A weary elderly woman has just told me that she wants to stop fighting her debilitating disease and “write the end of her story” when the door to the hospital room flies open and a couple propels themselves into the room.  The sacred moment disintegrates as the new arrivals bustle in laughing over a shared joke.  They pause mid-punchline when they see me at the bedside.

“Well, who are you?” the woman asks in a brash tone laced with Jersey.

“I’m Chaplain Corrie,”  I say with a pleasant smile.

“No!” she hollers on a whoosh of breath as she shakes her head vehemently.  “You can’t possible be a chaplain.  You don’t look a day older than 23!”

The woman proceeds to grill me about my age and exclaims over my babyface.  She tells me that she almost mistook me for her great-grand-daughter, and then, as though she hasn’t found enough ways to annoy me, she says in a wary voice, with a hint of pre-disgust, “You’re not one of them born-agains, are you?”

Usually once a day, and some days as many as four times, people tell me how young I look.  They are effusive with their protests that I can’t possibly be in my thirties.  Some ask where I go to college and then look sheepish when I tell them that I finished my undergraduate degree in 2002 and completed seminary in 2005.  A few brave idiots have actually tried to argue with me about my age.  When they begin, I internally ask my brain soaked with chagrin — do they think I, the chaplain, am lying to them?

Some of the nicer, more astute people try to back track and compliment me once they realize they’ve said too much.  Middle-aged and older women regularly respond with the mumbled line, “You’ll appreciate it when you are my age.”

Really?  I’m supposed to find solace in the fact that in thirty or forty years I’ll finally look old enough to be respected as a professional?

Honestly, people say the stupidest things.  I remember when I was a teenager attending one of my brother’s water polo matches.  One of the moms, who I had known my whole life, sees me and says, “Oh, Corrie!  You look so CLEAN!”

I don’t know how she did it, but she managed to talk about how clean I looked for two full minutes.  Everyone on the bleachers listened to her gush on.  I shrank inside myself, pulling my hair tightly against my chin like a scarf, suddenly and strangely ashamed of having clean-looking skin.  In a desperate attempt to get her to stop implying that I usually look dirty, I blurted out, “Well, thanks but I haven’t showered for two days!”

Obviously I am not immune to saying stupid things.  But, come on world!  The daily comments on my youthful appearance are getting really old!

On Easter Sunday, my church hosted an egg hunt, free breakfast and worship service at a local park.  As one of our major outreach programs, I felt compelled as a staff member to write “Pastor Corrie” on my name tag in case anyone had questions about our church.  One of our regular members comes up to me, looks at my tag for a moment and said casually, “So, you’re official now.”

(By then I’d been on our church staff for nine months and a denominationally endorsed and licensed pastor for seven.)

“Yes,”  I responded simply, remembering her presence at my installation service.

“It’s, well…you just look so YOUNG!”

I tried to dig up the single kernel of patience left at the bottom of my virtue barrel, but I failed, gave a brittle smile and replied, “I’m actually three years older than Brandon.”  (He is our new associate pastor.)

“Oh,” she said and paused.  I thought maybe I put her gently in her place, but she went on.  “People with round faces like yours always look younger than they are.”

First, I’m too young.  Then she thinks to make me feel better by remarking how round my face is.  Unbelievable!  You know what the word “round” is code for, don’t you?

With two older brothers who used to tease me incessantly and call me “dork” far more often than my given name, I’ve accumulated forbearance like a guitarist accumulates calluses.  But hearing how young I look on a daily basis, that I can’t possibly be a pastor or professional chaplain because I look like a college student, is becoming more than I can bear.  I worry that a day is coming when I might explode and verbally spew on a patient or congregant.

Fed up, I mentally prepared a new response tactic — honesty.  The next time someone remarked how young I was, I would just tell them that their comment made me feel insignificant and disrespected.  The next time someone called me “sweetie” or “baby” (and yes, one of the female nurses sometimes calls me baby) I would respond, “Lisa, I appreciate our good rapport, but in the interest of continuing our positive relationship, could you please call me Corrie instead of baby?”  I resolved to be mature and stick up for myself.  Honesty was going to work.

Today I walked through the ICU anointing and blessing the hands of our nurses to honor the sacred work that they do.  Many expressed great appreciation.  As I was exiting the unit, I passed by the senior nursing manager’s office, a woman who often consults me on our most difficult cases.

“Good morning, Sue”  I called a friendly greeting and tossed out an accompanying wave and smile.

She looked up, smiled back and said, “Good morning, kiddo!”

