Selling your soul, a dime a day
A while back I heard of an article written by a lawyer describing the long series of imperceptible compromises by which lawyers could sell their soul a nickel at a time. A once fine, upstanding barrister of promise is slowly shrivelled to a convict in handcuffs with eyes averted to the courtroom floor.
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What are the tiny compromises by which a logger, nurse, mechanic, or masseuse gradually abandons their integrity? With the help of Terry Hiebert and Terry Kaufman, professors here at SBC, I offer such a list for pastors because that’s what I know best. What list would you think of for your work?
Someone comes by your office, and you grab papers to make it look as though you were “doing something.” You were praying.
You quickly shut off the website when someone comes in the door. It was only the news, but still, you felt it best to change the site.
You make a comment in a sermon slyly designed to score a point in an argument with a parishioner.
An attractive parishioner of the opposite gender gets a slightly more attentive “you” when you answer the phone.
You decide not to tell your spouse about an email from a parishioner of the opposite gender. You never do anyway, but this time you choose not to.
It’s annoying that you didn’t get credit for the community garbage clean-up campaign. You were the one who suggested it at the area ministerial.
At Jerry’s funeral you subtly allow it to become known that you came back from vacation to do this. Its true, you did come back from vacation for this.
You forego your day off, again. You enjoyed the comments from that couple who drove past the church last Monday and saw your car there.
It happens. You first hear yourself talking about “my” elders or “my” volunteers.
You don’t necessarily track and claim all your “honorariums” on your income tax form.
You spent as much time watching YouTube clips and arranging your sermon slides as studying atonement in Jeremiah.
You skim-read the scripture for the sermon because it’s a familiar one. More time to read the commentary by Barth.
Some church supplies end up at home. You never hand in all your expenses anyway, so it evens out.
George and Edna get good pastoral care because, without their financial backing, the church couldn’t afford the new building.
You tell your team to follow the time limits in the worship service, but for your sermon, you are more flexible.
You do something that’s not you, but you want to be that kind of person. You drink beer because you want to be that hip, edgy pastor who is “real.” You hate the taste of beer.
No one notices that the structure of moral conviction is slowly hollowing out until one morning there’s a story in the paper and quiet tears in the bedroom. When these choices make a train, they make a wreck.
This Lent lets find forgiveness for sins that in themselves don’t amount to sin but strung together make the sinner.
