Willingness to hear confession is at heart of pastoral ministry
Now that clergy are on vacation and probably resting on the sand at a resort in East Tobango, we can safely talk about some of the things that plague this vital occupation.
For instance, did you know that most clergy have very few friends? It's true. And those who do have friends may have too many pals, and the complicated relationships often get them in trouble. It's also true that a good number of clergy believe they are not making enough money and they are insulted by the lack of financial compassion among leaders of their congregations.
But those are not the biggest issues.
Many men and women of the cloth will claim a holy calling that often boils down to one moment in time when it seemed that God was crying for them to enter the ministry. This holy calling becomes an anchor, a heavy, burdensome thing they carry around and show off when the going gets tough.
Every week, I get reports from people who think their pastor is ill-suited for the ministry. They see him longing for another way of life, occupation or position in the community.
I remember a shy man who attended ministerium meetings in a community where I served. He was a delightful guy but not driven to excel in conversation.
One day, shortly after the death of his mother, he came to a ministerium meeting and asked to speak to the group. He said he was leaving the ministry. He was leaving town. He was going back to his hometown to open a bicycle shop. It was what he always wanted to do. He had disliked parish ministry from the beginning. He was headed for his destiny. He believed it was his true, holy calling.
The problem for this fellow and for many others is not his ability to preach and teach or his capacity for leadership. His problem was he could not be a place of confession. He hated visiting with people. He abhorred the round of calls that pastors are expected to make each day. And when he did force himself into an intimate conversation with a parishioner, he felt he was prying into their personal business.
When I was a minister, I remember visiting with an elderly man who had just watched his wife die in deep pain and spiritual agony. We buried her on a Saturday, and I came to visit on a Wednesday.
He was sitting alone in his kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee and weeping. I knocked on the back door and he let me in gladly, tears literally spurting from his eyes. I stayed two hours and listened about an incident 20 years before when he refused to take his wife to a doctor. He believed she had hated him ever since that day. He also believed he may have postponed a doctor's visit too long on the day she died.
"I was always too concerned about the money," he told me. "I should have taken her right away. I wasn't a good husband."
Over and over that confession was repeated. Finally, drained, the man shook my hand and asked if I would come back to see him. Of course, I showed up at his house many times and always there was more confession.
I believe confession is at the heart of pastoral ministry. Some clergy excel at being a place of confession and some fail miserably. The trick is to be there when the confession is ripe for the telling. That's why a pastor has to have daily contact with parishioners whether it's at the local cafe for coffee or through more formal visits.
Being a place of confession is vital work and if it's done right, the confession dies as it's spoken, a holy death, entombed inside the heart of a caring pastor.
Clark D. Morphew
8-18-01
