The Rev. Canon Tim Elliott, a ministry consultant with Elliott Clarke and Associates, offers these "Notes from the Narthex." From this vantage point in the church's lobby he can peer into the church or open the door and look outside, all the while staying safe in the narthex.
My doctor is a small man, and I’m a tall and big man. Every year when it’s time for a check up and I stand on the scales, he says the same thing: “You tall guys can sure hide a lot of weight.” He is a skier and works out. When I was in parish ministry, I didn’t have time to work out and skiing was too expensive. Besides, the one time I tried it, I couldn’t stop and ended up at the bottom of the hill in some hay bales, which were not soft cushions at all.
Anyway, sitting up on the paper-lined cot while he takes my blood pressure gives me a chance to think about my “lifestyle.”
And, in thinking about my weight (which isn’t way out of line, given my height), I have come to realize my good doctor does not face the reality of sandwiches and squares after funerals; of long car trips to and from hospitals; sitting at meetings for days it seems; meeting young couples about their wedding after dinner when you’d rather go for a walk; and having lots of good food and drink around while you’re working because there’s always something in the church fridge.
He sees patients in his office and then goes home. Probably he visits the hospital in the morning and I’m sure he has a very stressful job.
But when I go home, I’m faced with a bunch of deadlines that make me feel anxious—my column for the newsletter, the homily and arrangements for the funeral, Sunday’s sermon, and reading the minutes and reports for the volunteer community board I agreed to serve on. And I’m hungry, and there are snacks and beverages of a spiritual nature that will make me feel good and if I’m not careful, drown my sorrows.
This is a particular challenge in small rural parishes where there is a generation of generous women whose mission in life is to feed men. I ministered to one of those congregations and I really enjoyed my afternoon visits because I love to eat. And most of the time I was hungry and so I wasn’t faking it.
But I knew if I ate too much in the afternoon, I wouldn’t be hungry for dinner, and my wife, who was home with the children and had worked hard to prepare something nutritious, wouldn’t be happy that I’d been out snacking.
I remember one cold afternoon visiting a farmer and his wife. We sat at the kitchen table and they set out a huge block of cheddar and homemade bread fresh from the oven. Tea was served in mugs and I could have happily sat there all afternoon.
I also remember enjoying some wine at a 50th wedding anniversary party and then having to shift mentally when someone wanted to have a serious conversation about their spiritual journey, more than I was up for.
I remember deciding that I’d better minimize, if not eliminate, drinking alcohol at church functions because in a sense I was “on the job” and I needed to be able to focus. There would be time—and there always was—when I could relax and put my feet up later.
So I’ve come to understand that, among many other stresses in ordained ministry in congregations, there is the added pressure of eating and drinking. Jesus enjoyed both, and we do need to celebrate all that life offers.
But there are special challenges for those who don’t have enough time or inclination to exercise, and who like to eat and drink, and who have stressful and important jobs.
Knowing I had an annual medical coming up always made me think twice about the second date square (my favourite) after the funeral.
