“Don’t do the pew,” we’ve been admonished at seminary. That’s one boundary I haven’t crossed…yet.
“Maggie” is an active parishioner at our church. She teaches Sunday school. Married with two small children, she’s a curvy lady in her late 30’s with short blonde hair. She teaches at a local elementary school. Maggie is a gracious Southern belle with a sweet accent who’s friendliness is intertwined with an air of propriety. She’s a Republican who passionately adores Coca-Cola, Margaret Mitchell and her favorite college football team. She’s a devout Christian, raised Southern Baptist before she found her way into Lutheranism. (Our parish’s liturgy appeals to her.) Her Facebook page is filled with pictures of her family and Bible verses. She’s fond of pearl necklaces and low-cut blouses that reveal a bit of cleavage. She radiates sexual energy.
Our paths cross occasionally at church. Maggie is a bit flirtatious (although I admit I’m not very good at recognizing such signals). I recall her staring at me with her blue eyes, playfully running her fingers across her necklace. Was she sending me a signal? I decided to find out. Last Sunday, I took her aside and asked if she wanted to discuss some “pastoral matters” over coffee at Barnes & Noble. I was busy this week, so I couldn’t meet with her until Friday afternoon.
I arrived at the bookstore and sat down in the café. She texted me that she would be a few minutes late. I anxiously waited her arrival.
Maggie walked in wearing a low-cut pink dress and a white shawl sweater. She gave me a wide smile when she spotted me. Unexpectedly, she reached out and gave me a big hug, then told me she was going to order some tea. The enchanting scent of her perfume stayed with me.
After she returned with her beverage, I asked her how her Sunday school class was going and how I could be of help. She replied that she appreciated my offer of assistance, but her class was going well. Our discussion of church-related matters wasn’t going to last very long.
I had to be careful. I wanted to signal my interest in her, yet not so overtly as to provide grounds for sexual misconduct.
I asked her how things were at home. Perhaps her marriage was troubled.
Maggie responded with a long monologue about her kids and school and their many extracurricular activities and the vacation they took to Washington, DC and the relatives who were going to visit at Christmas and yada yada yada.
I sensed my seduction of Maggie was stillborn. If she had any real interest in me, she would have signaled it by then.
We continued our conversation for another half-hour before she had to go pick up her kid at something or other. As we said goodbye, she gave me another big (but chaste) hug. Any fantasies about a torrid fling with Maggie remain just that — fantasies.
Lutheran Guilt 