Two weeks later, Jerry received a letter from his Presbytery’s Candidates Committee. He was instructed to take a battery of tests from the Northeast Career and Counseling Center. It would assist their group in assessing his aptitude for the ministry. 

Jerry put the letter down. Was this connected to his activism? 

The morning of his appointment he walked over to a small office on the outskirts of campus. The receptionist smiled like she was going to get him donuts but instead took him to a cold room where a few others waited with sharpened #2 pencils poised.

In front of him was the Myers-Briggs Personality Test, rows and rows of statements with empty circles underneath denoting “strongly agree” at one end to “strongly disagree” at the other. He had to choose which circle to fill in on the spectrum regarding each statement. And there were 93 statements.

“Work fast. Don’t dwell on your answer. Just put down your first response. There are no right or wrong answers,” the didn’t-give-him-a-donut said.

Jerry believed that for about two seconds. Of course they’re going to judge me according to how I answer.

Being around people exhausts me.

Well, certain people exhaust me, he thought. Certain people don’t. I loved being around the people at Rog and Barb’s house. I’m constantly exhausted by the people at Princeton Seminary. But then if I’m going to be a minister, I better be able to get along with all kinds of people. Oh, Jesus, I’m in trouble.

I prefer not to plan out my day. 

On the weekends I do. Not during the week. How do I answer that?

I enjoy meeting new people.

I should enjoy meeting new people. That’s how they want me to be. Hmmm.

I am an overly sensitive person. 

Hey, what’s up with the word “overly?” Sounds like a negative judgment to me.

The next day the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory lay before him, a series of 567 true-false questions.

I wake up fresh and rested most mornings.

Give me a break.

My hands and feet are usually warm enough. 

No, my hands and feet are usually cold. 

I loved my father.

Why is that in past tense? Are we no longer supposed to love him? 

At times I feel like smashing things.

Doesn’t everyone? 

People have it in for me.

Just at seminary. 

Sometimes my soul leaves my body.

What soul? 

I am possessed by evil spirits.

Yessir. 

I am an important person.

They’ll think I’m crazy if I mark this true.

Then the next day, Jerry worked through the Millon Clinical Mutiaxial Inventory, more statements to answer true or false. 

People would be surprised if I yelled at someone.

At times I wish I were dead.

My relationships have been stormy.

Check, check and check.

It is dangerous to help a stranger in need.

Well, of course, this is New Jersey.

Finally, on the last day, the Rorschach inkblot test. He was asked to interpret ten abstract pictures. 

“Bug.”

“Monster.” 

“Vagina.”

“Bat.”

“Vagina.”

“Vampire.”

“Vagina.”

“Vagina.”

Whoa. Disturbing. 

***

A few weeks later the receptionist called him to make a second appointment, this time to discuss his results with the director.

It was a crisp morning. Cumulus clouds, Jerry’s favorite, glided across a sparkling sky. Buds swelled on the denuded trees. Jerry walked up the now familiar three cement stairs and entered through the double doors. The receptionist, this time with a pert smile, escorted him into an office. 

The door clicked shut. Behind the desk, a tall bookcase was jammed. On the opposite wall hung numerous diplomas. A tall fichus fended for itself in the corner.

Jerry flipped through a Princeton Seminary alumni magazine while he waited. His heart palpitated.

“Hello, Jerry,” said Thomas Barton as he whisked into the office and hung his jacket up on the hat stand. He settled into his swivel chair and studied the file in front of him.

He looked up, “Well, Jerry, you’re quite a dynamic person.” He smiled.

Jerry wiped his palms down the sides of his pants.

“You scored very high in intelligence and creativity. You are extremely independent, a self-starter. You’re somewhat of a loner. You have some moral ambiguities. And a bit troubling, you score low in empathy. Also, you have trouble with authority, tending not to trust authority figures.

“Do you have any questions so far?” He looked up, this time without the smile.

Jerry shook his head no.

“As you know, the purpose of these tests is to help you know yourself better and assess what you are best cut out for, and then finally to advise your Candidate’s Committee regarding your aptitude for the ministry.”

All right, all right, just cut to the chase, Jerry thought.

“I’m afraid we are not going to endorse your candidacy. Your test results are telling us that you would quickly get frustrated with the life and even perhaps act out in a negative fashion at certain personality types within the church. Now, please don’t take this as some kind of failure or a statement that you are lacking in anything. Quite the contrary. You are loaded with gifts. We are trying to point you in a direction that will fully realize them and away from perhaps a false start that would waste years and end up in futility and frustration.”

Jerry dropped his head. He should have answered those questions with what they wanted to hear. Maybe he could take the test over again.

“How can this be?” Jerry asked.

“Again, I know this is hard to hear, but please see this as help and support. Oh, and we strongly recommend that you start therapy.”

“Therapy?” 

“The university offers 12 weeks for free. We encourage you to take advantage of that. Here, let me write out the name and number of the therapist for you to call. Are there any questions?”

“I flunked.” 

“Thoreau said most men lead lives of quiet desperation and die with their song still inside them. Ministry may not be your song, Jerry.”

Jerry suddenly flashed back to when he was dropped from the basketball team. That sounded exactly like what Coach Strohmeyer had said. 

“I didn’t know I was singing,” said Jerry.

Thomas’ brow furrowed.

“I’m merely saying that our discouraging you from joining the ministry may be opening you up to a truer direction for you.”

“Then why don’t I feel relieved? This should be good news. I’m free to go be me. And it’s not. I feel like I’ve failed.”

“I’m sorry.” Thomas stood up. “Don’t forget that therapy.”

“Yeah, right.”

Jerry stood up, shook Thomas’ hand, registered Thomas’ discomfort with his clammy hand, turned and left. 

He shuffled over to the center of the quad, plopped down and laid flat on his back with his arms spread out. Those puffy, white clouds seemed so close. If he could only climb into one. He sat up, pulled his knees up to his chest and clasped his hands behind them.

And stayed there a long time.