Zinged again by a reminder of my babyface, I forgot my resolution to be mature and offer a gentle corrective.  Instead, the shock of this new assault hitched my stride and I almost tripped.  I squeaked out a uninteligble noise, shut my mouth and marched out of the unit like a pouting child.

An Egyptian Onion

I used to look down on the biblical people of Israel.  I’d read the books of Exodus, Numbers and Deuteronomy and gasp at the caprice of God’s people who turned so quickly from praise to complaint.  Here’s a brief recap of a forty-year saga.  (Stick with me, this is going to get personal.)

Day one of the exodus from Egypt: God brings Israel through the Red Sea and then crushes the pursuing Egyptian army, miracles which cause Moses and Miriam to sing beautiful songs in praise of God’s deliverance.  All the people of Israel join in with tambourines and dancing and suddenly it’s the incarnation of Woodstock (only it’s spiritually and sexually pure and substance free).  The people were high on freedom, on redemption, on a God who did not forget them, a God who intervened to save the lowliest of people.  A spontaneous concert seems like a fabulous use of time after being rescued from 400 years of slavery, exploitation and racial injustice, right?

Three days later Israel grumbles because there is no clean water.

Here’s where my incredulity kicks in.  God had heard Israel’s cries against oppression, remembered his promise to them, miraculously rescued them, they just had spiritual Woodstock and three days later they have the audacity to complain about being thirsty?  They can see God with them in a cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night.  God is literally guiding their way through a land they’ve never seen.  They need no map to guide them and yet they have the guts to grumble to Moses, “What are we to drink?”

God, in his unmatchable goodness, has Moses throw a piece of wood into some bitter water, which transforms instantly, clean and sweet.  God then leads Israel to a place with twelve fresh springs and 70 shady palm trees.  They didn’t ask for shade, but God gave that as bonus.  Hope seems restored and Israel continues to follow God.

A month and a half later Israel’s back at it, but now their complaint is bolder: “If only we had died by the Lord’s hand in Egypt!  There we sat around pots of meat and ate all the food we wanted, but you have brought us out into this desert to starve this entire assembly to death!” (Exodus 15:3)

What cynicism!  What petulance!  But does God ignore Israel’s complaint as he probably should?  No.  God begins a regular provision of quail (meat) at night and manna (bread) in the morning.  His deliveries are so reliable and abundant, there is no need to stockpile.  Their complaints silence as their bellies fill.

But eventually — inevitably — Israel gets sick of manna and they start wailing like babies.  Shocker!  “If only we had meat to eat!  We remember the fish we ate in Egypt at no cost — also the cucumbers, melons, leeks, onions and garlic.   But now we have lost our appetite.” (Numbers 11:5)

This pattern plays out again and again in the wilderness chapters of Israel’s history.  It doesn’t seem to matter that God provides everything the people need.  Enough is never good enough for Israel.  This people — whose very name signifies that they are contenders, fighters, soldiers of God who have overcome — quickly burned through the fuel of redemption and the energy produced through praise and became a people of grumbling and wailing.  Maybe it was their new, desert surroundings (which we might consider space) or the lack of grueling physical labor (which is rest), or the absence of an army chasing them down (which is peace), or the loss of a stationary home, even if it was a rental (which is freedom) – maybe this was all too much provision for the 16th generation of spoon-fed slaves to handle?  That a handful of root vegetables and fruit could have the power to make a miraculously rescued race of slaves crave the life they had in Egypt!

How ridiculous is this thought – we may have been slaves, but at least we had onions!

Do you hear my sneer?  Do you feel the arrogance starting to curl your lips when you hear Israel’s story?  That is how I used to regard the people of Israel.  I thought they were foolish, so fickle, and very beneath me.  I thought that until I entered my own desert, experienced deprivation, and stumbled into a barren soulscape where the horizon was a never-ending maze of shifting sand.

Now I understand.  Now I realize that for all my lofty self-assessed spirituality, I’m just another Israelite.

I have a roof over my head.  I have a job, income, benefits, a loving family, faithful friends.  In fact, my list of blessings is quite long.  Like the Israelites, I have everything I need to survive.  But I still want more.

I want a job that I love, not just a job that I do.  I want savings rather than subsistence.  I want to use my pastoral gifts and be able to support myself with them, but it seems that only my male counterparts get that privilege.  I want to live out my calling but so far this promised land is more than beyond my reach, it’s beyond sight and increasingly unimaginable.

Some days I feel like I’ve been tricked and that the church, or worse, that God is the trickster.

