a recalcitrant dog or keeping a feverish boy "in bed and out of mischief." When it comes to something big, a prayer chain can be galvanized with a phone call. Quotations from Scripture pepper everyday speech ("Philippians four-thirteen, for Pete's sake") as well as reining in Barnabas. Grace cannot be earned and isn't about deserving in any case: it's free. Salvation can come from turning one's life over to Jesus Christ with a simple prayer. "It isn't a test you have to pass," Father Tim tells a stranger he finds kneeling in the empty church. "It doesn't require discipline and intelligence ... not even strength and perseverance. It only requires faith." In a tidy two-for-one the rector saves both the stranger—a traveling businessman—and a jewel thief who is listening from his hiding place in the church attic

Karon’s writing has been characterized as “comfort food” literature. I don’t care. I like meatloaf and mashed potatoes with gravy, (However on a low-fat, low-carb diet I rarely eat potatoes and my meatloaf is always low-fat ground turkey with oatmeal in it. ) If I can’t eat comfort food, I’ll read it. Father Tim is a comfortable sort of parson. I am too hyper to be like him, but should try harder. Or maybe the “trying harder” is the problem.

A long time ago my colleague. Dr. H. recommended Eugene Peterson’s book Working the Angles. It was several years before I actually read the book, but it was (and is) and eye-opener. Here is Peterson writing in 1987, a time midway between Sittler’s essay and today.

The pastors of America have metamorphosed into a company of shopkeepers, and the shops they keep are churches. They are preoccupied with shopkeeper’s concerns–how to keep the customers happy, how to lure the customers away from the competitors down the street, how to package the goods so the customers will lay out more money. . . . The pastor’s responsibility is to keep the community attentive to God. It is this responsibility that is being abandoned in spades. . . . Three pastoral acts are so basic, so critical, that they determine the shape of everything else. The acts are praying, reading Scripture, and giving spiritual direction. Besides being basic, these three acts are quiet. . . . In the clamorous world of pastoral work, nobody yells at us to engage in these works.

Absolutely right. I don’t recall any church official or congregational leader that ever asked whether I was praying, reading Scripture, or giving spiritual direction. But the ultimate place to lay blame is not on others, but on self. Why should anyone else concern themselves with what I myself don’t set as a priority. Well, I’m taking charge again. I’m back to morning prayer each day, and reading the Rule of Benedict. But that is barely a start. St. Paul’s instructions to the Thessalonians wasn’t “pray when you get a chance,” but “pray without ceasing” (1 Thessalonians 5:17). Well, I need something worthwhile to work on for the rest of my life.

May the Lord bless you on your journey and greet you on your arrival.

Wayne






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