Can't Please Everybody

 It was time to play the pastor card.

For the nearly three years that I have served this little church, I don't think I've played the pastor card once. I've encouraged. I've strongly suggested. I might have cajoled. But until now, I have not once rolled out an edict and said, "That's it."

Until now.

Predictably, not everyone was happy about it. 

Fair enough. I had not been at all happy about resuming in-person worship in June. True, we seldom had enough worshipers for distancing to be an issue. And no one minded that I insisted on wearing a face mask and staying on the chancel, well removed from others, the whole time. And I had been irritated with myself for giving in to emotional blackmail. 

But I wasn't giving in this time. 

For two months in a row (maybe three), I had posted in my monthly report that I intended to make mask-wearing mandatory for the Christmas Eve service. Fully half our faithful and loyal members were staying away because the other half refused to wear masks while meeting for worship. The council chairman had polled the usual attenders, and all had said that they would still attend if masks were required -- but the church administrator, who is dismissive of the virus, continued to communicate that masks were not mandatory.

And reiterated the point in an email exchange with the council president. For some reason, that was the last straw. I typed out what I thought was a restrained email.

"I cannot in good conscience," I wrote, "preach the coming of the Christ into the world, the one who taught us to love our neighbor, and deny the joy of fellowship and worship to half of our most devoted members because not everyone is willing to wear a mask for an hour." No one likes wearing a mask, I said, but it is a simple and practical way for us to show our love of neighbor.

A day or two later, the church treasurer called to sound me out on the issue. I explained my reasoning. The administrator was furious, I heard. I waited to see if she would communicate directly with me. Nothing. On Sunday morning, I waited with some trepidation for her to enter the church. She came in, and we exchanged greetings as though nothing had happened.

There would be, apparently, no real fallout from my playing of the pastor card. 

In truth, they need my pastoral care more than I need them, if it comes to that. I could have been more insistent a long time ago. But I'm usually flexible. Flexibility is a powerful tool. 

Sometimes, though, it's time to take a stand.

I wish I could say I thought it would change behaviors, soften hearts. I wish I believed that those who pooh-pooh the virus would decide that wearing a mask is a simple way to love their neighbors. It won't. And that is a grievous thing.