Reputation: Too Precious to be Trusted, by Phillip Hoyle

Reputation has little to do with the way I see other people. I’ve come to this rather strange way of thinking because for me people are much too interesting and potent to be known for what actually is an outsider’s point of view and idolization. A fine reputation is the result of the appearance one makes in regard to his or her adherence to reified social norms. I developed quite a reputation as an effective minister. I was nice to people, worked hard, provided creative and unusual programming for people of many ages, prepared my choirs adequately, appreciated the work of volunteers, spoke publically with enough charm not to offend, had a great attendance record in the church office and in hospital calling, worked well with the church staff, and had a family that also participated in the congregation’s life. People liked me. I didn’t embarrass them with my ideas. They knew I was not afraid of the strange folk like foreigners, poor, and needy. I was a great resource for a large church organization for my ability to work with difficult people. And eventually I wrote curriculum resources for religious education. I was somewhat known for whatever that is worth.

I took a job at a church in a western city. I loved the church facility. I found the congregational leaders delightful. I appreciated the strong core of folk who nurtured liberal concerns and practical approaches to church work. I enjoyed the support of a cadre of retired ministers in the congregation. I liked the music program. On and on. The Senior Minister, Bill, told me one day I was supposed to be a woman. I responded, “I’m trying as hard as I can.” We laughed. He said that the search committee for the associate minister had made obtaining a female clergy as its goal. They found me. He also said the hiring was influenced because of my fine reputation.

I thought about that and realized that the Area Minister, Jim, had wanted me to come to that Region because he trusted my leadership, appreciated my willingness to work in summer camp and conference programs, and liked my cheerful disposition. I wondered what all he had said to move the committee away from their original intention. Although I knew that one person’s likes often influenced committee members, I also knew the appeal to reputation actually set up a minister for failure since the minister would never really know how he or she was represented, what actually was the content of that reputation. I trusted that work-wise I would sufficiently meet the needs of staff and congregation. I was already doing so when I heard I was supposed to be a woman and about my fine reputation. But I wondered.

Some years before I had known a past minister of the church where I worked. His divorce from his wife several years after leaving our congregation made the local gossip. People expressed such deep disappointment to me about the divorce. I don’t recall if the minister or his wife initiated the proceedings, but do remember clearly that the critics didn’t voice much interest in the whole picture of his life. Still, like is true in the kind of church I came from, they did fall short of saying “tut, tut,” this last probably out of deference for his then ex-wife. I listened and wondered how this change affected their feelings about what he had taught them, what leadership he had provided, what sense of faith he had engendered. Their sense of disappointment seemed larger than necessary to me. He had spoiled their ideal.

So when in my next congregation I knew the search committee had been influenced by my reputation, I became extremely alert to the function of reputation and its relation to ideals and expectations. When I learned I was hired because of my reputation, I wondered over my work and its consequences, especially were it ever to come out that my life might have changed within just a few years after my exit from that fine church. What would those fine folk think when they got the gossip that I, who was widely appreciated, left ministry fifteen years before retirement age, left my wife, moved to a large city to live as a homo (probably the largest reputation spoiler), and took up a new career as a massage therapist (oops, maybe this was the main spoiler). I knew I couldn’t control whatever people chose to think. I couldn’t save them from themselves. And I knew exactly why I could never believe in reputation. Besides I have lived through too many American general elections cycles. Even the best—and the worst—reputations are far too fragile, too precious to trust.© Denver, 2014

About the Author

Phillip Hoyle lives in Denver and spends his time writing, painting, and socializing. In general he keeps busy with groups of writers and artists. Following thirty-two years in church work and fifteen in a therapeutic massage practice, he now focuses on creating beauty. He volunteers at The Center leading the SAGE program “Telling Your Story.”

He also blogs at artandmorebyphilhoyle.blogspot