dual relationships

Sitting at Green Lake Bar and Grill over Sunday Brunch, I talked with one of my friends about how strange it is that many of my relationships are gaining a new layer as I am taking on the role of pastor. True, my two closest friends who are a part of the church have already told me that I am pastor to them whether or not I am leading the church community they currently belong to – still, there is something new being born. I told her that one person is going to be my roommate, a member of my trinity of best friends, and a member of my church. “Woah, woah, woah! Way too many dual relationships there,” my alarmed friend frantically and authoritatively cautioned me, “You need to figure out a way to make that less of a dual relationship.” She proceeded to tell me that this is a dangerous relationship – that it is not nearly as safe as a counseling relationship. Isn’t this the goal though? Isn’t life much more dangerous than an hour in the office of your counselor? Isn’t a truly reciprocal relationship much more scary, often harmful, and always redemptive than one where one person is clearly set aside solely for the care of another?

Yet, there is another layer here. When you are pastor, it is one – very difficult – thing to not only care but be cared for in your suffering, sin, woundedness etc. It is another – from my vantage point – to be cared for in your suffering and woundedness for the people who call you pastor. How did Peter look into Jesus’ eyes? How did Peter receive his pain? How can Peter care for Jesus’ woundedness or even hear of it without being shamed for having hurt the one who care for and loved him – who guides him in his spiritual growth.

And it is the dual relationship that saves Jesus. Peter cannot not know that he has hurt Jesus. He cannot not know Jesus’ wounds. Peter cannot not know that Jesus has seen him, deeply, fully, and in all aspects of life – on good and bad days – in decisions for life and for death. In that dual relationship, when Jesus responds to Peter’s confession and broken heart, the fact that Jesus calls him Peter and not Simon begins to heal the shame already; the cowardly man is still the rock; he is still who he was created to be and called by Jesus to be. Jesus then asks the question to which he knows the answer: “Do you love me?” He asks it three times – one for every sign of lovelessness Peter sent Jesus’ way. Each time, he responds – “You, the one who I named Peter, who lived with and loved me, who denied me in my darkest hour, and who loves me deeply – you who are neither pristine nor shameful but who is one who lives abundantly and who can live abundantly with others – you, feed my sheep.” He says to him, “I know you – your light and your darkness – your struggle and your journeying. Knowing all this, I know you love me and I give to you the interdependent care of my precious children.”

And, as I am the penitant Peter - failing, denying, cowardly, passionately flailing and hitting others as I do - yet I am asked "feed my lambs." thus, feeble failing i when pricked to bleed, invite others into this gifted place at the feet and in the love of Jesus.