Dear Conference Companions:

I spent a couple of days last week at a training conference unrelated to church work. I am the President Elect of the La Grange Rotary Club, and seven midwestern districts provide this educational event for those stepping into Rotary leadership. As is frequently the case during networking break-outs, conversations turned from club responsibility to non-Rotarian work life. “So, what do you do when you’re not working with your Rotary club?” was a common icebreaker. I’m musing today about the verb-shift in most answers to the question. Asked what we do, we tend to answer with what we are, as if our employment classification or vocational title fills in the blanks regarding our routines and activities. It doesn’t.

There were about three hundred people at this conference, and I think I experienced this exchange with two or three dozen individuals. In every instance the job title or the professional categorization was immediately followed by additional questions. Some responded with a general professional category of being, e.g. “I am a… doctor, lawyer, college president, school administrator, accountant, etc.” Others chose the preposition in, to categorize their employment, e.g. “I’m in… marketing, IT consulting, product services, logistics, construction management, biotech, etc.” Still others provided a single statement of being covering a world of previous categories as in, “I’m retired.” The follow-up inquiry tended to be attempts at categorization, e.g. “What kind of doctor? What kind of law? What industry? Which school district?” or time, e.g. “What did you do before you retired?”

These exchanges reminded me why I am so bad at small talk. I’m genuinely curious, so I want my follow-up questions to give me some substance; but I’ve discovered that asking genuine questions tends to make people feel uncomfortable, as they move from simple inquiry to inquisition, e.g. “What does a doctor do when the prescribed treatment is going to be really painful? When you’re lawyering, do you ever feel bad for the other side? When did forklift driving become logistics? Have you ever tried to market a product you knew was crap? etc.” I’ve learned to keep my real questions to myself; there are only so many times one can deal with rejection. Few people want small talk to become big. But I wonder.

This conference held at the beginning of Lent, with a fish option at the buffet, has got me thinking about how we describe ourselves to others and to ourselves. In the Gospels, the cocktail hour information is buried in the narrative, e.g., “S/he was a… fisher, tax collector, Pharisee, Samaritan, blind one, cripple from birth, prostitute, etc.” Then Jesus asks the probing question, not about identity but about meaning and purpose, e.g. “Why are you anxious? (Matthew 6.28), Why are you terrified? (Matthew 8.26), Why do you harbor evil thoughts? (Matthew 9.4), Why did you doubt? (Matthew 14.31), What do you want me to do for you? (Matthew 20.32), Why are you thinking such things in your heart? (Mark 2.8), Why this commotion and weeping? (Mark 5.39), What were you arguing about on the way? (Mark 9.33), Where is your faith? (Luke 8.25), Who is greater, the one seated at table or the one who serves? (Luke 22.27), Do you want to be well? (John 5.6), Do you love me? (John 21.16), What concern is it of yours? (John 21.22), etc.” One quickly understands why, by the end of the Gospels, Jesus is no longer invited to banquets.

What keeps our talk comfortable and small is our choice not to risk. We’re not really interested in getting too close, too vulnerable, too known. We play our social portfolio conservatively, fearing devastating loss if we overshare. And, in our social worlds, we may be right. But Lent is not about our social face; it’s about our interior identity and absolute dependence. It occurs to me that one could do a good Lenten study just discussing our answers to Jesus’ questions, but not in the buffet line.

Learning how sharing “I’m a Presbyterian minister” sends people back to the dessert bar, I remain,

With Love,
Jonathan Krogh
Your Pastor