Wandering through this vocational desert has frayed my hope.  I’m spotted with cynical.  I doubt.  I’m more pessimistic.  These uncomfortable traits leak out when I say, “I’ll never get a job!” or “Men have it so easy!” or “Why did God call me to this if he’s not going to help me out?” or “Maybe I should go back to acting!”

I’m often ashamed at my lack of trust in God.  When I’m able to offer myself grace, I remind myself that I’m human.  That it was inevitable that I would tumble off the spiritual pedestal I built.  I try to encourage myself that the desert is a harrowing path but it’s just that — a path, not a destination.  On bad days, I complain.  On good days, I praise.  Some days I teeter from praise to complaint in a matter of minutes.  I console myself with the story of my capricious ancestors.  I’m really am just another Israelite doggedly following the dusty trail of an unlikely promise, while being simultaneously tugged in the opposite direction, seduced by the pungent memory of a kind of security.

I’m not writing this for sympathy or attention or so I’ll get a lot of encouraging comments.   (In fact, if you feel the need to comment, find a way to say that you know what I’m talking about.)  I’m writing about my own stinking onions because my soul needs to be real.  If I succeed at being any kind of pastor, I want to be an honest one, so here is my honesty.

Following God is hard enough when life’s a garden.  But when life looks more like a dung heap or a black hole, a tar pit or a desert, faith is nearly impossible.

Over the last three years I’ve done a lot of questioning, crying and finger-pointing.  Sometimes I put my feelings to better use and lament.  I have no clue how long my life will be this desert or what the promised land will look like.  This is where I am.  So if I’m smart, I’ll use some time to take stock of any granules of hope around me.  I’m looking deeply into the story of my Israelite ancestors, my kin, and finding that in their deprivation, hunger and exhaustion, they overlooked a treasure laid out before them like a feast.  That treasure was God’s presence.  So that’s what I’m grappling with, like Jacob, all night with an angel.  I’m trying to wrap my mind around and soak my heart in the truth that God’s presence is better than the more I’ve been searching, waiting, hoping for…

To be continued

I offer this next section with a respectful and gentle but unwavering voice of critique to a living organism that I love very much.  I regularly serve in and on behalf of the church.  I worship weekly in a local church and most of my primary relationships grow out of the church.  But another living reality for me is that the church is a place of employment.  I and thousands of other men and woman make our living in professional ministry. 

We’d be fools to think that prejudice, bias and discrimination aren’t a problem in the church.  As important matters of justice and equality – which are biblical concerns – I believe that churches and denominations need to be proactive to produce hiring guidelines that steer local churches clear of ethical snares.  Churches should have employment practices that approach candidates as respected persons of equal worth and value.  The reasoning of “that’s the way we’ve always done it” or “it’s harmless” or “we’re not a business, so we can be more relaxed” are insufficient defenses against the very real problems of bias, prejudice, discrimination and favoritism.  As people of the gospel, bearers of  “good news” which lifts up the lowly, welcomes the stranger, provides family for the orphans and widows, releases the chains of the enslaved, makes women heralds of the resurrection and honors the faith of children, we must ensure that our practices align with the messages we preach.  Hiring practices are just a few of the ways in which we’ve been too lazy for too long.  It’s time to sit up and alert ourselves to the ways in which we may be risking or perpetuating injustice. 

The church is not a business, but it does do business.  As religious institutions, churches function outside of many employment anti-discrimination laws.  For me, my Christian convictions about justice and equality nullify my legal exemptions.  Regarding the following hiring practices, I’ve inscribed this phrase on the face of my moral compass – what is legal is not always ethical.

Asking For a Picture

Being a pastor has nothing to do with how you look – or it shouldn’t – but so many churches ask candidates to submit a recent photo of themselves.  Pastors are not applying for a modeling gig, so what bearing does their physical appearance have to do with their vocational call and possible fit with your church?  I understand that churches many want to be able to picture candidates as they read through a stack of resumes, to put “a face with the name.”  Frankly, the request leads churches perilously close to the edge of discrimination.  Whether that picture shows great beauty or downright ugliness, a baby face, a chubby face, wrinkles like a pug, hints at a disability or a unique skin color, etc., putting a face with a name isn’t worth the risk of allowing bias or prejudice to sneak its way into your search process.  Sometimes the best person for the job may come in the most unlikely or unexpected package. 

Alternative practice:  Don’t ask for a picture!

