Pastoring and proctology

Pastors and proctologists have a lot in common. Kids don’t particularly grow up daydreaming of our career fields. We both talk to people about things they don’t discuss in casual conversation. Both fields put up with plenty of...well, you know.

It’s awkward being in a “business” that everyone needs, whether they want to admit it or not. People freely speak about the person who sold them a new car. No one talks about the contractor who built their new home in hushed tones. Words about the kid’s preschool teacher happen without a wince. But somehow, our trades aren’t things you mention in mixed company.

I suppose the root of the problem is that we both dig into things that people prefer to keep hidden. (Unlike my medical counterpart, I do this metaphorically.) No one wants to admit their life is beyond their own rescue. No one wants to confess flaws and failures. No one wants to accept that self-addiction is at the root of their problems. But when healing comes, everyone sits much easier.

Conventional wisdom says start a business that everyone wants. (Something that mixes hi-tech gadgets, American football, and Tex-Mex food should cover most of the bases.) But pastors and proctologists recognize that just because someone doesn’t crave your wares doesn’t mean your job is beneath other careers. “Wants” tend to drive many business models, but some of us have to be in the “needs” business. At some point, everyone will face a need for God in their lives. And when they do, we pastors will be behind them all the way.

In hindsight, pastors and proctologists know they chose the right path. Coveted roles or not, we go where we are needed when the time comes. For us, it’s about looking for the right opening.

Used People

The approach you take to buying something new is far different than buying something used. The premium price of “new” commands perfection--no flaws, blemishes, or surprises that disappoint. If it’s a car, even the smell must be right.

The standard for “used” is lower. Simply put, we expect less. We’re not looking for spotless--we’re looking for something we can drive to work. It isn’t fresh from the factory. Perfection is unrealistic, and we shrug away wear and flaws as part of the deal we are getting. Door dings, coffee stains, and intermittent rattles come with “used”. We accept them because the object of our desire has a history. Before we encountered it, someone else stood in the slush of winter and scraped its windows. We overlook the incidental mars and mangles and appreciate the item for its intended purpose, because no one expects perfection after use. After all, “used” means something has been used. “Used” comes with a willingness to forgive.

Instead of the perfection expectation that comes with “new”, I’m thinking life might be easier if we treat everyone we meet as “used”. Everyone has a history. We’ve all been through a few fender benders. The paint gets chipped and the upholstery stains. Each of us has been on the road long enough to get us where we are, and--self-delusions and best intentions aside--we aren’t perfect. I’m not saying we don’t hope for change and improvement. I’m saying we cut each other some slack in the judgement noose.

The expectation of “new” rivets our attention to our standards: “Does this person meet my checklist?” The “used” posture focuses more on the relationship: “I know neither one of us is perfect, but how can we make this work?” Whether it’s the guy behind the register or the gal you might put a ring on, they’re used. Value the relationship, not the new car smell. After all, what is between people matters more than what is behind them.