Talking about Breasts in Church

Several years ago, I stood at the pulpit of a church where I served, encouraging people to share prayer requests from their pews. The Senior Pastor assigned me this role on this particular Sunday morning. This method of people making others aware of their needs doesn't work at megachurches, but at the small Country church where I led music and served as youth pastor, this occurred on a weekly basis. After almost 30 years of ministry, I've learned that people I like to call oversharers seem to feel very comfortable in the church setting. Maybe too comfortable. I've had people confide in me innumerable personal issues...but in most cases these sensitive topics are shared one on one or with my wife present. On occasion, very personal needs have been shared publicly without a thought of how the rest of the congregation might react. And that's what happened on this particular Sunday.

The Sunday morning service commenced in a normal manner. We stood and sang a hymn out of the old "Songs of Inspiration" hymnal. After the congregation settled back into their pews, it was time to ask people to share their prayer requests. A few hands shot up around the sanctuary; I recognized each person. Some worried about relational needs; others asked prayer for sick family members and friends. I then saw a hand up on the back row.

Even though our congregation only numbered about 75 people on a typical Sunday morning, the sanctuary seated 600 people. The hand I saw raised in the back belonged to a woman sitting on the very back pew. To be heard from that location, she would really have to project. And project she did.

Mrs. "Overshare" (her name has been changed to protect her privacy and me from a lawsuit) emotionally expressed her need for prayer. In a recent doctor's check up, the physician had discovered two lumps in her breast. At the revelation of this news, I modelled maturity and pastoral empathy. Breasts seldom came up as topic matter at church, but no one else in the congregation seemed to be uncomfortable. No one batted eye. I didn't see Sister "Esther Mae" fanning herself to keep from fainting. All was well, and I thought the sharing was over...it was not.

Mrs. "Overshare" proceeded to describe in detail where the lumps were located. She said, "If you can imagine my breast being a clock, you can find the lumps at 2 and 10."

I stole a quick glance at the Senior Pastor. His shoulders bobbed gently up and down as he stifled a full belly laugh. This time, I noticed smiles and smirks across the congregation and heard a couple of teenagers snickering. I felt the color rising in my cheeks as I tried to wipe the image of a clock out of my mind. My wife bowed her head. I knew she wasn't praying. She reckoned that if we made eye contact, I might burst out laughing. Lumps in a woman's breast are nothing to joke about, but when a person publicly heralds to the congregation that we should imagine her breast being a time piece, it's incredibly difficult to keep a straight face. I mumbled a few words of sympathy and concern and told everyone to grab their hymnals for the next song. I dared not look anyone in the eye, as I sensed a dam of giggles might erupt if anyone got started. Mrs. "Overshare" only the saw the backs of the heads of the rest of the congregation and seemed oblivious to it all.

To this day, I consider that one of my most embarrassing public moments. Thankfully, I finished the morning service without bursting out in laughter. After the service with my wife and Pastor? Now that's a different story.