Restoring Kingdom Builders

Ever get cooties?

I probably got them – briefly – in the second or third grade.

A girl in my class allegedly had cooties.  At least, that’s what the other kids said.  This girl also happened to live on my street … just two doors down.

Her dad was a pastor, just like mine … but they were even stricter than our family.  For example, we were allowed to watch Shirley Temple movies on television, but her family wasn’t allowed to watch any movies, period.

And one day, I said the words “darn” and “gosh” while playing in her backyard, and boy, did I hear about it!  She said, “Ummm.  Those are bad words” – and then she threatened to tattle and tell someone that I said them.

So I guess if anybody at school had cooties, it was that girl.  In fact, she emanated cooties.

And because cooties are spread from one sex to the opposite sex, guys tend to keep their distance from girls who are infected with that dreaded condition.

When I became a pastor, I sometimes felt like I had a permanent case of cooties, causing most people to keep their distance from me.

It all began in high school.  I had this black knit high-neck shirt with a ring of white around the collar.  To me, it was just another shirt, but a few of my friends at church began calling me “Pastor Meyer” whenever I’d wear it … and sometimes, just “pastor” for short.

After a while, a whole group of guys began addressing me as “pastor” whenever they’d see me.  This was before I sensed God’s call into ministry.

Even though I was elected president of the high school group at church, some of my peers always seemed wary of me.  They didn’t know how to act around me.  (And in some cases, I didn’t know how to act around them.)

So when I became a youth pastor, and later a pastor, I had some inkling of what is was like to have “pastor cooties.”

You may be wondering, “What in the world is he talking about?”

Just this: I sensed that whenever people knew I was a pastor, they became uncomfortable around me.

When I’d sit next to a stranger on an airplane, I enjoyed finding out what he or she did for a living, but I was nervous about that person finding out that I was a pastor.  If they did, the conversation often stopped cold.

When I was around, I could sense that people cleaned up their language … and wouldn’t discuss certain topics … and didn’t know how to treat me … or treated me like The Other.

This was especially noticeable during my first few years in the pastorate when I would visit people in their homes.  One time, I visited the home of a mother-daughter duo unannounced.  When I knocked on the door, I could hear them scurrying around inside, but they never came to the door … even though I waited five minutes.

After that, I always phoned ahead, not only so people could clean their houses, but so they could hide whatever stuff they didn’t want their pastor to see.

I hated having pastor cooties.

There were three areas where I saw this most often:

First, cooties were an issue in counseling.  I learned early in my ministry that whenever I counseled someone multiple times, they came to view me as having PCs.  The better I got to know them – and their weaknesses – the more they would pull back from me.  And if they revealed a problem to me – and I later preached on that same problem – they somehow felt I was preaching at them.

So I made a policy that I would counsel people only once … just diagnosing their issue … and then recommend next steps they could take … like reading a book or seeing another counselor.

And fewer people thought I had PCs.

Second, cooties were a problem in social settings.  I grew up in the home of a Baptist pastor, and Baptists back then didn’t drink alcohol.  In fact, there was a line in the church covenant where we had to promise to refrain from the sale or usage of intoxicating beverages.  Unless my mother had a paper bag hidden somewhere, I’m not sure we ever had alcohol in the house.  I grew up not drinking and viewed that as normal.

But when my wife and I were invited to people’s homes, they would offer us wine, we’d politely decline … and right away, it felt like I had PCs again.

Third, cooties were a huge problem after a funeral.  Whenever I conducted a funeral in a mortuary, I’d stand at the head of the casket after the message while loved ones filed by.  It was my job to look for signs of uncontrollable grief and comfort people, but most of the time, people didn’t even see me.  Occasionally, someone would take my hand and whisper, “Good job,” but that was it.  The message marked me as having PCs – and nobody wanted to get infected.

You’ve heard the saying, “It’s lonely at the top.”  If pastors are at the top of their congregations, then they probably sense a great deal of loneliness.  In fact, 70% of all pastors do not have one good friend.

Why not?

Because pastors want to … and are expected to … live holy, righteous, distinctive lives – and this sets them apart from others.

Because pastors carry the pain of others around with them all the time … but choose to internalize the pain rather than share it with others.

Because pastors have trouble with powerbrokers and critics and staffers and board members … but they don’t believe it’s wise to share those problems with churchgoers indiscriminately.

Because pastors get exhausted and angry and depressed … and they don’t want people to see them that way, so they sometimes avoid people altogether.

I once saw a cartoon in Leadership Journal of a pastor who needed to use the restroom.  There were three choices: “Men,” “Women,” and “Clergy.”

Sometimes pastors wonder if they are a third sex.

But occasionally, there are people in a church who let the pastor know that even if he does have PCs, they love him anyway.

In my last church, one couple invited my wife and me over at various times … to watch election returns … or the Super Bowl … or for the 4th of July … or to watch the World Series … or just to feel safe.

They made me feel like even if I did have PCs, they didn’t care.  People like that are all too rare.

Now that I’m not a pastor anymore, do I still have PCs?  While there’s no surefire test, I’ll say no.

But you can help: if you’re in the Riverside area, come and visit me.  And if I’m in your area and wish to get together with you, I hope you’ll say yes.

Otherwise, I’ll be forced to wonder if I still have cooties.