Involving Marital Status and Family in the Interview Process

Church search committees often ask about marriage and family during the interview process.  They ask candidates for family bios or pictures, to list marital status and any/all children on job applications.  My own denomination’s online pastor/church matching tool has boxes to check if you are single, engaged, married or divorced.  For many denominations it is a common practice to welcome not just the pastoral candidate, but his/her family to the candidate weekend.  Keep in mind that such inquiries and practices in the corporate world are illegal because they can lead to discrimination.  Practices like those listed above have resulted in lawsuits, charges and hefty fines and sanctions.  In the US there are many laws to protect candidates from discrimination and employers from discriminating.  However, churches avoid repercussions for our lax hiring practices because of legal nuances that exempt religious institutions from certain guidelines.

Some of you are shocked that I would take issue with involving marital status and children as “a problem.”  You might be thinking that these things have never created a problem or that’s the way you have always done things.  You might think that discrimination based on marital status and children doesn’t happen in the church, but it does.  I encourage you to peruse these articles:

• http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/22/us/22pastor.html?pagewanted=all
• http://www.outofur.com/archives/2011/01/are_we_afraid_o.html

Recently, a friend, who has been married to a pastor for 40 years, said that if the congregation doesn’t like a candidating pastor’s wife and kids, then that pastor won’t get the job.  It’s terrible to think that anything beyond a candidate’s personal call, gifts, character and skills would be a reason for rejection by a church.  But we also have to acknowledge the flip side, that the presence of a candidate’s spouse and children could also ensnare the sentimental hearts of a congregation and lead them to hire a candidate who really may not be the best fit for a position. 

I firmly believe that no candidate, whether single, engaged, married or divorced, with children or without, should be discriminated against when applying for a church job.  I understand the difficulty of navigating this issue because we view pastoral work as more than employment; it is a calling with requirements that go beyond experience listed on a resume.  However, I believe we have to safeguard all pastoral candidates and churches from unintentional (or intentional) discrimination.  Unfortunately, I’ve discovered few denominations or churches that offer ethical guidelines to search committees which may help them avoid of all kinds of prejudice, bias and discrimination.

Alternative practice:  To avoid discrimination in your hiring practices, inquire only about qualities, gifts and skills that are essential to the job description.  Out of Christian conviction, choose to follow EEOC guidelines even though you may be exempt.  These guidelines prohibit inquiries about marriage and children until an offer of employment has been made to a chosen candidate.  To read about ethical hiring standards, go to: http://www.eeoc.gov/laws/practices/inquiries_marital_status.cfm

Failing to Follow Through on Promises

When candidates spend hours web-searching, tweaking their resumes, writing job-specific cover letters, and flexing their schedules for interviews and then church says they will call in two weeks with more information but the candidate doesn’t hear back for three or four weeks, he/she can feel deflated, anxious, desperate, frustrated, etc.  When churches don’t follow through on their promises it’s really annoying and disappointing, not to mention unprofessional.  Is this the impression you want to give your future pastor?  You’d think churches (which seem warm and personal when compared to institutions and businesses) would be more respectful of the time and informational needs of their candidates.  But in my experience, churches consistently fall short in this area. 

Alternative practice:  If you say you will make a decision by the 15^th but then need extra time to make a decision, the candidates will understand.  It’s an important decision.  Simply call or email your candidates and tell them there will be a delay for X amount of time.  The candidates will be relieved to receive any kind of contact rather than extended silence.

Exclusive Language 

Churches really need a lesson in writing job descriptions.  Many use gender exclusive language to describe the desired candidate.  For some churches, descriptions like “looking for God’s man who will lead our congregation” reveal a theological bias – that they believe only men can be pastors – a theological conflict I’m not going to tackle in this article.  Conversely, I’ve read descriptions where churches looking for a children’s pastor describe the candidate as she, which reveals a cultural bias rather than a theological one.  For other churches, gender exclusive language simply shows a lack of attention to detail.  If it is unclear whether a church would hire either gender for specific positions, candidates have to spend extra time making inquiries about whether it’s worth their while to apply – inquiries to which few churches will actually respond.

Alternative practice:  If you are open to women and men, then it’s a good idea to either explicitly state that you are, to write a neutral description or to go the “he/she” route.

Not Informing Candidates upon Receipt of Their Application

One of the great advantages of the electronic age is the wide exposure given to a job opening.  A candidate in rural Maine internet access can find and apply to a job opportunity posted by a church in inner-city L.A.  Churches now have healthy and abundant candidate pools.  It’s a hopeful advantage in an economy where 9% of Americans remain unemployed.  However, the disadvantage comes when church “human resource departments” (which usually means a committee of church members with no actual HR experience) are flooded with applications.  One church sent me a rejection letter which boasted that 2,000 people applied for their position! For churches unprepared for a large influx, it seems impossible to reply to all the candidates, so they just don’t.  But imagine being one of those unemployed ministers, applying to a handful of churches every week for a year, sending off your resume into the cyber-abyss and never hearing back a peep from 99% of churches to which you apply.  Do you wait two days, two weeks, a month or two months before you assume they are not interested in you? 

