Last blog we talked about the temptation of self-indulgent actions that we use when we are dispirited. The indulgences can be innocent but they can sneak up on you in a painful way.
Here is a parable of how that might look.
Never Off the Clock
By Stephen McCutchan
It is the end of another long exhausting day. My family is away on a trip and the house is empty. As I reflect on the day, I have experienced a roller-coaster of emotions. When I entered my office, there was an envelope lying on my desk. It was an angry note from a parishioner castigating me for my sermon this past Sunday.
“How dare you assume you have the right to tell me that this nation has the wrong military policy on Iraq,” it said. “What makes you think you are so smart? Why don’t you stick to the spiritual things you were hired to preach about.”
Criticism always sends me into a tailspin and I was beginning to berate myself for the poor way in which I had expressed myself when the phone rang. “Pastor,” the voice said, “I am at my wits end in dealing with my son, Timmy.” I spent the next forty-five minutes counseling a parishioner in need. It felt good to be able to be there and help her process what she was feeling.
After I hung up, I spent the next hour trying to figure out how to interpret the budget to the finance committee in a way that would not cause them to panic because the usual spring and summer reduction in contributions had begun to occur. I then turned to formatting the bulletin for the next Sunday, which also meant that I had to come up with a title for the yet unwritten sermon.
I left the office in time to meet a couple for lunch who had expressed interest in joining the church. It was a pleasant lunch filled with affirmations for the ministry they saw taking place at the church. It was especially pleasing to hear the husband say that one of the reasons they were joining the church was that my sermons repeatedly challenged them to relate their faith to the difficult issues in the world around them.
I intended to work on the sermon for the next week when I returned to the office but my secretary had received word of two parishioners who had been admitted to two different hospitals in the city. I decided that took precedence and left for the hospitals. As I was returning to the church, a transient stopped me with a story about needing money for a bus ticket to get to his brother’s funeral. I had learned from experience that the only way to make sure that the money would be used for a bus ticket was to take him to the bus depot and buy the ticket for him. That took the rest of the afternoon.
After a quick supper, I attended the worship committee meeting. What I remember most about that meeting is that we seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time discussing whether we should sing more of the “good old hymns” that would please certain vocal members of the congregation.
Now I am home. The day is over and I am alone with my thoughts. I decide I need a good strong drink to relax, and I pour myself a double scotch. I miss my family and am feeling slightly sorry for myself. The scotch tastes good. I want to hold on to that feeling a little longer. It is, after all, the end of the day, A second drink seems in order, I tell myself,
Someone once said, “Two drinks are not enough and three drinks are too many.” I’m really feeling the buzz now. To be honest, I’m drunk. I don’t really care. I’ll just sleep it off. Maybe I’ll have a little hangover in the morning, but it really feels good not to pay attention to the boundaries of appropriate behaviors for once.
It’s almost midnight when the phone rings. Who could be calling at this hour, I think, as I stumble slightly getting to the phone. I compose myself and make sure that I don’t slur my words as I answer.
“This is Pastor Smith. Can I help you?”
“Pastor,” the voice was breaking up with intermittent sobs. “This is Dan Foyer. We’ve been in a terrible car accident. My wife is very serious. We are at the emergency room of Maywood Hospital. Can you please come? We need your prayers.”
