Avoidance Issues

05/22/2009

For me, one of the interesting things about being a clergy spouse, pastor’s/preacher’s wife—whatever you like to call me—is what happens when I run into or narrowly miss church people at the grocery store. Apparently, a few feel I am to be avoided at all costs.

If you knew me, you’d know that I don’t give a rat’s rump why you weren’t in church last Sunday. If we’re friends or even friendly acquaintances, I’m sure I missed seeing you, but (and some may think this is blasphemous coming from moi) I don’t believe it is, in any way, a sin to miss church once in a while. Nor do I think there’s any condemnation in leaving our church for another one, or in taking a break from churchgoing altogether. (I know—GASP!)

To everything turn, turn, turn, sister. There is a season for being extremely active in church doings and for participating from the sidelines. There also is a time for sitting in the sand on Sunday morning and contemplating your blessings at the edge of the sea. (Really, what better place?)

When the Bible talks about the Lord’s sanctuary, it’s not referring to a pew-filled room that’s carpeted in red. God’s spirit dwells in you and in me. He’s with us wherever we go, even at the Piggly Wiggly.

I didn’t mean to get my preach on. Back to the grocery store.

I’m one of those unfortunate souls who suck at recognizing faces out of context. If I typically see you in the sanctuary, dressed in a skirt and heels, I may not recognize you in the ice cream aisle wearing flip-flops. So if I’m not instantly warm, it’s nothing personal. I intend to be friendly, but authentically so—not because I’m trying to live up to someone’s idealized version of me. I’m definitely nobody’s ideal today, in my dog-hair covered t-shirt with shorts and no makeup. I haven’t flossed, and I don’t remember if I put on deodorant. Now who should be avoiding whom?

If I miss seeing you at church, I may tell you—but it’s not a dig, and there’s no double-meaning behind it. Having been on the receiving end of the sing-songy “We missed you last Sunday,” I know it can sometimes sound like the bathed-in-syrup version of “Where were you that was more important than being where I was?”

If I’m not in church and neither my son nor I are sick, I may be at the beach, at Barnes & Noble, or in a diner eating sugar on my grits (which, I’ll admit, is southern sacrilege, but I shan’t repent). If someone has a problem with that, my deep and reverent response is Jimmy cracked corn, and I don’t care. And God bless you.

So don’t waste energy trying to avoid me at the grocery store. Chances are I won’t recognize you anyway. But if I do, I’m not wondering why you weren’t at church and whether your salvation hangs in the balance. I’m too busy trying to remind myself of all the reasons why I really don’t need that pint of Ben & Jerry’s.

12:05AM

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