The Clergy Wife Before Christmas, Once Again

For the first time in many years – almost since we’ve been married – my husband won’t be preaching at Christmas Eve services this evening.  He also won’t be a shepherd in any children’s pageant.  (In a funny accompaniment, he found that his daily horoscope says:  “Celebrate, but make it a point to get to bed early.”) Tomorrow morning he will preside at a service in Concord, this time as a bishop of course, so things will get back to a new kind of normal then. But in honor of this particular small but noteworthy change in our schedule, I offer up an essay I wrote some years ago for the “First Person” column of the Daily Hampshire Gazette.  Indeed, this was the piece that first got me thinking that I might continue keeping track of my experience as a clergy spouse by writing in a journal and seeing where it would take me. 

Happy Holidays to all! 

At certain seasons of the year –Christmas and Easter to be precise – a clergy spouse has to accept that church can have a  swallowing up quality to it.  There are, of course, more services, and what’s a service without a good sermon?  Think, write, deliver; think, write, deliver.   And then, in addition to the bazaars and the pageants and the meetings, there is also all the “regular” stuff that keeps happening – like people in crisis, sickness, even death.  These things don’t stop at this season: indeed, they even seem to intensify.  Any way you look at it, there is a lot to handle.  The whole process is something like a piece of music gathering speed and force until the cymbals finish it off — and the conductor can collapse in exhaustion.   The conductor in my house is now gearing up for these next couple of intense weeks in the church calendar, and the conductor’s wife is trying to figure out how best to support him through it. Or at least not get in the way.

When I married Rob 14 years ago, I had little idea what I was getting into,  He had recently returned to divinity school after a stint as a banker.  Having helped his sister through a heart transplant and thereby looking death straight in the eye before appreciating a kind of miracle, he was ready for this path.  I, on the other hand, knew virtually nothing about the religious life because I had grown up in a completely non-churchgoing family.  But it didn’t feel like we were non-anything, really.   My brothers and I had very full lives centered around friends, animals, sports, books, and music.  We just didn’t go down to Main Street for church as many of our friends did.   Once in a while I attended Quaker meeting with my grandmother and liked that peaceful experience, but Sunday mornings were generally more for being outside or reading.  We never felt that we were missing anything, that we had a spiritual void.

When I first told my mother that I’d decided to marry Rob, who was preparing to become an Episcopal priest, she blurted out, “But Polly, we’re Methodists!”  We both had a good laugh at that, because we knew that the stern (ours were) Methodists on both sides of my family had gone the way of all flesh and we were no more Methodist than we were Pilgrims.  My great-great-grandfather had even been a bishop, but something must have gotten lost along the way.  Before marrying Rob, though, I did have to meet with his bishop – to pass inspection?  This was a nerve-wracking experience for Rob, but I didn’t hesitate to go behind the big desk in the office to check out his pictures of Africa.

In the beginning (wait – can I say that?) Rob and I had some very serious talks, which mostly consisted of me asking him to explain his  beliefs.  This took some doing, as I’d barely even heard the word “theology” before.  I remember once when I came back to our first apartment in New Haven and saw Rob sitting in his desk chair, looking up at the ceiling.  When I asked what he was doing, he said, “Waiting for the Eschaton.”  Talk about a communication gap.  Not surprisingly, we had our difficulties.  When he told me that he believed God was responsible for our finding each other and falling in love, I took offense.  And, likewise, when he detected a whiff of  “How can you possibly think that?” in my voice, he bristled.  Although it might have been helpful to both of us in some ways, I could not just “convert” because I’d married into the church.  As one of my brothers had said, you can’t take on a religion the way you put on a coat.  Fortunately, we had other things going for us.  I’ll be the first to say that my husband showed great magnanimity towards my strange ways.  For instance, when he returned home after a very long and somber day of Good Friday services and heard me blaring Springsteen’s “Thunder Road,”  he grimaced but bore it.  In those days I just had no idea.  Now I would at least have the sense to put on Diana Krall or something more mellow.

Once we had children old enough to partake in church activities, I started going more often.  When we lived in Connecticut, I would drop off the older two and then go for walks with the baby and the dog – bringing me back, in a way, to my childhood.  Now two of them are often acolytes  — and I actually know what that means —  and the youngest is an eager participant in any theatrical performances (“Mom, I’m so glad that I’m a serpent and not a bug this time!”).  I am more and more proud to hear my husband preach because I know the kind of effort he puts into his work.  And I also know from others that his words stimulate them in all kinds of ways.  He serves people of all ages, he sees the “big picture” of joys as well as sorrows, he strives to make his church a spiritual center for the community, and he is always on call.

 So, for this clergy wife anyway, pre-Christmas resolutions are more important than New Year’s ones.  Here goes:   1) I resolve NOT to feel lonely when I’m still wrapping after the kids go to bed on Christmas Eve and instead think about all those glowing faces –many there for the first time – drinking in the spirit of the season.   2) I resolve that we will appreciate a simple Christmas Day together at home. Last year, after everything was unwrapped, Rob contentedly played a new card game with our oldest son by the fire for a long time.  That was all he needed.  3) I resolve to let him know more often how much I admire what he does, even if I’m still trying to figure out a few things about it myself.