Losing Jerry

I heard from a friend that our pastor, Jerry, will be leaving us at the end of the summer. I guess it's to be expected. The average Protestant pastor moves about once every three years (which is odd, considering that another bit of research shows that the average pastor doesn't hit maximum effectiveness until he's been in a place for five years). Anyhow, Jerry's been here something like ten, so I guess it's about time.

I'll miss him, though.

I wish we could have become friends. He seems like exactly the sort of person I'd really like for a friend: intelligent, interesting, fun, and not likely to let me get by with stupidity or laziness.

It's interesting to consider the relationship between pastors and parishioners. In the Roman Catholic church, they have a doctrine that essentially sets up a division. Clergy and laity are different sorts of creatures, and yet their priests often have close, cordial friendships with the people in their churches. It's not unusual for a Catholic priest to be a dinner guest, with cigars and beer afterward. They wear special clothing and have special titles, yet the people often feel very close to them. Protestant ministers, on the other hand, are (by theology) just the same as the rest of the folks. Yet we usually set up a very strong division between us. It's standard wisdom that a pastor shouldn't find his friends in the congregation. Ministers are usually accorded a higher level of awe and respect than Catholics give to their priests. You can't swear near a pastor. You shouldn't bother him with small stuff. A minister playing on a softball team is sort of a conflict of images.

More than once over the last decade I thought it would be great to have lunch with Jerry. But no, I didn't have any big issues to discuss. I just wanted lunch with a friend. It didn't happen because nothing I wanted to say was very official. I didn't want counseling, nor did I want to debate church politics. Thinking back, it all makes me very sad. I probably should have said, "to Hell with the rules—let's have a hamburger."

I'll be OK. I've got people to have lunch with—Jared and Kay and John and others. I wonder if Jerry has someone aside from elders to lunch with. I wonder if they can just shoot the breeze.

Back in Maryland where I grew up, Presbyterian pastors always wore clerical collars, even to the grocery store. When I was in seminary, we joked that Dr. Rayburn probably mowed the lawn in a black suit. Ultimately, I guess that's the real problem. They can't remove the collar. It must feel like being gradually strangled.