“The last thing I ever wanted to happen would have been to find myself homeless. But it’s turned out to be one of the best things that could have happened to me.”
That’s what my friend and colleague said to me recently.
He’s a deeply committed and discerning Christian, an ordained minister. A single guy, never married, a Veteran, he’s an alcoholic who’s he’s been sober off and on over the years. “About half the time,” he said. “I’ve been more of an episodic drinker–like my mother.”
Devoted to the ruthless honesty of Alcoholics Anonymous, he’s currently celebrating a significant period of sobriety.
Following military service, he went to college and then earned a master’s degree from a respected divinity school. But his first pastoral call, to serve a small, start-up congregation, was a disappointment.
That is often the case for young ministers–whatever their age–who leave seminary thinking that what they’ve thrived on learning and practicing in the process of formal, theological training is what a future church wants them to offer.
However, that is not usually the case. At least these days. The gap between reputable divinity schools/seminaries and most congregations has widened substantially. What people see on television–the “dumbing down” of popular religion–is what they think church is meant to be: entertaining.
Recent studies suggest that if a young pastoral minister can survive the first five years, s/he can usually proceed to a fulfilling, effective calling. But for many–unfortunately, often among the “best and brightest”–the seemingly required “un-learning” of what they’ve been equipped to provide is too harsh an assault on their integrity.
Plus, too many churches of any size and history can be characterized as notably pathologic. Especially “new-church-starts,” which often attract persons with a pattern of personal and inter-personal problems. Folk who bring their hurtfulness with them, from their last assault on a previous minister to their new exploitative opportunity.
That’s what my friend walked into on his first attempt at pastoring. The most experienced and adept minister would have likely found serving honorably in such a setting impossible. Plus, my friend was bringing his own emotional and social damage from having grown up in a highly dysfunctional family, one from which he had been estranged for many years.
Or as the late Edwin Friedman has observed–in his important book, Generation to Generation: Family Process in Church and Synagogue (Guilford Press, 1985)–there’s often a connection between clergy, their families of origin, and the interpersonal dynamics of the congregations they serve.
“I didn’t drink when I was serving the church,” my friend disclosed, “but then I started drinking again following such a devastating experience.” He worked at various jobs, with requirements far below someone with his intelligence, education and capability, and also, following his mother’s death, went through a modest inheritance.
Most of the time, however, health problems prevented his working consistently. In fact, moving to Charleston likely saved his life, since he now had access to the Veterans Administration Hospital, where he discovered that he had a congenital heart condition requiring surgery.
Eventually, my friend found himself homeless. That’s when he ended up at the local Crisis Ministry homeless shelter and discovered a federal program which funds supportive services to Veterans. He now has an engaging and encouraging social worker assigned to his case who helps him navigate the various hoops he has to jump through to get his life back.
Most important, he is now getting coordinated, systematic health care. The rehabilitation program for Veterans for which he qualifies requires him to have personal and career development goals. “You can’t just lie around all day sleeping or watching television. And you can’t drink,” he explained. He walks or uses public transportation to go to church, the library, the VA and an off-site place to do his laundry. He’s been given hope and has recovered some healthy pride.
“You have to work with the system,” he added. “I watch other guys sabotage themselves, getting kicked out of the program, by fighting with the system. In the past, I’ve done too much of that myself.”
The goal for my friend is his own place to live, a car to drive and productive, fulfilling work. Given his professional credentials and capability, I expect my friend will likely end up in some form of social service, perhaps counseling other Veterans who have fallen on hard times.
He told me his computer “died” some time ago. So, if anyone reading this blog knows of a good, used laptop someone would want to give to my friend, or sell at a reasonable price, let me know.
