Our visit to Elm Grove, the Milwaukee suburb, was so lovely. Two-year-old Gabriel stayed with my parents, and we brought five-week-old Phoebe with us for the interview. Simon was a finalist for the open Associate Pastor role at Almost Church, and this visit was a huge deal. It represented the potential end of our drought. We’d had a weekend visit to a Maryland church two weeks prior (yes, with our three-week-old), but we were especially excited about this one. Simon had been without full-time ministry work for two years, and he was faithfully waiting tables in between applications to church after church after church. The pastoral search process tried our faith in each other, in his calling to ministry, and in the supposed goodness of God.
Applying for pastoral positions takes forever. Search committees are comprised of volunteers who have outside jobs and responsibilities, and that limits how often they meet to discuss applicants. Candidates submit a lengthy application with many essay questions. Sometimes there is no acknowledgment, no rejection, just nothingness. But if there is an eventual response, weeks or months later, it’s a request for a phone call with the head of the selection committee, or occasionally the senior pastor. More weeks or months transpire after that call. Again, sometimes nothing happens after that. (It got to the point that rejections were somewhat refreshing because at least you remembered that he exists). But if the process continues, next it’s a Skype interview with the full selection committee – if you make it to this point, you are a serious candidate and competing with less than 10 people, maybe less than five. Sometimes the committee will have requested a preaching sample in advance of this interview and will want to discuss your performance. There will definitely be questions about ministry philosophy, doctrinal alignment, church ethos, previous work experience, resume gaps, and God’s calling.
I wasn’t the person submitting the applications. It wasn’t my name on pastoral candidate lists. It wasn’t my worthiness that was debated at search committee meetings. But I had a front row seat to Simon’s process, I found his rejections devastating, and I felt completely helpless to support my love during this torturous endeavor. I was also hyperaware that my life and reality was completely wrapped up in whatever the outcome of this circus would be. At first, I was filled with anticipation every single time Simon applied to a church — I would research the town, the school district, the housing market, the distance from St. Louis. I imagined our family being beach people, mountain people, blizzard people, island people, New England people, Pacific Northwest people, Heartland people, Gulf Coast people. I put my heart on the line readily.
But after a hot minute, I had to change my strategy. Simon would tell me he applied for a job, I would shrug. So you ate breakfast today, so what. It became inconsequential. If a phone call happened, I would be vaguely interested. Ok, you have my attention, but not my excitement. If a Skype interview was scheduled, then I would internally struggle against my nature to start researching all the things – where is this place, is there a Target and an airport, do I even like the church… I always love dreaming and learning about what could be, but I knew that if a Skype interview went nowhere, I would be upset for foolishly investing myself yet again. But if the Skype interview did go well? And then there was an invitation to visit the church for a weekend interview? That was the green light for party time.
So here we were on a pastoral interview weekend – the promised land, and our second trip to the promised land in a month. Between two great possibilities, surely the milk and honey would flow soon.
We spent a lot of time with the Evans family that weekend in Milwaukee. Josh was gentle with a side of Tennessee charm. He made some joke about how Satan lived in their basement, and it was hilarious in a Presbyterian-insider way. His wife Bekah was so down-to-earth and friendly. She had four rambunctious little kids, and I pictured how Gabe and Phoebe would grow up having sleepovers with them. We found out we shared mutual friends with Josh and Bekah, and we bonded over our St. Louis connection, it being our hometown and their grad school pitstop.
Simon met with the session, the team of people (men) who governed the church. They loved him; he was happier than I’d seen him in ages. We had lunch with the Evans, a BBQ night with the whole church staff and their families, a dinner party with the hiring committee, and worship on Sunday morning. We were busy, and I took my leaky postpartum body and newborn all over the place, tired but excited that this might be it. The end of the yellow brick road. Security, answers, purpose, place. Simon and I drove out of Wisconsin that Sunday afternoon in an intoxicating haze of hope.
We thought it was in the bag. Josh had told Simon with a huge grin that he’d hear from him on Tuesday with a final decision.
Josh did call — this was it! — but I gradually surmised from Simon’s end of a too-long conversation that Josh was calling to inform Simon that he hadn’t had a chance to meet with the session as planned to discuss Simon’s candidacy. Someone in the congregation died, Josh went to General Assembly — things were hectic, so no decision had been made. We were disappointed but understanding. That was June 2nd. Josh said he wouldn’t be able to give Simon an answer until June 19th. I hated that that was almost three weeks away — how much more time did they need to debate our worth, our future? — but I circled it on the calendar and in my heart.
Josh texted somewhere in the interim. They had more questions for Simon. The men who decide all the things wanted him to answer some questions in writing. He did. Another week, another week.
Josh Evans finally called on June 19th at the very end of his Friday work day, only after Simon texted him (did he forget it was the most important day ever?) — and told Simon they still weren’t sure. Had to mull it over some more. They wanted to entertain a new candidate, someone who had an existing relationship with the church. Simon was the sole remaining candidate when we visited, but after dangling the job offer, they wanted to kick around this late-to-the-party candidate. Simon’s initial application, the extensive preliminary phone call, the follow up Skype interview, the weekend trip on their dime that was itself a nonstop 48hr interview, the additional documents requested and supplied — that wasn’t enough. They just needed more time to decide if he (we?) were the right fit.
I started falling apart emotionally after that June 19th phone call. Those assholes! TWICE they told us we’d be getting the answer on Day X and twice that has not happened. Don’t they know how painful the last two years have been? Don’t they know how agonizing this month has been? Don’t they know my husband has been looking at his phone ALL DAY? Can I TRUST this elder board? I don’t know! They keep jerking us around! They don’t do what they say they will do! Why do they need more time? I screamed so I wouldn’t cry.
Photo credits in order:
- Photo by Andrew Neel on Unsplash
- Photo by Arwin Neil Baichoo on Unsplash
- Photo by A. L. on Unsplash
- Photo by Gabriel Crismariu on Unsplash
NOTE: Names, city, and state in this piece have been fictionalized.
