Editor's note: Lindsey Braun first told this story on stage at the Des Moines Storytellers Project: Love in the Modern World event. The Des Moines Storytellers Project is a series of storytelling events in which community members work with Register journalists to tell true, first-person stories live on stage. An edited version appears below.
The cardinal rule for ministry as told to me by my teaching pastor way back on internship is a pithy, alliterative, four-word phrase that I can't actually write in the Des Moines Register.
It starts with “Don’t” and ends with “the flock.” Think "Don't screw the flock," but with a stronger swear in between.
This rule is both very literal — just don’t do it — and metaphorical. Like other care giving professions, good ministerial ethics say to make sure you’re getting your personal needs met elsewhere.
That’s not what the flock is for.
This rule was easy to follow when I lived in Chicago as a student. I had a close circle of friends and a big dating pool.
It got more difficult when I answered the call to serve a rural Iowa parish where everyone, church member or not, knew me as Pastor Lindsey.
Within three weeks of moving there, people were saying: “We’ve got to get you married to a landed farmer so you never leave.”
They hadn’t gotten the memo about me and the flock.
I have this visceral memory of sitting in the back seat of a Buick sedan, surrounded by a cadre of beloved, white-haired church ladies on our way to some neighboring church event.
As we drove by the house that everyone knew belonged to the most eligible bachelor farmer in the community, every lady’s head turned toward it simultaneously. I had to will myself not to say out loud, “Stop thinking so loudly in my direction!”
My congregation’s desire to be all up in my personal life was a mixture of endearing and aggravating, but it definitely didn’t follow the rule. I needed to take matters into my own hands.
So I joined OkCupid.
So you're a minister?
There, I encountered my first dilemma: Should I list my profession or not?
Everyone has religious baggage. And would you send a flirty message to a minister on a dating app?
So, I landed on describing what I do: I write, I sing, I tell stories and teach children and build community. Technically true, but vague.
But I always had to come out and own that I was a pastor eventually.
It was never not awkward, and it usually elicited one of three responses.
First, there was the immediate shut down. It was like I could see the elevator doors closing behind a guy’s eyes — “Pastor?! Nope.” — and I watched myself go from a 3-D human to a 2-D symbol.
I’d race those closing doors, saying something in my mind to the effect of, “Nooooo … if you got to know me, you might like me!”
Second, there was the religion mansplainer: “You’re a pastor? Let me tell you everything I know about every religion ever.”
Delightful.
And finally there was the guy who hadn’t known that progressive theology existed and looked at me like I was some kind of unicorn, there to recover his lost faith.
"Dang," I would think, "I got all cute for a date and, whether he knows it or not, he needs a pastor.”
I was in a bind. I loved my little flock, but I also felt called to partnership.
It was getting harder to bless other peoples’ marriages, to baptize other peoples’ babies, to lay to rest other peoples’ parents after hearing (and then repeating) stories about how their love bloomed in the days when folks met dancing at the Surf Ballroom.
So, after more than five years serving a rural community, when the opportunity to serve in Des Moines presented itself, I jumped.
A metro area literally 1,000 times bigger than my town would mean new opportunities for ministry and a personal life with a big old buffer in between.
A coffee date
Thus a new Bumble profile was born.
It listed my profession as a minister. It’s who I am, it’s what I do, people can deal.
After some swiping and messaging, I had a coffee date set up.
That’s how I found myself sitting across the table from a fella with twinkly eyes who smiled with his whole face on the afternoon of the Women’s March, 2017 edition.
After the obligatory introductions and pleasantries, he said, “So… you’re a minister at Plymouth, right?”
I froze. Alarm bells went off in my head. My profile said that I was a minister, but it didn’t say where. Had this guy been sitting in the pews?? Flock! Was my congregation swiping right for me??? And (I didn’t know if this was better or worse) were they swiping left??
Flock! flock! flock!
He saw my terror and talked me down. He assured me that he wasn’t sitting in the pews. Phew.
But, his mom was kinda active.
I thought, “OK, buddy, let’s just see whether this goes anywhere before we bring your mom into it.”
But it did! It was a great first date. We laughed so hard. He asked good questions. I felt interesting and funny.
And when he saw me glance at my watch because I had to preach later that evening, he asked, “Is this going OK?” It was.
I gave him a hug and my number and hurried off to church.
There in my office, my heart still fluttery, curiosity got the better of me.
He’d mentioned his mom’s name, but out of context and in my fluster, it hadn’t registered. Now I had a quiet moment and the church photo directory.
“I wonder if I recognize his mom…," I thought.
"Flock!”
His mom
Not only did I recognize her, I knew her.
She was the church moderator-elect! For those who don’t know church jargon, that means that she was next in line to be the grand potentate, the top volunteer leadership role in an organization of thousands.
