Collars

The minister reached up and unattached his clerical collar as he walked down the hall to the noon AA meeting. No matter how hard I tried to concentrate during the meeting, I could think of nothing else. There was something profound waiting for me between his removing the collar and attending the meeting. Little did I know, such an exploration would make me sick to my stomach.

Like many, I always notice someone in a clerical collar. Whether sitting at the gate before a flight, walking down the street, or sitting at a restaurant, the collar (and black shirt) makes people take notice. It sets the person apart and causes others to select their words carefully, or break into an unsolicited recounting of his or her church affiliation and recent attendance. Pedestals await those with such collars, to lift them to rarified air and rousing renditions of “Nearer, my God, to thee.”

Down the hall, however, many wear shirts with no collars. They, too, feel set apart, not because of holiness, but the lack of it. They assemble to share their brokenness as well as their need for one another and a power greater than they. Any pedestals to be found, of which there are few, are shattered, cracked, or rusted.

But in that room, in that circle of very ordinary people, there is a sacredness. It comes not from on high, but from some place low, where only the bravest people dare go. It is there the air is particularly luscious and rich, but you need to remove your collar to taste it.