Uh-oh, there has been a citizen’s arrest made here, and PeaceBang must reluctantly send someone to the Naughty Corner. She is lothe to do so, but the occasion calls for it AND it gives her a great opportunity to stand on a big ‘ole soap box and PREACH (or, as she is thinking of the word, PRAAAAAAAAYCH!).
Here is the Citizen’s Arrest, made by Pastor Hane:
Oh, and I tried hard to send PB vibes at my sweet former pastor, who was in town to give a eulogy at a friend’s funeral. The Methodist celebrant was in black clericals and a subdued business skirt suit, but, please, dear former UU pastor, iron your blouse and don’t wear a peasant skirt when in a semi-professional capacity. kthxbai (runs and hides)
No need to run and hide, dear little snitch of mine. You are absolutely right. Although delivering the eulogy for a funeral, rather than presiding, does give us more leeway in terms of what to wear, we’re still at a formal event and we’re still clergy (which simply means that we of all people ought to know how to dress appropriately for church).
How sad it is to deliver a eulogy for a friend. No one wishes that on anyone. It is a terrible task and one that many of us have had to do. However, it does not excuse appearing in public in wrinkled garments, which is disrespectful. I’ll not speak about the choice of PEASANT SKIRT, which is a personal choice, but I do think it … no, I said I wasn’t going to speak about it. I will limit my remarks to the state of rumpledness to which my little snitching pigeon refers: it’s not okay.
I know sad. I know loss. We all do. We all know that flying to your friend’s funeral to give the eulogy frankly sucks.
But I also know that you have got to get that little iron down from the hotel closet and drag that sucka out and unfold that big, heavy ironing board and turn on that iron and iron that shirt and skirt before you appear on that chancel. Oh, yes you do. If at ALL HUMANLY POSSIBLE.
Perhaps a loved one needs to do that ironing for you while you sit on the bed and cry and eat chocolates. Fine.
Perhaps you got off the plane in a hurry and had to go right to the funeral.
That’s more tricky. But if that was to be the case, perhaps you could have chosen an outfit that was black and less likely to show the wrinkles, or something with some poly-spandex in it, or stashed a bottle of “Wrinkles-B-Gone” in your purse.
I am opening in a musical next Friday night and am thinking of an old show business saying we theatre folk have, which applies just as aptly to the work of ministry:
THE SHOW MUST GO ON.
As an actor, here is how I interpret that saying: it doesn’t mean we want to do the show, or that we feel like we’re going to enjoy the show, or that we have any desire to drag ourselves backstage, check our props, and then start the unglamorous process of getting dressed in those uncomfortable costumes and putting on all that heavy make-up and the wigs that we wear for the show. There is nothing more unwelcome than a crowded, busy dressing room on a night or afternoon when we would much, much rather be doing something else, or even just resting. What “The Show Must Go On” means is that we put our personal needs aside and get our ever-lovin’ tushies to the theatre on time and ready to do the show because that is our commitment. This is called having a work ethic. And when one has a work ethic, there are no excuses.
It is the same in ministry.
So much of ministry means shoving ourselves out the door when we’re tired, nervous, insecure, distracted, upset and feeling no love or support for what we do or who we are (because in ministry, these are the same things). At least in the theatre, one can be fairly assured of a huge amount of audience acclaim for a job well done: in ministry, there is none.
But The Show Must Go On.
It goes on every day in the privacy of our hearts, minds, souls and our bodies as well as in the public eye. We “perform” it before others but the role is one we take on for life, with God as director, producer, stage manager, fellow actor, choreographer and audience of One (or, if you like, of Three). We don’t leave the role behind when we leave the church building or the hospital.
This is the role we took on at our ordination. It requires one central thing of us: that we always be prepared to perform it.
ALWAYS.
ALWAYS, and with no excuses.
ALWAYS, although often imperfectly.
ALWAYS, with no whining.
And — and listen good when I tell you this — the show does not begin when you step foot in the pulpit. It begins when you wake up that morning and know that you have a funeral at 3pm. You NEVER, EVER, EVER slide through your day with a 3:00 “show” and think that it’s enough to go from your day to the church without dedicated time for transition and preparation.
Listen up again, chickens: if you do not leave sufficient preparation time for both internal and external preparation for the work of ministry (“the show”), you are not fulfilling your obligations to self, church and God.
