When I personally know the deceased I like to ride to the cemetery in the hearse with their body. It just feels like a friendly thing to do, not letting them make that last ride alone (or rather, in the company of a random funeral home employee who’s driving the wagon that day).
You know how slowly the funeral procession goes, though. And you know you can get a lot of thinking done and even do some business on the phone going 15 mph with your blinkers on, right? No one wants to think about the pastor singing Lady Gaga or planning the next day’s meeting or thinking about what they’re going to make for dinner when they’re on the way to the graveyard to read the last prayers for the dead but we do. That’s why I try to commit to riding in the hearse: so I can stay spiritually focused on the task at hand.
Except that sometimes that’s hard even in the hearse. Once, in a former pastorate, I had a fairly long ride in a hearse and I got into a conversation with the driver, as one does. After a few minutes of chatting, he broached the subject of sexuality. He wanted to know what I thought of gays and sin, and that sort of thing. I responded with my best Welcoming Congregation pastoral theology, as I thought it possible that he was struggling with sexual orientation and needed to be assured of God’s love for him.
What it was, though, was not that he was gay, but that he was a secret cross-dresser. His wife, he said, didn’t understand his transvestitism. I was encouraging and supportive and said that I felt that gender identity was a fluid thing and that I hoped he could find somewhere to live out his feminine reality, and suggested that he at least allow himself to integrate a few femme items into his everyday wardrobe. “Like what?” he asked. “Oh, maybe underthings, or pantyhose, or something no one will see,” I responded. “Or you might buy a few garments that have a very feminine feel to them, like a silk shirt or soft cashmere scarf and just wear them as a way of honoring your femme self.”
As he became more specific and detailed about what kind of clothes he should get, I realized I was being had. I don’t know if he really was a transvestite or what, but it is highly possible that he just got his jollies on long, boring rides to the cemetery by engaging the clergy in “naughty” conversation. If there’s anything that irritates me more than non-reciprocal perving I can’t think of it right now. Bad tippers? Women expressing hatred for other women who have fit, fantastic bods? ANYWay…
The next time something similar happened in another state with another hearse driver, I got wise. For the past nine years I have lived in a small town and mostly worked with a local funeral home where I know the guys, we chat about people we know in common, and they’re always totally professional and nice to spend time with. Back in the day, though… whoa. Maybe it’s because I was such a wide-eyed young ‘un? At any rate, darlings, be ye wise as serpents and gentle as Palmolive (Jesus said “Dove,” but I prefer Palmolive. You’re soaking in it!). And if you choose to do the right and good thing and accompany the dead to their final resting place, bring a pair of earplugs and an mp3 player with you so that if the driver starts to engage in you what you think might be salacious conversation you can pop in the earphones and say, “Sorry, I’d like to listen to some sacred music right now.” Another good deterrent would be to say, “Listen, I would be happy to meet with you in my church study to talk about these issues with you, as my church believes that sexuality and spirituality are connected within us, and I want to help you explore those questions in a pastoral way, but right now I want to be in silent prayer for __________________ and his/her family.”
Don’t underestimate how entertainingly kinky some folks think it is to engage a clergy person in an egregious conversation about sex. Oooooh, naughty!!! :::eyeroll::: It will most certainly happen to you at some point or another in your ministry. And when it does, you want to have your best, “Give me a break” face ready when you realize what’s going on. And then, like the lady said, “Walk on by.”
My my….I appreciate the warning! I’ve only done pastoral ministry in my small town where I know the funeral directors well. I enjoy the ride as an opportunity to catch up with friends. I was really impressed with your ability to minister to this guy in a way that WOULD HAVE been very compassionate if he was, indeed, who he had been representing himself to be. Too bad for him. One more chapter in that book you should write one day…
I’d forgotten this trap! It can happen on the phone, too. When I was a rank newbie, some guy called wanting spiritual advice from “an understanding person.” He set the hook in me good and started reeling me in. By the end of the conversation, he was telling me how he was sitting on the toilet with a raging case of hemorrhoids. Yeah, right. As you so succinctly put it, I was being perved.
Once burned, twice shy: if a male I don’t know calls and wants to ramble about his issues with “a woman, because you’re so sympathetic and good at listening” – well, it doesn’t happen. He either needs to be specific about what the congregation can do to help him Right Now, or he needs to make an appointment and come in. If he’s for real, he does. That has happened exactly once.
But this all points to that nagging uncertainty I often have about whether the people – of any and all genders – who ask for monetary help are trying to scam the church. I have a suspicion that it’s as high as 50%-75%. I rarely flat-out refuse (if we have any money. Yes, I know desperate people do desperate things. Yes, we practice all the safeguards, and I’d rather err on the side of generosity. Nonetheless, pervs and scammers can be discouraging, and if we’re not careful, it can make us cynical, as well. THAT would be the true tragedy.
Wow. I’ve always lived in small towns with one undertaker -he drove the hearse and he would never dream of speaking to me that way.
But I have received phone calls like that and when I was younger let it go on way longer than it should have. Now I give them the number for Lutheran Social Services.
Never had the hearse conversation, thankfully.
As per the calls for monetary assistance, we have the list of agencies that offer help with specific needs. We limit our assistance to gas cards (the kind that can ONLY be used at the pump and not for candy or smokes), utility assistance paid directly to the utility, food pantry support and homeless family housing on a rotating basis with other congregations. My staff has been trained to be clear that we keep no cash on hand and do not give out cash for these requests.
A local congregation was taken for over $1000 when a young man convinced the clergy that he needed money to fly home for his grandmother’s funeral.
What a great post! I think this is an area where we as women could do much more truth-telling and mentoring of each other: the skeevy conversations we get into with good intentions and how to get back our control of the situation. I have definitely seen women I admire suss out and circumvent these situations. But as we go out in the world to be salt and light, it’s important to figure out how to deal with it and not lose our joy.
I had a young funeral director attempt to “pick me up” while the body was coming in the front door of the church. I was newly ordained, looked maybe 19, in cassock and surplice, the congregation was assembled feet away from me, and I was six months pregnant. Thankfully my boss was presiding because I was rattled by that one. I still wish I’d stepped on his toe really hard or something.
Oh, what a great and instructive story. Wish I could have shared this with my pastoral care class last fall. Do you think this happens to male clergy too?
we do need to strategize but we also need to remember that this is harassment and this is just plain wrong–if we don’t react the way we’d like it is something to learn from, not something to beat ourselves up for. We are the canary in the mine.
I did a committal service for a former member so I didn’t know any of the family. One of her sons chatted with me, told me twice his wife wasn’t able to come for some reason, and then slipped me some cash… it was weird, but whatever. Then when I was in the car and putting the money away, I discovered he had given me his phone number.
I was startled the first time I rode in the hearse, to a distant cemetery, at how the driver floored it on the freeway on the return trip.