By Amy Butler
Few people know how truly glamorous it is to be a pastor. We sit around reading and praying most days, sipping coffee and thinking deep thoughts about the state of the world and God and things like that. From time to time we have lunch with important people who come to us for sage advice and thoughtful commentary on critical issues.
We spend hours crafting consistently brilliant sermons that thousands, no probably millions, of people anxiously download the minute they are posted on the church website.
When people are in crisis, they make appointments ahead of time and come to our offices, where we solve all their problems (with God’s help, of course).
Our days are filled with quiet reflection and creative efforts that our churches deeply appreciate and regularly recognize.
Somewhere out there, there must be a pastor whose work is like this. I am not that pastor.
My days generally consist of gulping coffee while frantically trying to get the kids to school and get to that appointment that I totally forgot about while I think with exasperation that Sunday is coming again and I will need to have something approaching coherent to say in the 20-or-so minutes allowed for the sermon.
While not every day is that crazed, my day-to-day life provides plenty of opportunity to reflect on the sheer ridiculousness of pastoral life. Holy Week provided a perfect example.
It was Maundy Thursday. Tensions were running high in the church office. Along with mounting competition in the extremely competitive staff annual Easter attendance pool, we were producing more bulletins than usual and planning for, well, the biggest Sunday of the year. Into that context, two folks I did not recognize came to my office and asked if I had a moment to address a serious issue.
I did not have a moment to address any issue, serious or not, but I have found that it’s best to plan for unplanned conversations during extremely stressful weeks, because they always arrive.
The two very nice people who came to my office that day explained to me that they were members of the Alcoholics Anonymous group that meets twice a week during lunchtime in the church library. They were having a problem, they told me, because apparently a rat lives in the library.
This rat is very social and likes very much to run across the floor of the library during AA meetings. The problem is that people at the meetings are scared of the rat and, as a result, people are not attending AA because they are trying to avoid the rat. In short, the church rat is preventing people from receiving the help they need to continue their recoveries. Could I please do something about the rat as soon as possible? Like, right that very minute?
I listened to their concerns. I nodded thoughtfully at appropriate times. I assured them we would take care of the rat. I threw in the words “traps” and “bait” to pretend like I knew what I was talking about. After they left I thought again what I often think in the course of my work: that I received no preparation for some parts of my job, including dealing with a nefarious church rat that likes to attend AA meetings.
In the end it all worked out. Traps were administered and the AA group has been apprised of our efforts. So far we have not caught the rat, and apparently some people in the group will still not come back to the meeting until we do. Efforts toward rodent control continue by a deeply committed church staff.
Maybe somewhere in the world a glamorous pastoral job exists. But while I wait to find that job, I will be busy taking care of rats during Holy Week. And this, friends, is what it’s really like to be a pastor.