The Single Rev's Guide to Life
The Friendship Family
I mapped out my life by the time I graduated from college. I’d be married at 25; I’d have kids at 30. This was my plan. Why? It’s simple: that’s the way my mom’s life spaced itself out. Don’t daughters’ lives mirror their mother’s? Well, apparently not. I held on to this plan though, until the revelation of forced irrelevance: my 26th birthday. There had been no wedding. There wasn’t even a boyfriend at the time. No story like mom’s. My life map was flawed.
This was kind of like when I stepped my 5 foot tall body on the scale at the doctor’s office in 5th grade and it read 132. Encouragingly my mom said to me, “Now that is a perfect weight for you for the rest of your life.” 25 pounds, 5 inches, and 15 years later… that comment doesn’t seem so encouraging anymore. So much for 132! Sometimes other people have expectations for us. Life doesn’t seem to care too much about expectations. The maps others draw for us are also flawed.
Dating Do's and Don'ts
This month, the Single Rev's Guide to Life goes to the lighter side with a brief list of survival guidelines the rocky territory of dating in the church. Enjoy - and feel free to add your own tried and true rules in the comments!
1. Never date a parishioner.
2. Don't let the little old ladies in the parish set you up with their niece/nephew/grandchild/any sort of relative. Bad.
3. As an ordained person, breaking up can be disastrous; you're a public figure, and people can be mean and vindictive in break-ups. So, treat others with dignity and respect, and be honest and transparent during the break up process, should it occur. You don't need the drama of a bad break up, and neither does your congregation.
The Other L-Word
If you're single, most people you encounter will assume you are, but if you admit it, they will likely become uncomfortable. It's an unmentionable for clergy, a confession that might hurt or puzzle your congregation, or encourage them in inappropriate matchmaking attempts. The very nature of it leads you to believe that you are isolated, that you are the only one who has ever felt this way.
Lonely.
Of course, we have all felt lonely - yes, even the married people. You probably already know that, intellectually. We single people are just the ones who are actually asked, "Aren't you lonely?"
Aborting God
Mary, Mother of our Lord: Only you would know. You could only understand when an angel appears and tells you not to be afraid when that’s all you are. You’re terrified of what seems impossible. And yet, the angel reads your mind and assures you that nothing will be impossible with God.
Nothing.
The word hits you like a stone in your gut. Or at least, that’s how it hit me. In the fourth week of Advent, I sat with your faithful to study this story where an angel appears and tells you that you will be the Mother of our Lord. Their faith is strong. They believe you were a virgin. They are comforted by your submissiveness. They are encouraged by your faith. But, that’s not what I see. I hear something that I have never heard before in your familiar story. It wasn’t until today, when that phrase was read by one of your faithful, that I feared the impossible. It hit me right there.
Oh. My. God. I'm late.
Single and Attached
When I got anxious writing my ordination paper, it was John who rubbed my shoulders. Outlining your story of call, understanding of polity, history, ordained ministry along with a concise "theology of everything," in 30 pages or so is clearly a daunting task, and those times when the spaces between the words were filled with self-doubt, John rubbed my shoulders. He would stand behind me as I did my work, and loosen those knots in my back with strong hands. I don't even remember asking him, but as I wrote, I could feel his warmth behind me, smoothing out my sentences as I found my call and connecting to my understanding. I felt behind me, with warm hands and smooth strokes, his quiet belief that yes, I was called to this work.
John is not my husband. John is my boyfriend.
Hot or Not?
Somewhere in the midst of my insane Advent busyness, their various work and relational situations, and all of our winter hibernation modes, several of my friends and I managed to find an evening to hit the town for Girls’ Night. Dressed to the nines and well into our third bottle of wine, we were exhibiting enough holiday cheer to attract a fair amount of attention from the male patrons. I was soon engaged in lively small talk with one man who seemed to have potential for fun conversation if nothing else. That is, until we hit The Question that is always asked by young professionals in social situations, The Question dreaded by married and single clergy alike, The Question that does not merit capitalization for the vast majority of the population:
“So, what do you do for a living?”
Dear Single Rev....Much Ado About 'I Do!'
Dear Single Rev,
I've been asked to officiate at my first wedding, and I'm getting anxious. Seminary taught me how to perform the service, but what they didn't mention is what to do about the reception! Should I go at all? Bring a date? What should I wear? Is it okay for the minister to dance? Help!
~The Marrying Kind
Dear Marrying Kind,
Your anxiety is understandable; weddings can be sketchy enough for singletons without the added pressure of being the religious figure in the picture. The good and bad news is, there are no hard and fast rules here. Every wedding is its own creature, and what is perfect behavior at one might be horrific at another. I would be willing to bet that you would get different advice from every clergyperson you asked about wedding-appropriate behavior. But, you asked me, and so I offer you a few of the tried and true tests that have helped me be a better officiant - and guest!
Sex, Affairs, and the Absence of the Church
Yet another woman’s life, pretty much down the drain, for a married man. First, the diaper-wearing astronaut driving to Florida to do something illegal to her married lover’s other girlfriend. Now the local news reports that a woman used an on-line web site to solicit a hitman to off her boyfriend’s wife. History is replete with women who do incredibly stupid things under the pretense of love. Juliet killed herself. Call me unromantic, but should healthy love leave you dead from a knife wound over your boyfriend’s equally lifeless body? A few hundred years later, and the romantic tragedy has embraced the plot line of this happy ending: keep yourself alive, but kill your boyfriend’s significant other. You may do twenty to life, but he will finally be wholly and utterly yours. Not an upward step, ladies.
Fellow women, hear this: Jesus is the only man worth imprisonment, and even then, you’d better be getting in trouble with the law for issues firmly grounded in justice, peace, and Godly love.
Breaking Up Is Hard To Do
Falling for someone who comes to your church is a tricky situation. How do you make sure you aren’t making the other person uncomfortable? How do you make sure you aren’t denying yourself the chance at love just because you happen to be in the power position? How do you keep from being so blatantly obvious in your crush that everyone around you comments?
A year ago I was dealing with all of these questions and more. A handsome, compassionate, and intriguing man started sporadically attending the church I serve and immediately, I took notice. Now, cute fellows have come into our sanctuary doors before but nothing sparked. This guy was different. The first Sunday he attended, he was adorable in his awkward flirting with me at the door and I couldn’t help but feel that pull.
After several months of friendly invitations to do things with the other young adults (he was new to town, after all!) and his more overt signals that he was interested in me (dropping by my house with a “church question,” baking me bread, etc.), we finally established that yes, we did in fact want to try dating. I believe the exact exchange after our last “friend” outing went like this: Him: “Is this a date?” Me: “It can be if you don’t join my church.” Him: (laughing) “Oh, I won’t join your church.”
A Home of Her Own
I blamed the puddle on the kitchen floor on my dog Sophie, who sat, wagging her tail and gleefully chewing on her bone as I ranted about her apparent issues with appropriate places to pee. Then I felt the drip on my head. A quick sniff of the liquid I’d just mopped up was further proof that the puddle of water was from my leaking roof.
Yip – pee.
Oh, the joys of homeownership.
