Where Have All the Rabbis Gone? (Part Three)

This summer, I was sad to read that 42% of Protestant clergy polled are actively considering leaving the pulpit in the near future. But I wasn’t entirely surprised. I want to examine with you the sense of gloom that permeates the ether for some of this present generation of pulpiteers, regardless of denomination or faith community.

 But first, I want to share that this religious despair is not universal. My father was a rabbi. He loved his work and was very successful in his professional endeavors. He said to me, “Jon, the teaching and preaching and the writing and taking care of people when they need spiritual guidance—that I would do for free. It’s the other stuff they pay me for.”

I enjoyed my rabbinate and even now miss the opportunities in life it afforded me to meet interesting people and impact the communities and people where I lived. My son is a rabbi in a large and established Washington, DC congregation. He loves his work and is energized every day as he cares for people and creates opportunities for learning and spiritual growth. The Miller rabbinic musketeers were all happy warriors for God and the Jewish people.

So what accounts for today’s gloom among American pulpiteers that forty percent of the teachers, preachers, comforters and prophets want out, especially after so many years of professional training and lump taking? Why does my seminary have the smallest number of people ever hoping to engage in the ranks of spiritual leadership? What might happen to American religion when our best and brightest look elsewhere to devote their intellectual and spiritual talents, when there will not be enough warm bodies and kind souls to take care of us and our spiritual needs when life comes calling?

Every tourist to Europe visits churches and museums, the great monuments to western civilization. Every day of the week, tourists wait in line to enter Chartres, St. Peters Basilica, or Westminster Abby. But Sunday mornings, the churches stand empty. Surveys of American religion seem to indicate that we are following suit. Those who attend religious worship skew older. When church bells summon the faithful, younger people are more often found in the gym than in the pews. Vital congregations do exist, but it is harder today to attract people to come and worship and learn.

Congregational leaders, both lay and clergy, are anxious. Whether a board or a diocese hold the keys to the building, most plan for a decline in membership and funds. In my heyday, we thought big. We went big. People followed us. Today, there is a nervousness as many congregations shrink or merge or just disappear. Where will tomorrow’s funds come from? The clergy might be the captain of the ship. But no great captain wants to stand at the helm of the Titanic as it takes on water.

Different today, our politics define us more than our religious faith or association. This adds an extra layer of caution for those who ascend to the pulpit. My mother would say to me, “Jon, as long as you show up and bury them and take care of them and pray for them and counsel them, you can do what you are called to do and they will support you.” This is no longer true. For the clergy, preaching the word of God or teaching from our sages’ wisdom can be as comfortable as being a football coach with a losing record. A rabbi has to be careful if she talks about caring for the poor or welcoming the stranger or environmental stewardship. Even though our traditions have important things to say about today’s issues, some constituency might challenge the vulnerable pulpiteer for “being political” and make her life miserable. So it is not unwise to steer away from controversy and gravitate towards the safe pablum of religious blandness. Passions can be dangerous in today’s environment. But passions are precisely what drive happy and successful clergy.

 Religious leadership is personally challenging in ways that lay people do not appreciate. The job is hard. (I know many jobs are hard. But that does not diminish the fact that this job is hard.) The deadlines are constant. We have to be inspiring on demand. Keeping up--remembering names and stories and the needs of people is relentless. It is impossible for an engaged and caring rabbi or pastor or priest to turn off or to disengage from the congregation. The rabbi learns this in a hurry, as does her spouse and children.

The pastor leaves his family to do funerals, run out in the middle of dinner, and miss recitals and ball games to take care of other people. We are fulfilled when we are needed. That is for sure. But the downside of being needed is, well, being needed. It takes its toll. We are most occupied when other people are free. And we are free, if we ever are, when most of the world is occupied with concerns that are not our own.

But the most common clergy concern that transcends all denominations and traditions is a sense of loneliness—of differentness—of being an integral part of a community and people’s lives but still living on a different plane. A successful pulpiteer is beloved by his or her congregation. But rabbis and pastors remain apart from the people we serve. Unless surrounded by family or trusting clergy friends, a rabbi or pastor or priest lives differently, cautiously, carefully. Who tends to the spiritual needs of the spiritual leader? Congregational friends need their rabbi to be a rabbi before they need their rabbi to be a friend. Most clergy I know spend social times either working or home alone. It is challenging to live among people we love and at the same time live apart from them.

Forty two percent of Protestant clergy think seriously about getting off the pulpit and doing something else to make a living. Seminaries have fewer students now than ever before. America seems to be turning from religious faith. So to all of my readers, here is my message:

Take care of your rabbis and your pastors and your priests and the people you trust to serve you. Take care of them. Their lives have become far more challenging than they might have anticipated. They can be lonely and isolated even when they are busy and occupied in your lives.  Care for your caregivers so they might care for you. Among the clergy out there, there are good ones, great ones and maybe some who never should have pursued the pulpit in the first place. But they are all special and vulnerable too. Care for your clergy so they might continue to love and care for you.

Where have all the rabbis gone? I don’t know. But when they are gone, believe me—we will for sure miss them. Treat your pastor kindly and treasure your rabbis. You need them and they need you.

Introducing Brookhill, Mississippi

I am usually in a rush and determined to get from point A to point B as quickly as possible. I take the interstates and appreciate President Eisenhower’s vision to connect America without traffic lights. My wife, on the other hand, is enchanted by the blue highways, the off routes that meander through the small towns. I cannot figure out what she finds charming about Dollar General outlets, McDonald’s franchises, and Ace Hardware stores. But love them she does.

In my not yet published novel, one of these towns features prominently as a character in the story. Brookhill, Mississippi does not exist anywhere. But it does exist everywhere far away, off the interstates, away from the major cities. People live in these towns. All these towns look pretty much the same. But every town has its own distinct story, its foundation which reverberates through the generations.

These towns are much like human beings. From far away, we all look pretty similar. But when we really examine people close up, we can see how the smallest differences make us unique. Brookhill, Mississippi is one small town, like a thousand of them that dot the southern landscape. There are beautiful people there. And ugly people too. Put them together and add a foundational story that the townsfolk have mostly forgotten, and Brookhill, Mississippi is as much a character in this crazy story as any of its more human protagonists.

Please enjoy and stay tuned. Backwards and Forwards will appear, again, magically in your inbox in a few weeks. In the meantime, feel free to drop me a note at backwardsforwards.newsletter@gmail.com. If you know people who might appreciate Backwards and Forwards, please forward this to them and tell them to hit the SUBSCRIBE button.

Whether we are going backwards or forwards, none of us is standing still. And successful people can move both forwards and backwards at the same time.

Until next time, shalom,

Jonathan