Prairie Pastoral

I’ve realized a lot about myself as a leader since last March. You know what I figured out just last week?  I probably knew it but I never really put it into words? I hate being an enforcer. I can do it, but I hate it.  

“No, no, you have to wear a mask when you come in on Sunday. No, you really have to wear a mask. No, it actually has to go over your nose. That’s the whole point. Really.”  

I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. Did I mention that I hate it?

I said as much last week in my Sunday message, as I made a larger point about how hardship can–not every time, but many times–shape us closer into the image of God.

As I repeated, “I hate it,” for the fourth or fifth time, I began to see knowing looks, heads nodding slightly, in the congregation. Ah, I thought, those are the other enforcers out there. They hate it, too.

We’re doing the work–however imperfectly–to lead through a pandemic.

None of us are enjoying this. None of us.  

So, here’s to the enforcers–to the principals, the supervisors, the coaches, the teachers, the pastors, the administrators, the flight attendants, and everybody else whose job descriptions include looking out for other folks. You’re exhausted, too, and we know it.

Thank you, enforcers, for the hours spent pouring over public health orders, crafting safety plans, revising safety plans, communicating the new and newly revised safety plans, and then making those safety plans happen in the face of constant suspicion (at best) and outright hostility (at worst).

Thank you, enforcers, for keeping us safe.