Questing Parson

Evidence of Life

The parson pulled into the church parking lot about an hour before noon. Stopping, he pulled up the emergency brake, put the gear in park, released his seat belt, stepped out and opened the rear passenger door whereupon Charlie Brown, his faithful canine companion bounded out and headed at a dead run toward the pond on the neighboring property. The parson started to call him back but for some reason didn’t. His last glimpse of Charlie Brown was his tail pointing straight up and he bounded down the slope toward the water.

The parson walked up the drive to the mail box and retrieved one bill, a form letter from the bishop promoting a special offering and fourteen advertisements for products that promised to either make him a better preacher or increase his worship attendance. Walking into his study he sorted the mail. He pulled out his iPhone and checked that he had the special offering on his calendar. He did. He then tossed the letter into the container with the liner at his feet. The bill was placed in the folder for the church treasurer to pick up on Sunday. He then sighed as he resigned himself to being an average preacher with average attendance and tossed the fourteen advertisements into the container.

The parson then made noticed the room felt comfortably warm for such a chilly day. He walked out of his office and back to the fellowship hall. There he checked the thermostat. It was set for seventy. the parson with a huff turned the unit off and muttered to himself: Am I the only one around here who knows what electricity costs? That was immediately followed by another thought: Oh, my gracious, I have become my father.

He then headed for the sanctuary. No reason to think anyone would have turned that unit off. On the back wall of the room he found this thermostat off. He gave a quick expression of gratitude and then turned toward the chancel. 

“What in the blazes?” the parson muttered, or something like that.

The chancel was bare of everything. No pulpit, no altar table, no piano, no worship banners. Instead chairs were arranged in a semi-circle facing the pews. Newspapers were scattered about. Coke cans were visible against a back wall. A table from the fellowship hall was in the center of the area with dishes and other objects stacked upon it.

The parson walked down the aisle toward the chancel pondering the mystery. A lectern stood just before the chancel steps. On it was a script for play with notations in the margins.

The parson smiled. Practice for the Youth Christmas Play had begun. The parson flipped through the script. It wasn’t purchased. This was an original. He counted the parts. There were twenty-five.

The parson headed back outside, his church now returned to energy efficiency and full of evidence of life.

Charlie Brown lay on the pavement asleep in the sun beside the car. He didn’t bother to open his eyes until the parson opened the rear passenger. Having done so the parson watched his faithful canine companion bound into the car where he promptly lay down and closed his eyes again.

The parson headed home ready to prepare his sermon for the little country church beside the road with a future.

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Curb Service Handouts

The parson was anxious to get to the church. He’d traveled throughout half of North Georgia during the day, keeping various appointments. With luck he’d make it to the church and the Soup Supper Monday before all the food was gone. tonight was a special time at the soup supper. Tonight, there was no soup. Instead everyone would load up on greens, pinto beans, mashed potatoes, mac-n-cheese, cornbread and cobbler.

He arrived at the church several minutes before the meal was to start. Walking into the Fellowship Hall, he noticed Margaret, a local character who had difficulty making ends meet. Margaret wasn’t homeless, but she was always begging money for various things from medicine to car repairs to clothing. She knew the parson was an easy mark. Tonight she was already sitting at her usual table wolfing down the meal.

“Hello, Parson,” she said. “I need to talk to you about some medicine I need.”

“No problem, Margaret. Let me get something to eat myself”

He greeted the folks in the kitchen who’d cooked the meal. He then headed to the serving table and loaded his plate up. At Margaret’s table he sat down.

“How are you doing, Margaret?”

“I’m not doing good, Parson. I’ve got this pain in my chest where I haven’t been taking my medicine. I need about twenty to get some more medicine.”

“No, you don’t, Margaret,” the parson interrupted. “You got your SSI check yesterday.”

“How did you know that?” asked Margaret.

“I just know,” said the parson who had spoken to Margaret’s cousin early that morning.

“Well, I still could use a twenty.”

“I could, too, Margaret. Look I need to talk to you about something.”

“Okay, what’s up?”

“Margaret, we’re really glad to help you when you need it. And, in fact, we enjoy you coming around even when you don’t need it and try to fool me. But I’ve got to draw the line on you, Margaret.”

“Draw the line? What do you mean?”

“Did you come by the church Sunday afternoon?”

“I came by to see if you were here?”

“Did you pull up in the parking lot and honk your horn until one of the youth workers came out to see what you want?”

“Well, yeah. I needed some help to get some money to fix the brakes on my van.”

“Margaret,” said the parson, “we don’t provide curb service.”

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A Time To Witness and A Time To Not

The parson pulled up in the parking lot and was immediately discouraged to see so many cars. There was going to be a long line. But the check needed to be deposited.

As he walked up the walkway toward the door he noticed a young man and woman near the ATM machine talking with a black woman in a fast food restaurant uniform. Passing them he heard the young man say, “Jesus wants to love you. Jesus wants to save you from your sins. Jesus wants you to turn your life around ...”

The parson entered the lobby and headed to the work table to fill out the deposit slip. A man already there was using the calculator the bank provided. The parson realized how lucky he was to not have to wait for that calculator to tally up his wealth. As he was filling out the slip, he heard the young man’s voice again. He turned to watch and listen.

