The Expatriate Minister

My conference was breaking for lunch today, and I pulled my iPhone out (the laptop I’d been tweeting on died) to post a Twitter update when this tweet appeared:

I was shocked, numb. I had been concerned about Gideon Addington since Sunday when Meredith started wondering where usually active @gideony was. At first we were joking about him rescuing animals or going on a date, but it soon turned serious. On Tuesday, the hunt was on for a phone number. And now this. A little digging around with a new conference friend from Tulsa revealed his work phone number, and a brief conversation that revealed little with the receptionist there. I doubt she really wanted to share much with an ‘internet friend’ of a co-worker. I can’t blame her.

And then the outpouring of grief, hope, pain, and love began. A similar process was already happenening on Facebook, and on blogs. And talk of some way to remember Gideon before God cropped up, of course. The Urban Abbey has been tweeting evening prayer through a team of folks (that Gideon had been approached just last Thursday about joining). And we found tonight at 7:3o some words that gave voice to the grief, hope, pain, and love.

It’s hard to find the right words for a funeral as a pastor. It’s harder still when it’s someone you know. And a poem I read in my first year in pastoral ministry came to my mind. It was helpful for me to remember tonight, and for all of you who minister — in robes and stole and collar…or as friends, family, church members, co-workers, and fellow pray-ers — I hope you say the words that need to be said, and make them obey, even if they aren’t good enough or you don’t like them.

“The Minister”

We’re going to need the minister
to help this heavy body into the ground.

But he won’t dig the hole;
others who are stronger and weaker will have to do that.
And he won’t wipe his nose and his eyes;
others who are weaker and stronger will have to do that.
And he won’t bake cakes or take care of the kids—
women’s work.  Anyway,
what would they do at a time like this
if they didn’t do that?

No, we’ll get the minister to come
and take care of the words.

He doesn’t have to make them up,
he doesn’t have to say them well,
he doesn’t have to like them
so long as they agree to obey him.
We have to have the minister
so the words will know where to go.

Imagine them circling and circling
the confusing cemetery.
Imagine them roving the earth
without anywhere to rest.

Anne Stevenson, The Collected Poems 1955-1995.  Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 1996.  p 62.

Social media and online relationships have limits–clearly, none of us knew the depths of Gideon’s despair. But we wouldn’t have known him at all, so many of us, without Twitter, Facebook, blogging, Skype, and the rest. The sentiments shared this evening gave voice to the deep relationships which we all shared with Gideon…and now share with each other.

One last thing: I believe Friday is a tworship day for a service of resurrection and remembering, and there’ll be more opportunities on 12/26…join us.