I have been there. I have found myself frozen in place, trapped beneath the watchful gaze of a preacher who has veered far from the path of reason or basic decency. And no, I am not referring to a long-winded preacher or a person prone to tangents. I am talking about the multitude of tiny tragedies that occur when a pastor values the faith of a person over their very human existence.
Before I go any further, I just want to say this: you don't have to keep reading. In this post, I am going to criticize ministers and the church in general. I realize that many people have a deep abiding affinity for a pastor somewhere, and that's okay. Please bear in mind that this blog is a place for me to dissect the misgivings of my own history. You don't have to make your case for why ministry isn't so bad, and if you feel the unstoppable urge to play Pastor's Advocate, please look away now.
Still with me? Great.
Because it's about to get real.
A woman commits suicide. A friend overdoses. A teenager dies in a car accident. No matter the sorrowful circumstances, pastors are often the ones that our community turns to for answers. Tragically, many clergymen compound the wounds that we receive by fumbling through a half-baked eulogy or an ill-timed altar call. They lose sight of the person because they're too busy seeking the believer. Why?
Perhaps it's because pastors often live in a bubble, wherein their entire world consists of professing believers and Bible scholars. Or maybe it's because they're not actually equipped to be counselors or therapists, though they often try to act the part. Regardless, here's what I know: in the wake of tragedy, the average person does not need platitudes or hollow religious gestures. They need you to see the fractures that run deep through their heart. They need someone to recognize the human in them.
After my mom took her own life, I didn't need to hear a pastor clumsily explain why God probably didn't damn her to eternal torture in Hell. I didn't need theology, I needed empathy. In those initial moments, I wasn't concerned with eternity. I was overcome with the trauma of the moment and the heavy burden silently and continually crushing me.
Look, I get it. Prayers and proverbs are the currency of the Bible Belt, but after my mom committed suicide, here's what I would have loved to hear from a pastor or someone similar.
I'm sorry that happened to you. That's fucking horrible. The universe can be so cruel sometimes. You didn't deserve this, and it's not your fault. (and if you find fault in the use of profanity in that circumstance, you're part of the problem.)
Instead, hurt and lost people congregate at memorial services and church gatherings, looking for answers, and they are smothered with superficial calls to the altar. Teenagers are brow-beaten in a flimsy attempt to be "scared straight". It doesn't work; it never works. These methods fail because they lose sight of the humanity in a desperate hope for more congregants. In the wake of a tragedy, many pastors cannot disengage from their duty to expand the flock, even in the face of unspeakable horror.
Pastors and clergy are placed in a position where they can speak to the hearts of wounded and traumatized people, and so often, they fail. Perhaps it's a matter of training, or priorities, or insular church culture. Regardless, I know this: I want to recognize the profound and intrinsic value in every person. I long to see a world where people are known for their innate worth, instead of their potential as a future disciple. So next time, let's drop the altar call and have a real conversation.
Thank you for reading On Letting Go, a blog about dealing with the wounds of the past. If you're looking for a little background on what inspired this blog, check out the introduction. Click here for information on how you can find real and qualified mental health services for yourself or a loved one.
No comments:
Post a Comment