Alternative practice:  Churches can set up a free email account (using Gmail, Yahoo or their own network) to which candidates can send their applications.  Then all they have to do is set up an automatic response which pings a receipt email to each candidate as their applications are received. 

Not Informing Candidates of Process/Timeline

Perhaps as equally annoying as never hearing back from a church to which you have applied is the lack of information about process and timeline.  Few churches include process information in their job descriptions or phone interviews, leaving candidates with no tangible information about what is happening.  With the popularity of “please no phone calls” statements posted with job descriptions, candidates are left at loose ends, not knowing if and when they might be called back, receive an offer or a rejection.  In the meantime, candidates may grow apathetic toward the position, resent the church, or turn down other jobs while they wait for an offer they may never get from you.

Alternative practice:  Inform your candidates of your timeline at the beginning of the application process, including how long you will take applications, dates of phone interviews, in-person interviews, the potential offer date and the job start date.  Make a special note if the timeline may be adjusted along the way.  Inform your candidates of any and all adjustments as soon as possible.  Whether you do this by phone or email, committee members may need to divide and conquer this responsibility.

Not Informing Candidates of the Close of Applications or Hiring 

My own denomination has a great on-line tool that allows candidates and churches-seeking-pastors to connect.  However, like many postings found on-line ministry job sites, search committees often fail to note when they are no longer accepting applications or when the position has been filled.  Then busy and overwhelmed candidates waste precious time applying to positions that are no longer open. 

Alternative practice: It would take only a couple of minutes for a church representative to change the application status to closed/filled.  Designate someone at your church to be the contact person for websites where you have posted your position.

Last month the emergency department paged me when a patient coded and died.  The social worker and doctor wanted me present when they notified the family.  The patient was a 60-something father and grandfather who had been battling cancer, but to all appearances had been “doing fine.”  His large, extended family gathered in a private waiting room taking turns talking, pacing and sitting in silence.  The doctor came and gave the terrible news and the oldest son quickly gathered his two brothers into a bear hug.  They wept in this tight circle for several minutes and I thought — how refreshing to see a family openly grieve together.  I thought too soon.  The moment the circle broke, the new head of the family squeezed his brothers’ shoulders and declared, “We have to be strong now; we have to be strong for the family.  Let’s pull it together.” 

When I took the family to say their goodbyes, the youngest son, a gentle-rebel type stamped and studded with tattoos and chains, could barely hold it together.  Suppressed sobs and adrenaline shook his body.  He was constantly running his hands down his long hair to grip his shoulders.  The veins in his neck stood thick and pulsing against his sweaty skin.  He held his breath and then blew it out between his teeth.  I wondered if this boy, if he was not allowed a way or a place to pour out his grief, would combust before me into a cloud of ash. 

Who made this stupid rule that we have to be strong when unspeakable horrors erupt and burn across lives?  If I knew, I would hunt him down and then scream and cry and snot all over him to prove that I would not only survive my outpouring, but I may be better off for all my weeping and wailing.  In three short months at the hospital, I’ve butted heads with this idea of necessary strength so many time my scalp is now calloused.  In all I’ve observed and experienced of grief, being strong doesn’t help anyone, not the strong man, nor those he supports. 

Imagine this — as time spreads through the days and weeks of the strong man’s life, the lava of grief burns beneath the surface, causing fissures and underground rivers in his spirit.  He runs the risk of a Vesuvian explosion where the cap blows off the strong man’s life and his molten grief pours down on others, burning paths across others’ lives.  The explosion of grief may not look like grief at all; it may be masked as anger, violence, illness, depression, despondency and break down.  I know these things sound incongruous with grief, but if you don’t believe me, I invite you to shadow me on any given day in the hospital.   

So what is the alternative to being strong when we are grieving?  It’s simple — to grieve.  Imagine what would happen if we would allow ourselves to break the rules of strength and propriety to experience and express our grief?  I certainly don’t want someone who is grieving to harm another, but crying, yelling, curling up in the fetal position on a hospital floor…who is that harming? 

What would happen if we lean into our pain instead of banishing it altogether?  Could that be a clearer path toward consolation?  For me, it’s the difference between riding atop the turbulent waves till you reach a smoother horizon and trying to clamp down the ocean, halt the tides and banish the wind.