How to Kill a Conversation with One Simple Question

Don't ask me what I do

Two gala dinners in four days, seated with mostly strangers who inevitably ask me, “What do you do?” At this point in my career, I know my answer is going to bring whatever lively conversation is happening to a halt. The ka-thunk of my answer like a dead weight in the middle of the table, “I pastor a church,” causes stomachs to drop. I want to qualify the answer - don’t worry, it’s part of a progressive denomination and I consider myself, philosophically, a Christian humanist and soteriologically basically a Christian universalist. Or, in layman’s terms, I want to simply say, “I’m a pastor, but not like that.”

The “that” being what most people will assume: homophobic or judgmental or holier-than-thou, sheltered and easily offended and probably cheering for the destruction of our country under the guise of Christian nationalism. I sense that I, and my colleagues, are the sort of Christian pastors that most people hope exist: kind, brave, caring for the poor and marginalized, and making room at an ever-expanding table of welcome. I also know that, for most of my colleagues and myself, our churches are hanging on by a thread or two, as mainline churches across the board struggle to have more than a few dozen people join them at Sunday gatherings.

I get it. I know of at least one former mentor of mine whose last comment (hastily deleted) online to me was, “Some man of God…” after I appeared in a photo with others celebrating Pride in our community. For the devout Christians, I’m too far gone. While I take my faith and calling seriously, they object to where and who that calling has taken me. Decades of saying that you can’t be progressive and Christian, vote Democrat and be a Christian, affirm LGBT people and be a Christian has mostly emptied churches, save for a few faithful from the last century.

If I’m not that kind of pastor, I imagine progressive church-goers also wanting to say they’re not that kind of Christian. But, at some point, I think it’s easier to just not be a Christian than have to explain away the vocal offensives that claim so much attention.

Early in my ministry, I was encouraged to lead my churches in a way that, if they were to ever disappear, the community would lament. I took my own spin on the instruction, encouraging each person in our church to live their faith in a way that the community and neighborhood would miss them when they were gone. As a result, I tend to engage in public-facing community work: speaking at city council meetings on behalf of those who cannot, community-building and organizing, making space for people to serve their neighbors in need.

The question I’m facing is how to create a sustainable community of faith, one that I can continue to say, “we’re not like that.” But fewer and fewer are finding meaning in spaces, like churches, that do the sort of work that I believe deeply in. My biggest fear is that, at some point in the future, I’ll no longer be able to answer the question of “what do you do” with “I’m a pastor, but not like that.”