Bearing One Another Beyond the Jokes

Dear Loved Ones:

From time to time there’s a problem that arises for the class clown, the smirking commentator, the sardonic jokester—things can go off the rails when you’re trying to be sincere; people who know you keep waiting for the punch line. The shtick gets old for those who have to live with it. Just ask Dani, who tells people to wait for the second thing that comes out of my mouth, because the first thing is usually an attempt at humor. She says “attempt” because after years of togetherness, it’s hard to generate new material. I used to make her laugh; now I tend to make her cringe. “If that wasn’t funny,” I’ll ask, “then why am I still laughing?” (I thank Tom Stapleton for that line—I’ll steal anything for a good joke.)

It’s easier from the pulpit, or so I tell myself. A shift in voice tone to a deeper baritone signals the listener that I have moved from light-hearted irony to (I hope) life-changing insight. Members’ reactions are mixed: “Cut the funny stuff and get to the meat of the issue,” say some; “we’ve come for the jokes, stop trying to be profound,” say others. But out of the Sanctuary into real life, being taken seriously requires some work, especially for those who have grown accustomed to my making a joke of everything…well, almost everything.

Here on this Monday before Christmas, Christmas-Eve-Day Eve-Day, I find myself searching for a way to convey seriously, without smirk or sarcasm, just how much I mean what I say ending each Monday Musing. Clergy epistolary closings tend to run from the formal “Yours Sincerely” to the spiritual “Grace and Peace” (which I occasionally yuk up as “Grays and Peas” as in “visualize whirled peas”) to the theological “Yours in Christ”; but I have chosen to conclude these missives by signing off “With Love”. I hope it is received as intended, most sincerely.

Perhaps because it is Christmastime…perhaps because this Christmas our home is infused with the shadows of mortality…perhaps because I feel a lot older than I did just last year—whatever the reason, I find myself wanting that sentiment taken seriously. Clergy are coached to maintain boundaries, which tends to have something to do with keeping the door open during one-on-one meetings and making sure no one calls you on your day off or after 8 p.m. But there’s something dangerous about the connection between a pastor and their congregation—occasionally, it’s no longer a job; it’s a calling. It’s the boundless knowledge that I’m where I’m supposed to be.

I say that not from some co-dependent space where your obvious pathologies match my equally pathological need to rescue. I say that because your strengths of grace, wisdom, hope and tolerance match my strengths of instruction and encouragement. As in all the best relationships, it’s a place where we are invited into becoming ourselves—our fullest, our annoying, our most beautiful selves.

Don’t worry (or for some of you, I’m sorry), I’ll keep trying to be funny. I have, after all, spent the last five days trying to work a great joke about bears into my Christmas Eve sermon. But one of the reasons why I am your pastor, “with love,” is because you’ll welcome me anyway and perhaps together, we will find meaning and purpose behind or beyond the jokes.

Hoping tomorrow night, you like the bear joke as much as I do, I remain,

With Love,
Jonathan Krogh
Your Pastor