Episcopal Church Foundation Vestry Papers - for leading congregations

It's not easy to share my husband.

The call came about an hour before we planned to leave for a short-but-much-needed vacation. An elderly parishioner died, and the family wanted the funeral on Thursday, smack dab in the middle of our four-day retreat.

When your spouse is a priest, your time is not your own.

Sure, there are days when he can leave the church early to pick up the kids or take a long lunch to catch a movie. But people don't die at convenient times.

For four consecutive years on his birthday, my husband gave last rites. Once, the police came to our door in the middle of a birthday party. A man had been discovered in his trailer. No one knew which day he had died, but the police asked if my husband would come and provide some final prayers.

The guests and I waited.

On our first family vacation to Disney World, a call came. Parishioners had lost their baby. She was seven months pregnant and had to deliver her stillborn, first child. We cut short the trip and headed home. On another evening, we had just cleared the table to begin a wicked game of Euchre with friends, when the phone rang. A body was at the funeral home. Could he come and be with the family?

This is part of life, part of God's call to a priest, to be with the flock as they mourn. It is both a great privilege and an immense responsibility. But it isn't always easy.

As a spouse, it's hard to manage the conflicting emotions. It's like being held up in traffic because of a terrible wreck. In your heart, you know that it's much worse for those involved, that they never intended for this to happen, but in your mind, you're still frustrated.

Most of the time, I'm able to squelch that selfish disappointment about plans gone awry and empathize with the pain and sorrow of those dealing with loss.

But these are the moments that flash through my mind, especially when I hear the old, tired saw about priests working only one day a week.