Yes, I said it. Tough, huh? I know. It is really tough. But who said this wasn’t going to be tough?
The work of ministry demands obedience to constant, unremitting inner disciplines (you know about that: I don’t have to tell you) and certain domestic disciplines without which we cannot serve others with requisite strength and integrity. Some of these are: getting enough sleep and rest. Ingesting decent nutrition. Maintaining sobriety. Cleanliness and order of body and dwelling place. Attending to mental health. Obtaining sufficient emotional support. Maintaining a clean, presentable and appropriate wardrobe. With shined shoes.
You’ve got to be ready to “go on” at any time, which means that you never really go “off.” Therefore, it is the task of your lifetime to seek, find, and maintain a harmony and integrity between your inner and outer live that makes it possible for you to be authentically yourself — warts and all — in the privacy of your personal life and in your most demanding public appearances and duties. Just as an actor needs to find the through-line of truth between her character’s behavior in act one and act two, and between one musical number and another, so must you find the through-line of honesty, heart and vocation between your snarky, uproarious coffee date with friends, your sweatiest, most wild night of love-making, your most prayerful counseling session with a suffering parishioner, your angriest, most passionate denunciation of social injustice, and your most pious prayer offered in the hour of worship.
God called you, the one authentic human being that you are, to the sacred work of ministry. Society sees you in this role and expects you to play it well, and that you must be ready to do at any given moment. Make it your most serious business to fit the role to your life, so you can live it honestly and with joy.
Now. I am going to disappear for awhile to do due diligence to Miss Floretta Vining as we enter Tech Week for my production. Please wish me luck as I give myself to the artistically fulfilling process of becoming someone else for a couple of hours every night and telling a charming story along with of a lovely and hard-working group of other theatre folk.
You’re being a dear and not commenting on the choice of the peasant skirt, but I’m not that nice. What in the flying fig was this woman thinking?!?! A funeral/memorial service is a solemn occasion, not a pic-a-nic in the park with Yogi and BooBoo. Wearing a peasant skirt when one is participating in honoring the life of the deceased and providing a bit of comfort to the grieving is disrespectful.
And what is the UU thing with peasant skirts at formal church occasions? Casual is one thing; crunchy hippie chick is a totally different animal.
The non-ironing is just lazy.
Well, I knew that someone like you would come along and say the necessary things about the Boho Gypsy Mama Sloppy Nightmare Skirt. And you did. Bless your heart, darling.
This: “find the through-line of honesty, heart and vocation between your snarky, uproarious coffee date with friends, your sweatiest, most wild night of love-making, your most prayerful counseling session with a suffering parishioner, your angriest, most passionate denunciation of social injustice, and your most pious prayer offered in the hour of worship.”
I feel like I’ll spend my life working on this. But boy, it’s totally worth sorting out. Thanks for putting it so clearly and reminding us what it’s all about.
My dad died recently and I had been asked to preside his funeral. I wasn’t prepared for the funeral when it came, but I did have a black clerical blouse in my suitcase with Roman Collar, which I always carry for “justincase” situations.
My sister-in-law and I searched high and low in need of something appropriate that I could wear again. Found the perfect two piece suit. Tulip skirt and ahmazing jacket with rounded collar that worked perfectly with the black clergy shirt. The skirt was a bit tight, but I was standing and the jacket had enough length that what showed was appropriate, if you know what I mean.
The night before the funeral I stood in the hallways of my mother’s house ironing. My clergy shirt, neatening up the skirt and jacket, my brother’s dress-shirt, husband’s dress-shirt, my mother’s dress, my sister in law’s outfit and a strange sense of calm overcame me. I felt while I was engaging in ironing that I was preparing to do what my dad has asked me to do. And it would be okay. And I would “look the part” as he was fond of saying…preparation of everything is important for a funeral, and how we look should NEVER be ignored.
I thought this was so affirming and inspiring and beautiful!
through-line
— n
a theme or idea that runs from the beginning to the end of a book, film, etc
I thought of this Sunday since I almost had to step up and do the readings in clothes I wouldn’t have chosen to stand in front of the whole congregation in. I had worn the exact same outfit to work the other day, so it wasn’t terribly casual or off, but this sure was a good reminder that I am not just dressing for me anymore. I hope your production went well.