When I was a chaplain in the fire service, part of my training was in Critical Incident Stress Debriefing for first responders. In short: when a critical incident takes place, you do an initial “hotwash” (think summary/critique) around what happened, and then around 2-3 days after that you do a more formal debriefing for folks directly involved in the incident: what happened, what went well, what didn’t, what communication errors happened, what shortcomings have we realized about ourselves and our agency, and what do we change for the future. It doesn’t seek to assign blame, but seeks to change the culture and its shortcomings, whether they be attitudes or standard operating procedures/guidelines.
In the midst of those things, chiefs/captains/supervisors keep an eye on those under their charge and watch out for things like depression, suicidal ideation, sick or personal leave, changes in personality, etc. All this is known as “The Mitchell Method,” named after the psychologist (Jeffrey Mitchell, Ph.D) who developed it primarily for firefighters, law enforcement, and EMS personnel but it was later adopted by the military and for airlines and the railroad.
Per Mitchell, there are three objectives to CISD: 1) mitigation of the impact of a traumatic incident, 2) facilitation of the normal recovery processes and a restoration of adaptive functions in psychologically healthy people who are distressed by an unusually disturbing event, and 3) to function as a screening opportunity to identify group members who might benefit from additional support services or a referral for professional care. Study after study shows how effective the Mitchell Method and CISD’s work to mitigate folks going through depression and disorder after a terrible incident. I’ve helped perform several CISD’s and went through one myself after a tornado in 1999. They work.
When trauma and stress have been more repetitive and over a longer period of time, the task becomes more difficult. Service personnel who have been in war zones, in prolonged military conflict, or serving during wartime usually experience an initial “peace zone” that occurs for a short period of time when such is over – mainly out of relief and change of venue - where one has few symptoms of trauma fatigue. But they can emerge later and be severe.
While I had worked and suffered thru a few natural disasters (tornados and floods) and lethal incidents (house fires, auto accidents, or shooting victims), I’d never been involved in a long-term conflict or trauma, until recently.
I served a particularly (and historically) difficult pastoral appointment. When I was a district superintendent I had been taught how to identify the signs for “clergy killer” churches and “congregation killer” pastors. Both exist and are not just silly names for problem folks but are readily identifiable from peer-reviewed research, observation, and experience. From the introduction of Lloyd Reidger’s 1996 book Clergy Killers: “We are not just talking about conflict anymore, we are talking about emotional and spiritual abuse of traumatic proportions. And we are discovering that such abuse is exhausting pastors and draining the energy and resources of congregations and denominational programs. This is a prophetic warning, for it warns of an ancient mistake—killing the prophets—that is a forerunner to tribal and national disaster. The record of human history shows that the tribe that kills its shaman loses its soul.”
To be sure, I signed on the dotted line many years ago to willingly be appointed as a pastor “without reserve” by the resident bishop to any church as needed. While I prepared myself to know that some appointments would be difficult ones, I was not prepared for how difficult it could be.
Part of the difficulty lies in the job description for pastors. Here is the official job description for United Methodist pastors (it’s the same whether one is licensed or ordained, course-of-study graduate or seminary graduate), per ¶340 of the Book of Discipline: “Responsibilities and Duties of Elders and Local Pastors.”
An impossible job description, made by committee action at numerous General Conferences and continually amended over 100-some years, sets up pastors for failure. Just about any pastor could be brought up on charges for not fulfilling all of those expectations, and the only thing that saves any of us from facing church charges is the reality that, if enforced, there would be no pastoral leadership left in the denomination. It’s akin to one of the Historic Questions we ask those about to be ordained: “Are you so in debt as to embarrass you in your ministry?” We either ask people (a) to lie, or (b) permit them to ask, “Can you define ‘embarrass’?”
It was not until a couple of months being into new pastoral appointment that I realized I had previously endured severe trauma and conflict, far beyond the ordinary. I suppose enough time had passed, and one night I was sitting in the living room of the parsonage in relative silence and experienced exactly what a friend of mine, Larry, a former Navy captain and pilot, who several years ago described to me how such trauma and conflict suddenly hit him one day: “I just dissolved into a fit of cursing and anger.”
To be clear: I’ve never been in a military war zone. And while I served for a time as a firefighter along with others who put their lives on the line, I’ve never witnessed someone being shot or bombed, nor have I shot or bombed anyone. But I have experienced senseless abuse and assaults on my character and the character of others. I’ve watched church member do it to church member. I’ve watched church members do it to pastors. And I’ve watched pastors do it to churches and church members. I’ve seen moral assaults - even “attempted murder” - upon the souls of others. It starts as a moral injury and, if not attended to, becomes a soul wound. When someone commits, fails to prevent, or witnesses an event or events that go against deeply held moral beliefs and expectations, a moral injury occurs. Such an injury affects your body and mind, and it certainly affects your spirituality. If it doesn’t heal, it becomes a soul wound.
Larry is a contemplative, like me. He has helped a lot of veterans with their soul wounds: “The ability of a person to be still and quiet and to receive love in that environment … that's what I talk about. Are you really alone when you're in solitude? And if not, who's there? If you want to get to know your soul, you really can't do it unless you're in solitude… There are simple things that can be done alone and in solitude to know your soul, to become a friend of your soul, to find a presence that's there that loves you. That presence is Jesus Christ. The one thing that's capable of touching the soul is love, and the love we are talking about is divine. There is no other medicine that is going to be able to heal the soul. This is what heals." (Larry Malone, from God's Love Heals the Soul, Military Chaplains Agree).
It was in quiet and darkness while sitting in a calm and peaceful parsonage when it dawned on me: “Sky, this thing you did - it wasn’t normal. It shouldn’t be expected much less predicted. It’s not ‘just the way it is.’ It was wrong. You can’t excuse it under ‘because that’s how so-and-so and such-and-such is.’ That’s bull$&@%.”
That’s when the cursing and anger fit started. I’d been assaulted and wouldn’t admit it. My soul had undergone attempted murder.
I’d had enough counseling, therapy, and spiritual direction in the past to know myself well, and I know that I tend to give grace to and make excuses for just about anyone who does just about anything - other than myself.
I was proud of what I had done a few months before: I identified it and called it out when it became unacceptable. I allowed myself some humor in the midst of it, as such is better than anxiety, heartache, and pain. I knew things were not hopeless. At the same time, 1) I knew that there are people in this world who wanted to cause me (and others) harm and/or destroy ministry, 2) that proaction is preferable to reaction, and 3) that I needed to take the initiative. I am indebted to those in my past who taught and modeled strategies such as adopting support systems, personal coaches, knowledge of church law, and spiritual disciplines, for those are the things that helped me survive another day.
The work of what my friend Larry taught us is the work that I am doing now: be still, and know. Steven Curtis Chapman said (sang) it well:
Be still and know that He is God
Be still and know that He is holy
Be still, oh, restless soul of mine
Bow before the Prince of Peace
Let the noise and clamor cease…
Difficult churches, pastors, and people are not going to go away.
But our choices, our relationships, our boundaries? Those are things that we can control and should control. I will risk all for God, I will bear the cross for Jesus… but I ain’t doing that for YOU or any other human being - particularly when they give evidence that they are not trustworthy. That is when we adopt prudence in being wise as serpents and innocent as doves when dealing with the wolves, with hostility, and with undermining. I will always risk being loving and gracious, but I won’t take foolish risks in the midst of dishonor and willful undermining.
Jesus knew when to play offense, and when to go “be still.” I pray even more, and especially, that I can be like Jesus.
Pax,
Sky+