Reepicheep’s Tail

On Sunday I went back to the church where I recently was removed from staff. The absence of public discussion with the congregation about this change has resulted in fertile soil for speculation. I was met by a myriad of responses.

One friend told me he was angry with me. My removal has upset his applecart and left him and his family with bruises. He wants some answers, some explanations, so I’ll soon be taking him to lunch and pacify his emotions. At least it will make him feel better.

Another friend recently returned to my town from a trip to her childhood home. When I asked her about her travels she said she was grilled upon arrival, not about her life, but about mine. Even though I don’t personally know anyone in her church, apparently the vines of this religious branch reach far. They wanted to know what I had done or how I had failed. They figured she was a good source for whatever sorted details existed.

In fact, some of my friends have told me that they wished I had been caught in sin. They explained to me that it would be easier for them to accept my positional change if there was a line in the sand that I had crossed.

I’ve wanted to be bitter about the selfishness of the friends who have expressed their pain without really considering mine. What would make them so dependant upon me being in a shepherd’s role that they feared being scattered if I was gone?

And the answer is harder still. Me.

I’ve strategically positioned myself as someone important in their lives. I’ve done it to feel better about me, and they’ve willingly embraced it to feel better about themselves. We built a somewhat superficial, co-dependent relationship that was severely limited in its benefits.

And the surgery to cut out this dependence in my heart feels like it is killing me. Part of me may not survive. My dignity has been severed.

Reepicheep became aware of his loss [his tail, from a battle wound] as he made his bow [to Aslan]; perhaps it altered something in his balance. He looked over his right shoulder. Failing to see his tail, he strained his neck further till he had to turn his shoulders and his whole body followed. But by that time his hind-quarters had turned too and were out of sight. Then he strained his neck looking over his shoulder again, with the same result. Only after he had tuned completely round three times did he realize the dreadful truth.

“I am confounded,” said Reepicheep to Aslan. “ I am completely out of countenance. I must crave your indulgence for appearing in this unseemly fashion.”

“It becomes you very well, Small One,” said Aslan.

“All the same,” replied Reepicheep, “if anything could be done…

“But what do you want with a tail?” asked Aslan.

“Sir,” said the Mouse, “I can eat and sleep and die for my King without one. But a tail is the honor and glory of a Mouse.”

I have sometimes wondered, friend,” said Aslan, “whether you do not think too much about your honor.”

- Prince Caspian, C.S. Lewis

And then there are the others; those that have been discretely rejoicing at my firing, not in meanness but in honesty.

“Cool. Now we’ll have more time to hang together.”

“I don’t get it, but I’m so glad to see you are writing again.”

“About time. Your creativity tanked awhile ago. This is good!”

And there have been invitations- none to speak, teach, or perform my normal song and dance, but to hike in the mountains, bike along the river, camp on their ranch land, read and tell rich stories, make music, encourage one another with life-giving words, eat rich meals and sip hot cups of coffee, but most importantly to live life together and just simply be.

And it is in the comfort of these friends that I will heal.

“Ah!” roared Aslan [to the loyalty of Reepicheep’s friends]. “You have conquered me. You have great hearts. Not for the sake of your dignity, Reepicheep, but for the love that is between you and your people… you shall have your tail again.”