That Time Leonard Cohen Got Me Fired From a Task I Didn’t Want Anyway
I worked in a church for almost nineteen years. I began as a young mother who needed a day or two out of the house, working as the assistant to an eccentric youth pastor, and I grew that position into a church-wide communications role where I was suddenly responsible for all media-related outlets: website, social media, graphic design, video production, power points, newsletters, streaming on local cable TV — all the things that shared all the information.
There were a lot of elements I liked about the job. I learned many new skills. I didn’t shy away from trying new things and I know my years within that institution set me up for the work I am doing today.
There were also a lot of things I did not like about the job. Being privy to the hidden underbelly of what should be a spiritually evolved and integrous establishment has left me jaded, and since leaving at the end of 2021 I’ve been on a personal journey of healing, deconstruction, and fresh discovery of what I truly value and what my purpose is on this big spinning ball.
My last few years as an employee were miserable and I worked incredibly hard to build up my little publishing side-hustle to a point where it could replace the income I would lose by leaving that place. “You have to get out,” my husband told me. And I really did.
The big problem with being unhappy in your workplace is that you don’t show up the way a satisfied worker might. You don’t invest. You don’t go above and beyond. You stop offering suggestions or ideas. If you no longer trust the leadership you’re serving, what are you even doing? It was toxic — the kind of sneaky aggression that morphed my normally joyful self into someone who couldn’t get ready in the morning without a long hot bath and three episodes of The Office. I’d show up at work after 10 a.m. and the whole system was so broken that no one even called me out on it.
Near the end, in an attempt to “bond” and “share insights,” The Boss informed the entire staff that we would now each have to take turns leading the team through a devotion at the start of our weekly staff meeting. (For anyone not familiar, a “devotion” is a small Bible study that involves some sort of thoughtful reading — usually from the Bible — and some kind of discussion question or deep thought designed to “bring everyone closer to God.”)
I was not on board, but it was not up for discussion. A schedule was handed out and I was expected to come prepared.
And I did. With a Leonard Cohen book.
Book of Mercy (1984) will forever be on my list of favourite things. It is powerful and thought-provoking and vulnerable and contains every reason I’ve ever had to love Leonard Cohen. My copy is door-eared and coffee stained and highlighted with notes in the margins and a cracked spine.
The book is broken up into 50 verses. Fifty psalms. Fifty prayers. My favourite is 19 because it is so magically full of simple hope that I will one day (when I am brave enough) tattoo a portion of it on my body. But it was 31 that I presented as my devotional: a soul-crying explosion of humility and pride crashing together in an apology so rich it bounces off the page as Cohen tries to reconcile his fame and faith. To me, the great power of Leonard’s writing is how he embraced his heritage and was unapologetic in allowing it to inform what he shared. He was confident and conflicted and that would juxtapose into a beautiful prayer every single time.
So I shared this verse. I read it to the group and sat in the dumb silence that followed. Because it never occurred to me that the spiritual quest of a Jew might not be embraced at a table of evangelicals.
“Okay, well, thanks Alanna. That was interesting.”
No discussion. No unpacking beyond my own sharing of why his questions mattered. Nothing.
Afterwards, a coworker caught me in the hall, laughing. “You just dropped this stuff from a totally different religion. That was bold.”
But it wasn’t. It was just the truth.
A staff-wide email went out soon after saying that moving forward “only the pastors would be doing the devotions.”
Hahahahahahahaha!
You can’t experience pleasure without first knowing pain. You can’t understand the joy of happiness without once feeling the weight of unhappiness. Leaving an unfulfilling job was a long, painful process — a jail break with nothing but a spoon to dig the tunnel — but to finally escape, to finally be at a job where I eagerly arrive at my desk at 8 a.m., that is a gift I can’t adequately articulate. Leonard could. But I can’t.
I would not change those years. The education I received will serve me forever. I know there are specific moments throughout my time there that led me to exactly where I am sitting now. At the risk of sounding cheesy, I will say that I am incredibly blessed to have taken the journey laid out before me, and that I know I am far closer to God in this little publishing office then I ever was while working in “His house.”
Hope is an intention. Faith is trusting that hope is not in vain. Trust is taking the next step even if you can’t see the stairs. Never give up.
And if you’re in a season of long morning baths and looping episodes of The Office, know that this too shall pass, and there are worse things than laughing at Michael Scott to remind yourself that the world isn’t so bad.
…you carry me close into the night, speaking consolations, drawing down lights from the sky, saying, See how the night has no terror…
Leonard Cohen, Book of Mercy (31)
A well-loved page from my copy of Book of Mercy
