The Provider

Male egos are difficult things to quell.

For the first decade and a bit of my marriage, the missus and I both worked more or less equivalent jobs. During that time, I tended to bring home a bit more vegetarian bacon-like protein strip product, particularly when she was part-timing so she could stay home with the kids when they were bitty.

It was satisfying. I felt useful, even though the work wasn't really my calling. Knowing that my hours in the office were both necessary and vital to the financial well-being of my family was a significant and positive thing. I was doing what a man does, what my dad had done and what his father before him had done.

I was The Provider.

Entering the ministry changed that, and I knew it would. I marvel that it's even possible to get paid for something that's so much what I want to be doing. There are few other jobs that allow you to explore the philosophical and spiritual, to write, to teach, and to share meaningful conversation with those equally interested in exploring the purpose of being. And hey, when you're called, you're called.

But as I started work in my little church, and my wife began working full-time as the kids got older, she and I started down very different income paths. This year, as she took a well-deserved step up into a great new executive position that totally matches her skills and gifts, we crossed a rubicon of sorts. My income is now no longer really necessary for the maintenance of the household. Oh, it's nice to have it, sure. It allows us to accumulate savings, and replace things around the house without worrying about it at all. We are financially comfortable.

But I am no longer in that role of being the primary wage-earner. She makes a multiple of what I make, and given how smart, capable, and hard-working she is, I'd expect that multiple to increase over the next few years.

I could just stay home and bake cookies, and we'd get by just fine.

I have no desire to do that, of course. I serve my church for reasons that have jack-diddly to do with compensation. My role as a father to my children and a husband to my wife is also unrelated to income. But there is, if I am honest with myself, a peculiar churning now and again in my subconscious. There is an occasional sense of lostness, as if I am not the person I'd anticipated being. It is, without question, all Ego. It doesn't reflect the reality of my calling. I don't for a moment equate it with some legitimate alarm over my Not Fulfilling My Responsibility as the Papa to Have the Final Word At Home. That's not the dynamic I want for my family. I'm genuinely proud of what my wife has accomplished. It's a sign of her character.
I want nothing less than success for her.

Still, ego can be a difficult thing to overcome. Good thing that's the whole point of my vocation.

Christmas Ego

As my congregation lurched and fuddled it's way towards another Christmas Eve service, things felt...well...more complicated than usual. Since I've been at my tiny kirk, our services have been held jointly with the Korean congregation with which we share space. Many years, it's been a great sprawling buffet of a worship, crammed to bustin' with skits and songs and music, all cobbled together at what seems like the last minute. The message I'd deliver would be prepared and delivered jointly with my Korean counterpart, blended and woven together over several sessions of mutual study and preparation. It was a joyously sloppy whirlwind event, a hoaah Jackson Pollack celebration of the Christ child.

This year, though, things going in were messier, and not in a good way. The Korean congregation fell into conflict and imploded catastrophically, and is now in the churchy equivalent of receivership. The mostly Korean young adults who now make up the bulk my still-tiny congregation tended to side with the pastor who has now left, and have a tense relationship with those who remain.

And yet...and yet...we were still to have joint service together.

As I worked to prepare for the service with the retired Korean pastor who is now overseeing the remains of our sister congregation, it became evident that the buffet was going to be a bit leaner this year. No Korean choir. No guest musicians. Even the brilliant pianist who incongruously leads music for the remnant of their congregation required some gentle suasion to participate. From our side, no young adult choir. No bell-choir. No dancing Asian-Santa-girls. Just a small pageant skit. I was ready for this.

What I wasn't ready for was not delivering a Christmas message. While we met to plan, it became clear that for a variety of reasons, the retired Korean pastor expected to deliver the message this Christmas Eve. Not jointly. Not in dialogue. Just him.

I struggled mightily with this. This year has been a hugely hard one for the church. If things don't start trending differently, this could be my last Christmas in this ministry. It's also the service to which my extended family comes every year. And I'm not going to be able to take this opportunity to lead worship? My pride snarled and yanked at the chain.

But as my irritation increased, so too did my irritation with my irritation. It was Christmas Eve, dagnabbit. What possible right did I have to be proprietary or egocentric? It seemed...well...a bit self-absorbed. A bit stunted. A bit small.

I took a spiritual deep breath, and got myself over it.

The service itself was smaller, but both lovely and a bit chaotic, as always. The music was beautiful. The kids in the pageant were endearingly cute. And the message was low key, thoughtful, and on the good side of fine.