Won’t You Be My Neighbor?
I am a fairly new pastor, and I live in the same parsonage my bishop lived in when she was a new pastor. It’s located in a small town, on a street where the same people have lived for decades.
This means that as I interviewed, the bishop wasn’t just curious to see if I would be a good fit for this particular parish. She was also crossing her fingers that I would be a good fit for the neighbors.
She was right. The same neighbor—Mary (name changed to protect the innocent!)—that became a dear, dear friend to the future bishop and her husband has also become a dear friend of mine. But thirty years have passed since those days, and now she is not doing so well. Her children and grandchildren take their shifts in caring for her, but occasionally I have been called in for reinforcements. I’ve put drops in her eyes, driven her car into her driveway, figured out her TV remote, talked to her over the backyard fence, and joined her for a nice cup of tea. Her dog even knows the sound of my voice.
I don’t mind being a neighborly backup in times of need. Living without family near, it’s refreshing to know somebody nearby I don’t have to pastor—somebody with whom I don’t have to be on my guard. Not to mention that Mary knows every bit of juicy gossip that has happened on this street for fifty years, which not only comes in handy, but is great fun. She is always ready to get my mail, water my plants and keep an eye on the house when I’m away, and I like to show my gratitude by helping her out when I can.
But sometimes I think being a good neighbor doesn’t come naturally for me. I grew up on a busy street with no sidewalks, where we didn’t really know the neighbors besides perhaps a name on the mailbox and a wave and nod, so I am not used to actively being a neighbor. I’m used to being a homebody. For all I preach and teach about the church being a good neighbor in the community, I am learning a lot about that spiritual practice from living next door to Mary. And I am learning anew how atrocious I am at leaving work behind and going next door for that cup of tea.
About a month ago, Mary called me up to ask if I would come over. She was completely panicked about something and needed someone to help her sort through the situation. Fortunately I was home and went right over. As it turns out, there was a mixup with her anxiety medication that was causing the problem, but it made me wonder where the boundaries are between neighbor and friend and pastor and caregiver stand-in. Sometimes her children ask me to drop in and keep her company. Sometimes it’s apparent I need to butt out. Where is the line?
I can’t help but find it somewhat ironic that pastoral boundaries are the ones that were and continue to be drilled into my head, but neighborly boundaries are the ones that seem to have me completely flummoxed. At least with pastoral boundaries, there is a clear power dynamic that helps me figure out what is appropriate and what’s not. Centers of power are much less clear when you’re a neighbor new to the block. Living in this parsonage and becoming entwined with the neighbor’s family, and all the drama that families have, seem to be part of a package deal.
Most of the time it’s a blessing; don’t get me wrong. But even when it’s not, it’s never boring.
Phoebe, I love the questions you raise. I often find myself wondering about the boundaries in the various roles I hold: priest, mother, wife, daughter, friend, even neighbor. I live outside my church’s neighborhood, but I’ve made friends with an older woman who lives near me. We walk our dogs in the same park. Her husband has recently died, and I find myself drawing on my pastoral experience in my time with her. Yet she doesn’t know what I do for a living. I wonder if I am drawn to pastoral-type relationships? These are good questions. Thanks!