Epiphany VIII: Silence of the lambs

Good Tuesday morning, good citizens of The Epiphany Season. It's one of those cold mornings in January on the Delmarva Peninsula. The high today is predicted to be 31 degrees. Life is good, just cold. Well, outside.

No, actually, that's not true. There's a coldness in my heart this morning that is disturbing to me. I need to say something to someone that will be difficult to do. The question is do I really need to say it or are some things really better left unsaid?

Is it better to "clear the air" or to walk away for a while and check in on the air quality later?

Is it really that important an issue or is it just a big deal right now? And, if it's a big deal right now, what is it in my life right now that is making it so? Or, is it just the accumulation of small, paper-cut grievances that makes it so annoying right this very red hot second?

David Siegenthaler was one of my professors and mentors at EDS (Episcopal Divinity School). He was one of the sweetest men in the universe, quirky and nerdy and occasionally hilariously funny, but always warm and loving and kind. He also had a rapier wit which, when combined with his occasionally biting sarcasm, made for a devastating combination.

It all combined to make him an unforgettable character.

It was David who gave me the best GOE advice: While you're showing them how much you know, don't forget to answer the question. See what I mean?

David also gave me some important guidance in pastoral leadership - something I didn't know I needed to know. Two things, actually.

First, he said that I was always to remember and never to forget that I was not the hero some proclaimed me to be; neither was I the villain some were certain that I was. And, to never, ever believe my own press releases.

Even more importantly, he said that there will always be someone in the church who will write you a letter that contains things about you that are simply not true; accusations will be made that have nothing to do with either reality or truth.

And, he said, you will want to answer that letter and defend yourself. And, you should. Just write out the letter, finish it, and then, tuck it in your drawer and leave it there for three days. And then, after three days, take it out and read it. If it's still what you want to say, the way you want to say it, send it. If not, rip it up and consider whether or not you want to respond to it at all; and if so, how.

I didn't always take that advice. When I didn't, I always regretted it. When I did, I was always deeply grateful.

I think I just answered my own question.

Off I go then.

I hope something good happens to you today.

Bom dia.