Last night as we lay in bed, my husband Simon, who is
a student at the college where I am the chaplain, mentioned that a fellow
classmate had asked to “friend” him on Facebook. He asked what I thought he
should do, so we began a conversation about his options and how he might handle
the situation, knowing that there wasn’t really a perfect answer.
“There are consequences if I choose not to friend her,
if I choose to friend her while locking her out of all the personal portions of
my page, or if I choose to leave it all wide open,” he said. “And I’m pretty
sure I don’t want her to see the pictures from the last time we went clubbing or the ones of me in the wedding dress at my stag do.”
Three years ago we never would have had these conversations,
but now that I am clergy, these conversations are a constant. We both must
filter what we share with the people around us based on context, their
confidentiality, and what we want the world to know about The Chaplain.
We all filter the pieces of ourselves that
we share with others. Often unconsciously we build up certain parts of the
story and censor others so that what we have to share will flow easily into our
listener’s mind, mingling with what they already know about us. Sometimes we
choose to filter in order to avoid difficult conversations and truths. And
sometimes we filter because we must, because jobs or relationships demand that
our story fractures, so that some pieces may remain carefully reserved for
telling in special circumstances only. As ministers this is a reality of what
we do. Sometimes it is the work that allows us to minister in our context and
to our people.
So when I think about my relationship
with “the ones I love,” especially my husband, these are things that come to mind.
Simon is the person who keeps me in check. He is the one who knows all of the
truths about me, the things I share in my public persona, and, more importantly,
the things that I don’t. It is in that knowledge and understanding that I see
God’s love and omnipresence most often reflected back to me.
It’s Simon who reminds me daily of who I
am when I have forgotten and provides the space where I can be my integrated
self. He watched me grow through divinity school, has traveled with me from the UK to the USA, and together we have moved and grown in
ways we never expected. Our relationship is sacred because of the covenant we
made together before God and because of the ways in which God connects us and
connects through us. And without Simon around, this work would make me
I suspect that there are some things that
Simon doesn’t yet know, some truths and treasures yet to be excavated by our
relationship, but I thank God daily for all he does know. For I am comforted by
the knowledge that when I walk through our front door, I may leave my public
persona in the dust and spend a few precious hours just being me.