For nearly forty years of pastoral ministry, I was an occupant of various thrones. Now, I am a grateful sitter on humble benches, and love it.
I suppose that churches want to give their ministers a certain dignity, so they provide special seating for them. Many of those pastoral chairs strongly resemble thrones. As I look back upon my first years of service as a pastor, this was absolutely true. The two village congregations I served had the most wondrous chairs for me to sit upon. One church had beautiful carved and pointed wood thrones, three in number. The central throne dominated in size, and I was to sit in that chair during service. The two side chairs were of lesser dignity, but considerably decorated, and they were for visitors. If I wished, I could place the visitor in the central throne, and sit humbly by in one of the lesser chairs. The other congregation provided a different arrangement. They had special chairs made for the minister and one guest. These were rather plain hand-built thrones, with deep cushions. This model throne was not comfortable at all. In both cases, I sat facing the congregation, the few times that I sat at all. At one church, I was hidden by the central pulpit as I sat. In the other, I could not avoid the gaze of worshippers preparing for the service. As time moved on, the thrones changed, as customs changed. In my last two pastorates, there were no thrones. Rather, I sat in a miniature pew, in profile to the congregation, looking across a “divided chancel” viewing nothing except the choir, or the other, identical chair. I was well provided for in my very last pastorate, which lasted twenty years. The pastoral seat was padded, as was a long bench, a proper long sedilia, behind the communion table. A prosperous lady took pity on the congregation, who were resting on padless seats, and paid for cushions for everyone’s bottom. “Comfort my people,” says your God. We were comforted. I will admit readily, that I have never sat upon a throne as glorious as ones seen on religious television. Large, tufted wing chairs supply rest and relaxation for evangelists. No hard wood for these experts in exploitation. Speaking seriously, in some churches ministerial seating is a real issue. I understand that in the Roman Catholic scheme of furniture, the seat for the priest must have a certain nobility, setting it apart from all other provisions for the resting of clerical rears. As I understand it, a word went forth from those in authority that no person other than a cleric could occupy specially designated seating. So much for democracy. Are we not asked somewhere in Scripture (Luke 14:10) to take the lowest seat? Now, unless it is a rare occasion, I am a pew sitter, and I just love it. The pews in the church Bridget and I attend are not padded. They were once provided with cushions, but the cushion era ended when it was found that the musical acoustics would improve greatly if the carpets and pew padding were removed, or at least reduced. The seating for the clergy is as singularly uncomfortable as any pew. What do I like about sitting in a pew? It’s all very simple. I now have companions in seating. This very morning those companions were people sitting ahead of us and behind us, and with us. Over time, we’ve become something of a family, greeting one another with particular joy, while mourning the absence of persons who are no longer in these particular benches. They may have died, or left the congregation, or gone to school, or the military. There is something warming, and consoling about being with other people in the hard benches. There may be nods and becks and wreathed smiles. Or, conversely, expressions of compassion and shared sorrow with pewmates. We learn their habits, and watch out for newly-added friends who may not find their way easily in a somewhat involved service. Recently, Bridget and I had to move to another section of the church for a Sunday. There were three baptisms of infants, and their families filled the territory usually inhabited by our bunch. So, we took places on the opposite side of the church, on the lectern side. The change of scenery was good for us. The reader of Scripture was more easily heard. We saw a side of the choir we had not seen. Looking closely, we could tell which of the two organists was playing which selection. The preacher seemed a bit far away, but I could hear him quite well over the personal listening system the church provides for the hearing impaired. I have not yet suggested to Bridget that we try different pew nations in the church we attend. There are some pretty nice benches a few rows back, with some people we have not met in them. Perhaps the acoustics are better over in the chapel area. For sure, there will be a day when our little aggregation will be diminished in some way. There may be joy, however, in some stray sheep who decide to take up residence in the second pew on the right, facing the pulpit. The view is good here, and everything can be seen, clearly. Sitting in the pew has, on the whole, been a good and joyful thing. I do pity my seatmates who have to hear my singing. Alone on the throne is not nearly so good as sitting with the few on the pew. Lawton W. Posey is a retired minister living in Charleston, W.V.
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