Back at you
This is a reply to an open letter written by the Real Live Preacher. I suggest you read his letter first, or this will make even less sense than it already does.
| [aside] | P, this came out a bit strong, but I hope you know it's because I think the virtual world of you, and because I think you are exactly where you are supposed to be.
Or maybe just where I need you to be. ;-) |
Hey preacher, what do you want? You whisper to me, "There is no such thing in all the world as a preacher," and I'll come back at you with, "Bullshit." Are you looking for absolution? A way out? Then quit. Go flip burgers or something. What you have is a job. We all gotta eat, feed our families. We provide goods and services in exchange for goods and services. Your job is a service.
You're a doctor of the soul. Doctors of the body and mind are charged to improve our wellness and heal disease. Preachers do the same. My family doctor growing up was an obese cardiologist. I shit you not. All walks of life have their saints and sinners. The clergy's no different. It's not their job -- your job -- to be a saint. It is your job to heal.
My doctor can't keep me from eating that bacon double cheeseburger, but she can tell me I'm courting death if I don't get into shape soon. She can give me diet and exercise tips and an appointment to come back to check on my progress. My preacher can't stop me from cheating on my wife, from giving in to addiction and depression, or from hardening my heart. But he can talk to me about hope, show me what is real and fake in this world, and give me some reasons and guidance for opening up my heart to love myself and others. He can demonstrate, by his own acts, that ordinary shmoes like me and him, should, can, and even do love like God, at least on occasion.
Don't you tell me there are no preachers. I need someone educated and with the breadth of experience that can only be gained on the job. Do you doubt your doctor because he's mortal? I sure don't doubt you because you sin. (And don't ask me how I know you sin. I just know.)
And if you were sprinting after the Gentle Shepherd, calling over your shoulder to me, you would lose me. You know I'm out of shape. I wouldn't even be able to keep up with you on a disc course. I'm still here, walking and reading, only because you limp, and take the time to bring us all arm-in-arm.
You've picked a tough job -- God knows I don't want it. But from what I can see from here, you're doing fine work, better than most. Keep it up.
And if any of this is news to you, then you gotta learn to listen better.
