Between the Table & the Dumpster

The Beauty & Mess of the Diaconal Vocation

My wife and are I deacons in the Diocese of Saint Anthony (in the CEEC) and are very humbled to serve as pastors at All Souls Church in Knoxville, Tennessee. Our congregation, whom we love, are a very ecumenical bunch and welcome people from many ecclesial backgrounds. So, when we began wearing clerical collars people didn’t make a big deal about it, but there were perhaps a few raised eyebrows. One of the things that we wanted to make clear is that the collars were not a sign of power over. Rather, they served as signs and symbols that as deacons we were servants (the very definition of the word) of the church and the community.

Our church is at a unique place in the city and at that place in a unique time in our city. There is a baseball stadium being built very close to the church and so businesses have been buying everything up in preparation for the build. But our part of the city, as I see it, is a convergence of a very large unhoused population, but also of university professors in beautifully renovated Victorian homes, and hipsters who enjoy the wonderful local pubs and cafés all around us. All of this to say there’s a cool vibe in our little corner of the city, but it’s pretty messy too. Our property is incredibly located, but also frequently littered with used needles. Worse, sometimes people defecate on our property. (Our service is at 5pm every Sunday in case that last sentence enticed you enough to try us out).

Today I saw a police cruiser on our property and went over to introduce myself and make sure everything was okay. He was just parked there eating lunch. We chatted for a minute and then I made my way back to the building. As I walked back I noticed that our dumpster was opened and then spotted, again, the human waste behind it. Ugh. The truth is, I don’t have to clean this up all that often, but even once is too many times. Anyway, this always seems to happen on a Wednesday which also happens to be the only day during the week I wear the collar since we administer the Eucharist on Wednesdays. Nobody likes picking up human waste. It’s kind of the worst. But as I go and find some latex gloves and a bag, it is a reminder of my vocational calling. I am picking up the human waste of someone who is undoubtedly dirty and probably at least half out of their mind, but who is also a named person who is also somebody’s child who has gotten to the point in their life where they go to the bathroom behind a dumpster at a church. It’s devastating if you think about it for more than one second.

Anyway, after this, I wash my hands a million times, sanitize them a few more times, and then begin the liturgy and administer the Eucharist to those who come bearing burdens of their own and of others too. And this, I think, is kind of what it means to wear the collar and to be a deacon. I should say that not every deacon becomes a priest, but should you go on to become a priest you don’t actually stop being a deacon. Although your vocation has changed in a sense, you continue to carry that diaconal vocation in your bones which also means that you don’t get to step away from the crap and stop serving. The vocation, then, is to live somewhere between serving behind the Table and serving behind the dumpster. The collar, on days when I’m not being a self-righteous prig at least, reminds me that this is a strange privilege of sorts. You’ll probably have to remind me of this next week, though. Go easy.