This is a question I often get asked when I meet someone for the first time. "Do people call you 'Pastor Ruth?' or 'Reverend Ruth?' Or just 'Ruth?'"
My answer, invariably, is, "Whichever they're most comfortable with." Those titles carry different referents for different people. (One man calls me 'Padre,' which always makes me smile. One homeless friend calls me 'Preacher.')
In my church tradition, 'Reverend' indicates that I've completed a certain set of requirements (education, theological understanding, supervision, vetting for character and for emotional health), and have been recognized by a local congregation as being 'set apart' for a life of work in, for, and on behalf of the greater Church that Jesus established: that, within the body of believers in Christ, I have a particular role to play. Not a greater one than anyone else, just a specific one. That title, when it's bestowed by a recognized denomination, is accepted by the Provincial government as qualification to perform weddings, and to endorse certain documents and applications. It's an objectively, formally constituted, professional designation.
The title 'Pastor' indicates the milieu in which I do that work: representing, leading, teaching, caring for a gathered group of people with a chosen identity who choose to trust me with things they value. My church meets in and works out of an historic church building; others make use of a high school gym, a community centre, a store front, or someone's house. In my denomination, we have more than a few 'lay pastors' who are men and women who have been entrusted with that work, but without the formal process of being ordained a 'Reverend.' 'Pastor' is, in that respect, a less official, more relational but deeply meaningful description.
You can be a Reverend, or a Pastor, or both.
The ordination piece is a lot of work, but I'm grateful for what it's given me. It doesn't make a huge difference on paper, but taking the time for that journey has given me a foundation that I'm glad I have.
That said, people seldom call me 'Reverend.' Most often it's simply my name, or 'Pastor.'
Which sits in my heart differently on different days, depending on my state of mind and who I'm talking to.
Some days, I love it when people call me 'Pastor.' I embrace it as an acknowledgement of who I am, what I've been called to my whole life. I've always run toward people who needed me. I've always been "other-centred." I've always tried to follow in the footsteps of the Great Shepherd and imitate Him. I've always tried to speak truth. I haven't always been given the opportunity to do that--to be me--in the Church and now that I've been given that freedom, I celebrate that. When people call me 'Pastor,' I feel like they actually see me. Some days, it makes me smile.
Some days and in certain company, I get very uncomfortable. Problem is, I used to know a man who gave himself that title. He took it for himself. Nobody gave it to him, certainly not the people who were subject to his whims. People like him have, for many (maybe for you and if so, I'm so sorry!) poisoned the title 'Pastor.' They've used it as an instrument of power and manipulation and self-interest. When I remember that man, I lament my title, wishing there were an alternative. But then I shake my head, square up, and continue my determination to redeem the word in the minds of people I meet who have been wounded. Some days, being called 'Pastor' makes me frown.
Some days, it melts my heart. Just before Christmas this year, my congregation gave me a gift: a love offering. A collection of individual financial donations. I was handed a small giftbag that contained a whole bunch of envelopes, all sealed, many with 'for Pastor Ruth' written on the outside. When I got home from church that day, I sat down at the dining room table, and opened them one by one. The cash and giftcards in the envelopes are very much appreciated, but what undid me just a bit was the thought that each of these envelopes was filled by someone who was thinking of me. They had my face in mind when they took a little something out of their wallet, tucked it in the envelope, sealed it, and handed it to one of the Deacons. For me, because I'm their Pastor. Days later, it still opens up a warm space in my mind. Just like when I hear one of my homeless friends say to another, "She's a pastor. You can talk to her. You can trust her." Among people who have been let down, betrayed, wounded, displaced, in and out of hospital, in and out of jail... That's an amazing endorsement. And an awesome responsibility. To live up to what people see in me. I know I'm not the only person of whom they can truthfully say, "you can trust this person..." But some days, being called 'Pastor' makes me want to weep with gratitude for acceptance in spite of my own imperfection.
Because I am. Just ask my family. Ask my church. I'm imperfect. Over the past year (my first at this church and in this community) I've made mistakes. Last Sunday as I led worship, I completely forgot to sing one of the carols. Which doesn't sound like much unless you're on the tech team, sitting there in the sound booth with a bunch of PowerPoint slides all organized and in order, and now you're scrambling to figure out where the heck the Pastor just went. Hopefully, next year certain people won't find O Come All Ye Faithful triggering.
I messed that up. I'll mess up again. Probably in new and inventive ways :-)
But I love this work. I love this job and these people.
It's a tremendous gift to have spent 2024 doing work that comes naturally to me, and receiving support and encouragement from the people I serve. We've grieved the loss of people we love. We've feared for others. We've made decisions together. We've spent money on the dishwasher together. We've been excited to see the beginnings of new opportunities. We've laughed and celebrated. We've started getting to know each other (An aside: last week in a sermon about the Magi in Matthew's gospel, I made a passing reference to '@therealherodjherod (verified account).' IYKYK. I don't know how many people got the reference, but one person told me after the service that they'd spent a few minutes trying not to giggle. Moments like that... you know you're at home).
We've started to build the 'trust equity' that will enable us to stay unified through whatever adventures God has for us. Through whatever we need to forgive each other for. And that, I think--I hope--is true both of my official congregation and my unofficial one.
So what do people call me?
In the end what matters isn't what people call me for better or for worse. Some people who read this blog call me things I would never call them 'cause my mama raised me to be polite.
What matters to me is what God calls me. And my prayer for 2025, as it has been for 2024, is "Please make me a good Pastor. Please make me a good me."
In the end, what I want to be called is "good and faithful."
Happy New Year. Go be a good you.
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