Today sucks. There’s no other way to say it, unfortunately. I preached this morning at an area church, and although the sermon was alright, it was much too long. This unwieldy length of my sermons has been a thorn in my side since I started my preaching career three years ago. I’ve always been prolific, both in writing and in speech, and sermons are no exception. I try to make them shorter, but they always end up longer than I think they’re going to. My sermon this morning was 35ish minutes long. That’s too long people! I looked up at the clock and said to myself, “Good God, can’t you just shut up already?” I can’t help but think that the rest of the congregation feels that way too.
In fact, that’s been my most common (constructive) criticism. When I did my internship last year at TRC, this was the issue that came up the most. Despite all the stuff good I did there last summer though, I was never able to preach the kind of sermon the congregation was looking for. I don’t think I can preach the kind of sermon anyone is looking for. Don’t worry, people. It’s not your fault. It’s mine.
And then today I was woken up from my Sunday afternoon nap by a phone call. On the other end of the line was a gentleman from a PCUSA church who wanted to know how, exactly, my disability impacted my life, and what the church would need to do “in order to comply with the ADA” (Americans with Disabilities Act) (his quote) were they to hire me.
Now, I’ve said before, I do not wake up well. It doesn’t matter if it’s from the middle of the night or from a nap, I cannot just pop out of bed and have a conversation. So it took me about five groggy minutes into the phone call to even figure out who I was talking to, and then I had to defend myself and my disability, all the while trying to convey that my disability doesn’t impact me or them as much as their brain is blowing it up to be. I hate having to do this! There is no way that I can describe, with words, how my CP affects me. It shapes who I am, and it shapes my life, but it doesn’t make me an invalid. For the most part, I don’t think I’m high maintenance, but it’s difficult for me to describe the ways that I am “maintained”. All of this leads churches to think that they will be leading me around like a dog on a leash, when nothing could be further from the truth.
But I have a hard time describing CP as a context and then trying to fit myself into the context, because I don’t think I fit into the context! Blargh!
All this is to say. I’m done.
I’m done filling out profiles.
I’m done trying to preach shorter sermons. (Nobody wants to listen to me talk anyway, even if I were to succeed in making them short).
I’m done trying to defend why I think I should be a pastor in spite of my disability.
I’m done trying to convey to people why women are called to lead in ministry.
I’m done being a pastor.
I’m done. I’m tired. Really—the last two nights were short and so was my nap—thanks to that phone call. I’m done. I’m done. I’m done. Ya’ll won. I don’t fit the typical mold of a pastor in any way, so I’m done trying to be one.
Here’s to a job in administration.
