I've been a member of my church for a long time. I chose it as a 12-year-old after visiting there with a friend and getting swept up in the youth activities. I had ties there anyway - I went to preschool there, just as my son does now. A really crappy picture of a pig-tailed me hangs amongst the class pictures on the walls.
It's a big church - the kind you can slip in and out of on Sunday without much notice. I like that, just as I liked being heavily involved as a youth. As my son is getting older, we've been doing more activities as church members, and I like that too.
Methodist churches rotate pastors. You have the same guy (or occasional gal) for a few years and then someone new comes in. I've always hated that. I understand what they are going for, but no matter how you slice it, a pastor is a huge influence on a church. When you don't like your new pastor's methods, beliefs, or delivery, that's trouble.
I don't like the latest pastor.
I'm sure he's a nice guy, but we disagree on some things. I won't go into them here. I've not had a real conversation with him (which, you'll read soon, is part of the reason behind this entry), but some of the things he's said during the (admittedly few) church services I've attended and been able to pay attention to (you chase a toddler in a cry room and listen at the same time!) just really, really rubbed me the wrong way.
Nevermind that it must be written in some doctrine that Methodists are wealthy because the money requests just keep coming. Many sermons tie into giving, giving, giving, and mostly in a monetary sense. My husband came out laughing one day because the pastor said something about not needing big screen TVs and whatnot and giving money for those things to the church instead - and we watched his sermon on GIANT FLATSCREEN TVS IN THE CHURCH ITSELF.
But I digress. Today I am pissed because I realized that the pastor really doesn't give two rips about my lovely toddler daughter's health problems.
It started in a small way. Months ago I (and every other member I think) got a letter asking me if I still considered myself a member because they were purging their roster. NATURALLY there was also a donation letter and envelope included. I wrote on the letter that I still considered myself a member but that I had not been in attendance much since my daughter's birth because her health problems made it nearly impossible for me to attend church. I also told them that her medical expenses had placed quite a burden on us but that I would donate again when I could.
I heard nothing back and didn't expect to. It wasn't until a pastor friend of ours who was visiting from out of town and said, "Man, someone from the church should have called you and asked what they could do to help YOU," that I even thought about it. But really, it didn't bother me much.
Last week I got a postcard from the pastor saying that every year he went through the entire membership list and spent a week praying for each family and that this was our week. I wasn't sure really what he could say about us without actually having met us but I thought it was nice.
So today I went to church and afterward I saw the pastor in the lobby. He was having an extended conversation with someone - it sounded like a friendly discussion - so I waited to tell him "Thank you" for the prayer.
Apparently I wasn't standing close enough to him (didn't want to infringe) because he talked to someone else that he knew that came up after me, and was going to go on and talk to someone else before I kind of jumped in and said "Thank you." I told him that I'd gotten his postcard and that was nice. I also said that my daughter, who I was holding at the time, had some health problems so the extra prayer was good.
His rushed-but-smiling response was "Oh, well, then it came at the right time. No problem."
Off to the other people milling about.
It took me a minute to realize that I had waited as long as I did for two sentences of his time. And then it hit me - how can you not even ask what health problems plague a beautiful, blue-eyed girl who is sitting right in front of you? How can you at least not ask how she is doing now? How can you not take a moment to marvel at her pale skin, her soft cheeks, her sweet flipped-up hair...
I know how. He didn't give a rat's ass.
I'm not someone who gives lots of money to the church. I'm not at many events. I don't matter. And neither does my suffering little girl, who has spent the last few days vomiting from a hidden allergen (who knew that the BRAND of canola oil would matter?) and who now has a rash which is probably from a new medicine pushed on us from an insurance company that didn't want to foot the bill for the old one.
I suppose he was in a bit of a hurry, between services and all. But really, it looked like he just wanted to talk to the people he knew and liked.
Maybe I'm just wrong about what church is supposed to be. I thought churches were supposed to support people and help them when they were down, even if those people weren't big givers of time or money. Heck, I thought churches even went out of their way to show Christian love and support to non-members, even non Christians (GASP!). And they do, you know, go to far-flung countries and build churches, and do other various exotic, charitable things.
But for your garden-variety members... Well I guess that isn't very exciting, is it?
I guess I'm supposed to not expect anything from a church that I have supported in varying degrees over the years. Sometimes I've attended (and donated, natch) every Sunday, and sometimes I've gone a year without attending three times (the first year of the baby's life, for example). Many times I went to dog shows (which mostly occur only on weekends) instead of church. I get more out of praying by myself then I ever do sitting and listening to someone talk for an hour (although I do love singing hymns).
The funny thing is, I HAVEN'T expected anything out of the ordinary. I've asked for prayers, but never money, nor help, nor support of any other kind. I have a good support system of my own, although I'm not foolish enough to think that you could ever have too many friends or supporters. I just expected some care and concern.
I was brought to tears earlier in the service as we prayed and I watched my daughter happily playing with the envelopes and pencils in the church pew. Burdened by allergies more significant than most people can even imagine, there she stood, smiling and quietly babbling. Children are far more resiliant than we are. And so brave, and positive.
Too bad that pastor will never learn the lessons my lovely little one has to teach him. Life - and church - is about more than surface relationships with people who show up a lot and give you money. At least, it is to me.
Disclaimer: Perhaps the pastor was just having a bad day. I don't care.





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