Hope will be there

I chuckle and smile when people rehash the old adage that "the pastor only works one day a week."  And my chuckle has little to do with the fact that there's a reason ministers aren't paid by the hour.  It's not about the time. It's the diversity of things in this line of work that continues to surprise me, even fifteen years into it.

So when I was sitting in my office one day last week and heard the church doorbell ring, and then when I heard the man on the intercom whose voice I did not recognize tell our secretary that he wanted to see the pastor, I made the mistake of assuming something.  I assumed this guy wanted financial assistance. It's hard to blame myself for thinking this.  We typically have two or three come by the church every week, seeking help with a light bill or monthly rent. I'm thankful that our church has allocated some funds for this sort of thing, after we do a quick background check of sorts.

I met him at the door and welcomed him in. "Larry" was a middle-aged man, about my height, wearing a Steelers jersey.  I could tell Larry was in distress; extremely anxious.  We sat down and I asked him what I could do. This is when I expected him to whip out last month's power bill or a note from his landlord.

But it wasn't a piece of paper he shared with me.  Instead he shared a story.  A very sad story.  Larry had just been laid off from his job the day before.  The job was at a local discount store, known for its cheap prices.  Part of the reason they're able to keep their prices down is because they don't pay their employees much, nor do they typically foster much staff cohesiveness.  If they need them, they hire them.  When they don't, they're let go.  After being led to believe he was working toward a full time job with benefits, Larry was unceremoniously let go. 

This was not the first time he'd been in this spot.  Like so many in our economy, Larry had been around the circuit multiple times with nearly every low-wage part-time job there was.  Fast food.  Hired hand.  None with job security; and certainly none with benefits. One by one, he'd been laid off - not because he didn't want to work, but because he was expendable.

With each layoff he had tried to keep his chin up; telling himself he'd find other work so he could support himself and his ailing wife.  But morale and self-worth are very fragile things and can take only so many punches to the stomach.  This was the last straw.

What I heard from Larry as I listened to him was not really frustration at being unemployed (although he certainly was).  And throughout our conversation he never asked for financial support - not once.  What I heard from Larry was that he was totally demoralized.  More than once he said to me, I feel like a nobody. I feel I don't matter to anyone.  The tears welling up in his eyes voiced a deeper pain that words couldn't reach.  We all have our low moments, but this was as broken a man as I've ever seen.

If you're wondering what I said to Larry, let me say that he wasn't the only one feeling helpless. Strange as it sounds, handing someone a check is a bit of a relief, because at least you feel like you're doing something. You send someone on their way with $35, $40, $50 more than they came there with, and you know that's going to help keep the heat on during the winter, or keep a roof over their head.  But Larry's situation - well, you can't write checks to help with that.

Stumbling with my words like the very first time behind the pulpit, I told Larry his persevearance would surely pay off; that his strong desire to work and provide for his family was something strong in his favor. He received this with polite nods, but a pep talk obviously wasn't what he came for.  We talked a little longer - about half an hour altogether - and then we prayed together.  And then he was on his way, with my well-wishes and blessings.

Fifteen years I've been doing this ministry thing, and yet I stood there at that church door feeling as inadequate as I've ever felt.  That man was at the end of his rope and had come to the church for something.  And I didn't have a clue how to give it to him.  He had come and dumped his horrific story in my lap - a story I know is shared by so many others in our cities and towns.  And I hadn't done a thing.

And that's when it hit me - I hadn't done anything because I really wasn't supposed to.  If that half-hour was about anything, anything at all, it certainly wasn't about what I had or hadn't done.  Larry didn't show up at our church door looking for a handout, although he certainly could've used it.  He hadn't come to see if I knew anyone looking to employ a conscientious hard-worker, although a job would've helped things on a number of levels.

Larry came by the church that day for a much deeper reason.  He came because in his mind, at some point in his life, he equated the church with hope.  And hope was totally absent from his life at that moment, replaced instead with discouragement and meaninglessness and disconsolation and a feeling that "he didn't matter anymore."  But at the church, he would matter.  Hope will be there, he told himself.  So he rang our doorbell.

Sometimes my work in ministry is about writing checks to help pay power bills.  Or preaching sermons and leading worship, or visiting folks in nursing homes, or conducting staff meetings, or prepping for a Bible study, or helping create an annual budget, or replying to emails and phone calls (things that, just to clarify, take up more than one day a week ;-). 

And other times, my job is to just get out of the way and let the church do and be what it's supposed to do and be: a source of hope in the world where hope is scarce. Hope for folks like Larry who are at the end of their rope.  Hope for us all, whatever our lot in life.

Next time the church doorbell rings, whoever it is, I'll do my best to remember that.

 

Comments

[Ieshy S]

That was so inspiring for a patient like me. Such a good read.