Monk, Evans, Shorter join me this week in worship for part one of sabbatical living...

One of the hardest - albeit least expected - challenges of our upcoming sabbatical involves maintaining boundaries. And this challenge is embedded in the very different relationships pastors have with their congregations.

For one thing, a healthy pastor understands that no matter how much love and affection s/he shares and holds for the people, this is always a public relationship. And while real and abiding friendships can (and often do) emerge, as a rule pastors must always maintain a measure of distance and discernment in all church relationships. That is, my primary friendships are not built within the congregation. I find accountability beyond the church and work hard to make certain that my emotional needs are not a key component of what I do in ministry. Yes, there are few "dual relationships" that I treasure, but we are vigilant about owning and redefining our boundaries.

Such a public/private distinction is rarely observed within the laity. It probably can't be given the nature of ministry: I am present during tragedy and celebration, my work is to be present as a reminder of God's grace in good times and bad. So whether I like it or not - and I never really deserve it - my role as pastor carries a lot of deep emotional and spiritual messages for each and all members of the congregation. Yes, trust is always earned and I know I must work at this on many levels. But at the same time, simply showing up in a hospital room with my prayer book - or presiding over the communion table - speaks volumes about God's loving presence well beyond my abilities, history and expertise. 

And it is up to ME to know this and respect it. That, too, is one of the public/private distinctions. I remember back in Cleveland when this truth broke upon me like the dawn: I had been doing some community organizing training with an Alinsky-like consortium when I first heard about the public/private split. Like St. Paul, the scales fell from my eyes as I started to think through the pain and blessing I had known trying to negotiate the murky waters of congregational friendships. When one of the organizers said, "It is almost always sacrosanct that organizers make their friends OUTSIDE of their organizing..." it was "Amazing Grace" time in spades. "I once was lost, but now I'm found, was blind but now I see." These days, I make certain to recall this truth at least within my key leadership circles. 

Still, because of this split, some people in the congregation have expressed hurt and a little bit

of anger when I insist, "No, you really can't come visit me when we are in residence in Montreal. Yes, I know it is only 5 hours away. But this is private time for me - not ministry. This is time for me as a person who is stepping back from my public role. I hope you will understand and respect this?" I trust that most will respect this, but I am not sure how many "get" it. There has also been a few looks of frustration when I say to others, "No, I won't be coming back for funerals. We have a great interim who will handle the life-cycle aspects of ministry. And while I, too will miss these times, I am stepping away from them all."

The other challenge I am bumping into is the contrast between most people's work life and mine. With the exception of some physicians - and maybe police and fire fighters - I don't now of another calling that demands a 24/7 burden of compassion.  Someone has compared:

The life of a minister with that of a taxi leaving an airport. It is so loaded down with passengers and suitcases and the other items that the car has a hard time even moving and is strained to the point of breaking, yet the taxi may be only a few years old. So it is with clergy. They bear the burdens, the anguish, the pain, and hurt of their parishioners 24-7. That is 24 hours, seven days a week. As a result, many, if not all, experience to one degree or another symptoms of emotional collapse, stress related illnesses, and “burnout” adversely affecting the minister’s personal, family, and parish life, and greatly diminishing his or her effectiveness and well-being. For too long, this situation has been accepted, even tolerated as an inevitable part of the job.

Another resource added:

A pastor has emotional highs and lows unlike most other vocations. In the course of a day, a pastor can deal with death, deep spiritual issues, great encouragement, petty criticisms, tragedies, illnesses, and celebrations of birth. The emotional roller coaster is draining. Your pastor needs a break—many times a break with no distractions. A pastor is on 24-hour call. Most pastors don’t have an “off” switch. They go to sleep with the knowledge they could be awakened by a phone call at anytime of the day. Vacations are rarely uninterrupted. It can be an exhausting vocation, and a sabbatical can be a welcome time to slow down. Pastors need time of uninterrupted study. It doesn't usually happen in the study at church or home. There is always the crisis or need of the moment. Church members expect sermons that reflect much prayer and study. The pastor’s schedule often works against that ideal. The sabbatical can offer much needed, and uninterrupted, study time.

Already I have heard a few people say things like, "Well, I work hard, too but I don't get to go away for four months." Another said, "Isn't sabbatical just a fancy, professional word for vacation?" And someone asked if I was going to have a book ready for publication when we returned. The truth of the matter is this sabbatical is for rest and renewal - and if all I do is rest and renew my love for my wife, family and the Lord it will be a blessing. Yes, I plan to do a lot of reading - and I'm going to be wood shedding my chops on upright jazz bass in one of my favorite places in the world - but that is icing on the cake.  I like the way this writer put it:

A sabbatical is a prolonged Sabbath. Sabbath is ceasing. It is stopping at regular

intervals so we can both rest and gain new perspective through listening – listening to God and to what’s going on inside our own souls. Many of us are much more attuned to the subtleties of our congregation than we are to our own heart. Sabbath is creating space to stop and listen. This is why God offered His people a Sabbath every week: It was intended to be a life-restoring gift.

According to our "countdown to sabbatical clock" it is exactly 21 days before departure. For the next three Sundays I will be sharing thoughts about our shared sabbatical. This week begins with a review of the call to remember and observe the Sabbath.  Carlton and I will be playing three of my favorite jazz compositions throughout worship, too.  We'll start with Wayne Shorter's "Footprints" which I just really learned last night; Carlton turned me on to it on Good Friday but I wasn't able to get my head and fingers around it until yesterday. We will invite the people into a time of contemplation with the exquisite Bill Evans composition "Peace Piece." And send everyone home with my favorite Monk groove, "Well You Needn't."

All the sabbatical literature speaks of preparing the congregation. I don't know how much more we can do. And I am starting to grasp how complicated people's reactions are likely to be. As in almost everything else we do in ministry, even a sabbatical is a nuanced reality, yes?