She wasn’t just “kinda active.” She was a big deal and very active. I saw her at least weekly for worship and meetings. I liked her. I respected her. And I knew from conversation with her that in her professional life she was a judge.
And wait … if he knew that I was a minister at Plymouth because of his mom, did she know that I had been on a date with her son?
It was too much! I collected myself as best I could and went downstairs to worship.
But then there she was! At the Saturday night service! Didn’t she usually attend Sunday mornings?
Did she know? Oh my God, she totally knows! I can’t make eye contact!
This is not what I had in mind when I imagined ministry on one side and my personal life on the other with a big old buffer in between!
Flock! Flock! Flock!
But I can count on one hand the number of great first dates I’ve had.
So I had some conversations. With friends to freak out about a great first date. With trusted colleagues to learn about dating within and around a big church. I learned I wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last to date within a degree of separation from the flock.
With him. Did his mom know? Yes … They’d kinda discovered it together when he mentioned that he was going on a Bumble date with a minister and a hunch told her it was me.
Did he understand the bind this could put me in? That while in a public profession, I’m actually a pretty private person and I needed the two to stay as separate as possible for as long as possible while we figured things out?
He understood. So did his mom. She’d be discrete. (She is a judge after all.)
That was the best I could do until I had more information. And that meant another date. Which led to another. And another.
At some point, this meant an awkward conversation with my boss:
"So, this is kinda personal, but I wanted to let you know that I’m dating the moderator-elect’s son," I said. "I thought you should know before I spend any extracurricular time with her and the family. "
His first response was: “Hot damn, Braun! Dating the boss’ son!”
Thankfully, he followed up with: “Seriously though, Lindsey, thanks for telling me, but this isn’t something you need to talk with me about again. You report to me, not to any of the committees she’s on, so all is well.”
Phew.
Falling in love
As time has passed, I relaxed into the reality that is my life.
We kept going on dates. He kept asking me good questions and smiling with his whole face.
We fell in love. We started talking about the future and a little over a year ago we closed on a house. The next night, under the twinkly lights of a Christmas tree he’d set up for the occasion, he asked me to marry him. I said yes.
We’re a few months into marriage now and I couldn’t imagine life without him.
I find myself thinking about this whole saga a lot. Dating is hard. Dating as a woman in a position of authority is not easier. I’m glad my mother-in-law is a judge because she set an extraordinary example for her son.
And I think about God — at least that’s what I call her, you can call her the universe or whatever.
Anyway, I think she’s got a pretty great sense of humor; like I can almost see her shaking her head at me.
Because for so long I worked so hard to keep the parts of my life separate. Acting as though the whole point of ministry was to follow that cardinal rule to the letter when really the point is just to love and be loved (within appropriate ethical boundaries, of course).
I had the boundaries down, but I almost missed the love part.
So, it’s another Saturday night and I’m preaching again.
But this time, I know to expect my mother-in-law, my father-in-law and my occasionally pew-sitting husband because they want to support me and we’re grabbing dinner after.
There’s more overlap in my personal-professional Venn diagram than I ever expected, but it’s OK.
It turns out that I can live the spirit of the rule without martyring myself to the letter.
"Don’t $%&@ the flock"? I won’t. Not ever, never, ever.
But nobody ever said anything about flock adjacent.
ABOUT THE STORYTELLER: The Rev. Lindsey Braun is a minister of the United Church of Christ, serving Plymouth Church in Des Moines. A graduate of the University of Chicago, she has been listening to and sharing stories in churches for 12 years. Lindsey relieves stress by swimming and baking. If you’ve got an opinion on rhubarb, she wants to hear it.
The 2019 Storytellers season
During our fourth season, there will be only one show per evening starting at 7 p.m. Your ticket will include a reserved seat, so no more saving spots or rushing to arrive early.
Tickets, which start at $12, are on sale now at DesMoinesRegister.com/Storytellers; by phone at 1-800-745-3000; or at the Hoyt Sherman Place box office, 1501 Woodland Ave., Des Moines.
The 2019 themes:
- My Great Adventure: Wanderlust, taking a leap and getting away (April 23)
- On Second Thought: Ideas reconsidered and lessons learned (June 18)
- My First Time: The awkward enlightenment of coming of age (Aug. 20)
- True Tall Tales: Stories so bizarre and mysterious they have to be true (Oct. 29)
- Holiday Spectacular: Family, faith and reasons we gather at the end of the year (Dec. 17)
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https://www.desmoinesregister.com/story/news/local/columnists/courtney-crowder/2019/02/25/des-moines-storytellers-project-iowa-pastor-finding-love/2818388002/
2019-02-25 18:54:00Z
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