Pastoral Identity

One of my favorite films is “Catch Me if you Can,” directed by Steven Spielberg and released in 2002. For those who haven’t seen it, it’s the true story of a teenage runaway who became the most successful con artist in US history,, posing as an airline pilot, a doctor (chief resident of a pediatric ward, no less!) and a lawyer – all before age 19. In my favorite scene, 16-year-old Frank (actor Leonardo DiCaprio) is walking down the street in New York City wearing a pilot’s uniform, smiling smugly at the stir he causes among the people who look at him with respect instead of dismissal – all because of the uniform. He’s no longer just plain old Frankie; he’s a Somebody. I was strongly reminded of this scene the first day I wore a clerical collar.

I’d been told by my fellow chaplain Barbara, who always wears a collar, that this would be noticeable. More people will smile at you, she said. They’ll acknowledge you with a nod and perhaps even a greeting, rather than the usual brief eye contact and then looking away. What she didn’t say – and I suppose should have occurred to me, given the rich Catholic history in the Crescent City – is that some people would not only not smile, they’d take issue. One man was clearly taken aback, but said nothing. An elderly woman’s lips pursed as if she’d just sucked a lemon wedge. If I could read minds, I’m certain hers would have said, indignantly, “How DARE you wear a collar! You’re not a man, and that shirt – it’s, it’s GREEN!!!! (very true; it’s a deep earth green to advertise my status as an environmental activist)”. The funny thing was when two co-workers were complaining about a screw up (and they had legitimate cause to harp on it, from what I heard), and one muttered “Jesus Christ!” in disgust at the end of a long diatribe. The other dug him in the ribs, motioned to me and made a ssh! sound with a finger to his lips. What stands out most is my supervisor’s comment when she saw me with a collar on for the first time: “If that’s the only way you can find your pastoral identity then you’ll have a problem.” These reactions did not offend me – they only offered food for thought, and alternately made me confused, amused and thoughtful. Was it only a collar that gave me a sense of authority as a pastor, I wondered? Did I feel less as if I had to prove something when I wore the collar, because the collar spoke for me?

When I started considering this, I recalled that one day when I was on-call chaplain for the afternoon, I was called to the NiCU to meet with a couple who had been told that their newborn daughter had a congenital problem which would necessitate her being on a ventilator for the duration of her life. The doctor offered them the choice of this limited existence or withdrawing medical care, allowing her to pass away peacefully within a short period of time. When I entered the consultation room, they were grieving heavily, clearly in need of support. It seemed fairly obvious from the time we started talking that they would make the decision to withdraw care, but as devout Roman Catholics they wanted first to have their daughter baptized (by their parish priest, not a hospital chaplain) and for the extended family to meet her. I drew on my understanding of Catholic theology when I prayed with them, and for the first and only time in my life I referred to the Virgin Mary in my prayers. Later, in group, I told my fellow chaplains that I felt extremely uncomfortable with it, and they said I shouldn’t ever feel pressure to do something that doesn’t sit well with my own theology; that when I have real pastoral authority I won’t cave in to someone else’s beliefs. In retrospect I realize that I’ve had a sense of pastoral authority all along – the issue is that it’s still integrating itself into who I am as a person. The discomfort was felt by Missy the Protestant Christian; Missy the chaplain has no regrets and feels entirely comfortable with what she said in that prayer. I also recall that the first day I wore a collar, I met with a 40-something patient whose lupus had acted up; she was tired of fighting the back-and-forth battle. Without hesitation, I stretched out my hand, touched her shoulder and prayed for healing. Usually when I pray, I ask for healing, but in a different way – I ask for the Spirit to work through the staff as they try to identify the problem (a very Reformed Tradition way of looking at it). Did I feel as if the collar somehow added to my authority, I wondered afterward – was there a sense of entitlement? No. It was natural and spontaneous, and the collar I was wearing was not part of the equation except as an outward signal to the patient that God sent a representative to express concern for her. That I used different words this time only meant that I look at the healing process through more than one lens when I offer prayer. After all, God speaks to us in a multitude of ways.

I think that’s the real function of the clerical collar – it’s not to point out, “hey, look at me, I’m special ‘cause God chose me to be a pastor!” (I’m not even sure I’d use the word ‘special’ in reference to the ministry) but to remind us of God’s presence in our lives. God cares enough to send this reminder when we’re grieving, when we’re hurting, when we’re angry over something we can’t control. The authority God gives to me as a pastor comes from God’s own self, not from a collar, and the identity I’m forming within it is far more communal than it was before I began the long journey toward submitting everything to God as I expressed so well in words but struggled to put into practice. It’s a nice feeling, this sense of owning my own identity within my function as a pastor. I don’t need to use diversions from reality, like Frank did, in order to be believable. And, okay, I have to admit that the drivers who make a habit of letting me cross the street on my bike – some even holding up traffic to let me through – are a nice little bonus. I think God is okay with that, because if that collar reminds someone else of God, and causes him or her to think about his or her own life and how to be pastoral, then it’s a very good thing. It never hurts to let the presence of God announce itself to others in a multitude of ways.