After eleven months, four seasons of prayer and one walkout over the hymnal question, the search committee has finalized its job description.
The ideal candidate will preach like Elijah, visit like a hospice nurse and answer texts like a teenager. He or she should hold an MDiv, a counseling certificate and working knowledge of the church’s 1987 sound system, which only Brother Dale understands and Brother Dale is not available.
The salary is modest because the reward is eternal. The parsonage is charming, by which we mean it has character, by which we mean the basement floods.
The candidate’s spouse should be employed, ideally somewhere with good insurance, and should also lead the children’s division, play the piano and never voice an opinion in a board meeting. The children should be polite, well dressed, present every week and mildly impressive, but not so impressive that other parents feel bad.
Candidates must be willing to relocate on short notice, then stay forever, then leave graciously when the conference moves them.
Applicants who mention boundaries, days off or “my family’s needs” will be prayed for.
To be fair, most committees are made of tired volunteers who love their church and want someone to love it too. The best ones end up hiring a human being, and then letting that human being have a Sabbath of their own.
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