“What’s it like to be a pastors’ kid?” they ask. As if it
was something crazy, unique or forbidden. It’s glamorous when you see it week
to week as I sneak into my drum cage.
There’s a lot that you don’t see. Like my dad, pacing the front, looking
at the clock and the attendance wondering if that is it, or my mom, looking out
briefly before she hides behind her keyboard. What you don’t see are the years
leading up to it.
I watched them all those years that they carried you. I saw
them put your hearts back together through counseling, marriage, divorce,
court, mediation, illness, custody battles, even burying your loved ones. I
heard them leave in the middle of the night to join you at the hospital. I saw
them patiently pour into you while they tucked you under their wing protecting
you. I heard them rejoice in your victories and cry with your sadness. The
hours that they put in for you, with others, while taking care of a family of
their own. Sometimes, we shared our family meals with you, just because you had
nowhere else to go. My mother always had
a soft spot for people who didn’t have family to spend the holidays with.
But that wasn’t enough. I saw how you took for granted the
freedom that they gave you. I watched as you used their pulpit for your own attention,
for your own power. I know about that meeting where you sat and gossiped about
what was happening instead of doing the study. And I saw when you finally cleared
out half of their congregation. All your loyal friends followed you as you went
out the door. Some of you even started your own church where you could use your
selected gospels, principles and gifts.
I watched as you hungrily milked their connections for something better
to come along, or when you didn’t find that, God magically called you somewhere
else to be. I know that you told anyone who would listen that our doctrine was
off. Or that you ran a GOOGLE search to see if the church was New Age. I also
know that after telling them what a great preacher they were, you turned around
and told them because they were divorced, one was a woman or they believed in
love instead of public humiliation, or that they didn’t pray enough, they were
no longer qualified to lead you. It didn’t matter how many times you had gone
to lunch, spent quality time with our family or told us how much you loved us.
So why does it matter you ask? Every time one of you left, I
heard the whispers. I saw the tears and I heard the “I don’t want to do this anymore”
and I would ask God why people would do that to my parents. Why would my
parents do this when they don’t get paid for it and they work so hard? How could people just throw away all of that
time that they spent with them? Their ministry consumed their lives enough to
move all of us away from our extended family. That wasn’t your fault. The other
stuff was. And guess what? Sometimes I knew it would happen by just looking at
you.
I watched as we danced around your mood swings in worship
practice during that low spot you had. You never really recovered from that and
it was a relief when you left. I remember how short your temper was and watched
you walk out when you got tired. I heard how you didn’t feel connected, but you
stayed home to watch the ballgame. And I saw you drain every intelligent
looking person in the room of their pity as you tried to recover from your
divorce, then ditched us to play the dating game at a church with a larger
amount of singles. I know that you wanted more programs to take care of your
kids, but you didn’t have the heart to contribute elsewhere, so you left and
went to the highest bidder.
They didn’t have to include me in their conversations for me
to know better. It was obvious in the way that your kids ignored us or told us
we couldn’t be friends anymore. My favorite is when they would give us the cold
shoulder or glare icily at us whenever we saw them at school, the supermarket
or at the mall. When you and your friends never came back, it was a pretty good
indication too. My favorite was the meetings. Usually when my parents were exhausted
and at the end of their rope, you would tell them it couldn’t wait. Then you
sat down and ate them like a breakfast burrito. My dad has this vein that
sticks out under pressure. I know it really well, and it took it a long time to
go down after these things. Don’t lose respect for them. You can totally hate
me for this and then see if you still respect yourself. I have twenty years of
experience in this and I have been keeping track since I was ten. One thing all
of you had in common through the years was your selfishness.
There were a lot of times when we just weren’t feeling your
company, but we sure as heck never made you leave, nor did my mom ever think
not to invite you to stuff. Some holidays, I would have rather poked my eyes
out than sit through you talking all the way through dinner, and then play
games. You took advantage of any one on one free counseling time you could get.
Sometimes you’d even come back for seconds and thirds at potlucks- for
counseling… not just the food. It wasn’t enough to keep you from leaving us in
a lurch. Oh… a lurch in church… there’s been lots of those. I know you didn’t think about how it affected
everyone else. Or take the time to realize maybe that we did love you and
appreciate you, even though you never really made yourself available to us; especially
since the relationship seemed fairly one sided. By the way, we knew which ones of you were
really crazy and who didn’t leave the fan in the bathroom on. I have a pretty
good guess of who the toilet paper stealers were, too.
I was really relieved when you took your creepy family and
their crew, thinking that it was punishment to us. I hope you have a great time
finding someone with as much patience to minister to them after four years of
trying. We tried; maybe you will have better luck at the next congregation to
find someone to save them. Since we consider everyone saved to begin with…
How am I supposed to draw the line, being in a church where the
pastors are also mother and father, and recognize that God is good all the
time, church people just suck? It was worth it to them, to love you, to nurture
you… you were their son, their daughter, sometimes more than that, their
friend. They were passing on a legacy and had dreams of building it with your
help. Something so great, greater than them; they didn’t count the cost. They
say we need to keep on loving. Do you keep on loving after you leave? I see
them struggling still while you have moved on. What am I supposed to find fair
in watching twenty years go down the tube? It’s not my battle, they say. No,
it’s not, but it affects the quality of life for my family. When you are done
stomping stuff to the ground, we’re still here, picking up pieces, trying to
stretch more to fill in more spaces.
Do I still believe in God? Yes. Is it his mandate to love
one another? Yes. But we never had a choice in who we could love, because we
have always supported my parents’ ministry. We were stuck with you. Most
people, when they get tired and fed up with other people’s church crap get to
find another location. That’s never been our luxury. I bet you are really
savoring that now. Why you still remain a “friend” or a “fan” I never know why.
You think that in our busy schedule we still want to interact with you outside
of that relationship that we used to share. My parents might want to, since it
feels like they assisted you to that greater place, but I don’t really care.
Their effort wasn’t enough for you to continue to share it firsthand.
Love God, Love people, they say. I’m working on it… but it
feels a lot easier to love the people who contribute to my every day comfort:
the clerks at the grocery store, the people who pump my gas, the people in my
neighborhood who enjoy the everyday interaction. We made sure every Sunday that there was a
church for you to go to, whether you felt that connection or not. Did you ever
consider what would happen if we decided we didn’t feel like worshiping or
speaking? Probably not, you told yourself that you would teach us with your
absence… how valuable you were… how much we were missing. But you forgot how
much we give up giving you that option. And in the end, it’s not you that makes
it worthwhile… its God… He shows up when we gather together… no matter how big,
how small the sacrifice may be. And that’s what keeps motivating me to go back
too.
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