Clergyman: (n) a male priest, minister, or religious leader, especially a Christian one
All the mistakes I’ve made in my life were caused by me thinking that what I had to offer was not enough.
Whenever I calmed down and realized that the stash in my duffel bag was the total subsistence of my life and journey, I was fine.
But when I allowed myself to be intimidated by forces around me which deemed my offering to be meager because it lacked some
certification, I always ended up either a fool or a liar.
I wanted to help people.
I wanted to use my art to do so.
I wanted to share a message that had humor, hope and heft.
But I also once was very young, and contended that I needed some title to punctuate my adequacy.
Since I did not go to college, I wasn’t allowed to be called “a Reverend.” Therefore I could not be a clergyman.
I don’t know why I wanted to pursue such a position–I guess I just wanted folks to be impressed when they heard the full extent of my resume spoken in a word: “minister.”
So I lied. I manufactured higher learning. And eventually I just called myself a “Reverend” even though I didn’t have any pedigree to bark out spirituality.
It took me many years to escape the foolishness of my insecurity. As soon as I did, I realized that being a clergyman was actually to my disadvantage, because my music, writing, dramatic pursuits and screenplays were much more effective tools for reaching my brothers and sisters than climbing into a pulpit and emoting.
I often think, what is it I’m doing today that’s equally as stupid as my pursuit of being a false cleric?
I don’t know. But I keep looking.
Because if I catch it early, maybe I can avoid some of the embarrassment that occurs when people finally find out the truth.
They always do.