Holy Man

Recently a pastor friend told me he saw me as a holy man and meant it as a compliment not a joke. The context of his remark was a conversation he had had with someone else who was complaining about some of my ideas. (And certainly some of my ideas are, shall we say, not mainstream.) He said he had told the person, “John is a holy man.” Then he reiterated it to me, “I see you as a holy man. I really mean that.”

His statement set me back on my heals. Me? A holy man? Whoa. What does that mean?

I don’t consciously “pose” as a holy man, but for at least a decade it has been my conscious goal to be a holy man. It seems to me the most important ambition for any clergy person. If I am a holy man, in fact or even merely in the eyes of others, what obligation does this impose? How do I avoid rank hypocrisy?

It is almost comic to think of how deeply conflicted my own faith and spiritual life are. I carry in my own soul the unanswered questions of truck drivers, physicians, scientists, seekers, and agnostics–most of them men. The same people who sit down at 11:00 on Sabbath mornings and look at me expecting to hear something believable about God.

I was called by God. I know that. God is good; the purpose of life is love; making beauty is better than making ugly. On good days, I know that, too, but not much more. Still, I have a job. And since I am called (not merely employed), I somewhat boldly stand and speak for God, flattered by the honor my audience confers by listening, grateful for their support in my calling.

I am carried by the very people who see me as a holy man. My religion and spiritual life are utterly dependent on the church. I preach their Bible (not the Bible of the academy). I do the work they give me. I live on the income they provide. I serve the God they know better than I do.

What do they expect in return? That their holy man speaks well of God. That I voice their faith–both the faith they possess and the faith they aspire to–a faith, that somehow, in spite of my defects, doubts and failures, I embody. What an honor. What a daunting responsibility.

Except for their confidence, it would be a joke. Maybe it really is a joke. A happy one. God using a buffoon for some grand and glorious purpose.