This time he saw the young man begin to witness to a man with a turban on his head. “Did you hear about the Hindu person from your country,” he was saying. “He gave his life to Jesus and he found eternal ....”

The parson stepped into the line two people behind the young man and woman. He watched as a mother, pushing a stroller, turned from the teller and started toward the door, passing down the line as she went. The man stopped her.

“What a lovely child,” he said. “Tell me, do you go to  church?” The woman replied she didn’t. “Well, this child needs to be in a good Bible-believing church so she can come to know the Lord Jesus ....”

An elderly gentleman was the next target. Before he could escape the parson had stepped around the young man and woman to make his deposit. As he turned to leave the older fellow had now escaped and the parson saw the evangelist bearing down upon him. Quickly he picked up his pace, but his path was blocked.

“Sir,” said the young man, “are you a believer in Jesus the Christ?”

The parson smiled, “I am. In fact I’m a personal friend of Jesus, I have been born again and am a Spirit-filled believer. From time to time Jesus, through the Spirit, gives me a Word of Knowledge.”

“Oh wonderful; it’s so nice to meet a Christian.”

The parson stood fixed. His fellow believer seemed at a loss for words. Finally, he asked. “What Word have you received?”

“He said to tell you to knock it off.”

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Seasons of Life

The first hints of fall drifted over the landscape. The wind, not yet cold, was chilled enough to put a bounce in the steps of even the most sedate. The air smelled clean, freshly washed by the steady rains of the previous two weeks. Nature was painting the trees with the first bright colors that was prelude to the falling leaves. Here and there, in stubbornness a flower bloomed in defiance of the inevitability of the changing season.

The inhabitants of the unseen abodes were the first to note the coming change. Even the slightest differentiation in the temperature attuned them to a need for change. Adjustments were made in apparel. short sleeves were exchanged for long, BVDs were purchased or taken out of storage bags. 

The season was changing. The warmth of summer was being traded for the chill of winter and the cycle of earth continued. They now became part of the cycle in their preparations and their desires.

Applications are filed, the need for income increases as the air growing more chilled reminds of frigid days coming. A part time job would be satisfactory. Enough income to burrow into a small hovel for a few hundred a month, maybe with a hot plate, enough money to provide some pork and beans and bread with peanut butter and jelly for desert. It seemed little to ask, but so much to gain.

They sat there at the tables, slurping up the soup, some bowl of which were garnished with crumbled cornbread and munching on the BBQ sandwiches, grateful for a moment to enjoy a meal, a free meal.

“I did,” he said. “I got a job. Twenty hours a week the man said. It’s just minimum wage, but I think I can make it. Old Rodney, you know him, comes by our sitting place all the time; I think he shops at that grocery store, he knows somebody who has a little trailer I might get for a few bucks a week. Don’t know how’s I can afford any electricity just yet, but, you know, maybe if I do good that twenty hours can be more. Anyway, I could live in that trailer without electricity. The shower would be cold, but I’ve had cold showers before. You know what I mean?”

“You think they need any more help?” asked one of the table partners. “I’m thinking I’m going to have to find something other than that truck I sleep in.”

“I can’t say,” he told her. “But you could put in an application. Just might happen for you.”

“I may do that?” she said. “Thanks for the tip.”

The lady came by the table and asked, “Do you want any desert?”

“Desert? You guys give us desert?”

“We do.”

“Oh, my goodness, yes. What is it?”

“It’s peach cobbler.”

“My goodness, thank you Jesus. Thank you so much.”

The lady walked away to spoon up several bowls of the cobbler. She returned to the table in a few moments and placed a bowl in front of each?

“Would you look at this,” he said. “This has ice cream on top.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said the lady, “I should have asked if you wanted any.”

“You didn’t have to ask me,” he said.

“Me either,” said the other one.

The lady moved to the other side of the room and placed a bowl in front of the well-dressed woman. She needed a job, too.

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Anxiety, the Yankees, and Prayer in the Waiting Room

The parson sat in the Cardiac Waiting room with her. She was a member of the church and her husband a lay pastor of some renown in the area. With the parson was a former pastor of the church, two dear friends and two other family members. The parson and one of the friends were sharing their experiences of recovering from open heart surgery. They both laughed as they described their feeble efforts to get out of a chair once the muscles of their chest had been severed. The friend put the waiting wife into hysterical laughter as he demonstrated rolling out of the chair to the side rather than try to sit up. 

When everyone had settled down, following the laughter’s tension release, all eyes turned toward the television where the World Series was tied at one to one. Between batters the parson turned to look at a frail looking man with a walking cane sitting in a corner by himself. He had thick eye glasses, a well-worn baseball cap on which a logo was not unreadable from wear. His dress slacks were pressed to a point the crease seemed razor sharp. Above them was a cowboy shirt buttoned to the throat.

The parson slid his chair toward the man. “Are you waiting for someone to come out of surgery?”

“No, sir,” he said, sitting up straight. His pleasure at being noticed was obvious. “My wife is in ICU. She’s not having surgery, at least, not yet. She was brought up her by helicopter from our home in Alabama. It was kind of scary.”

The parson watched his body language. He invited inquiry. “Tell me about it.”

“Well, you see, we live in this double wide trailer; now, I mean, it is a trailer, but it’s really a nice one. You see, we both before we married twelve years ago were kinda down on our luck and we, .... well, ....”

He leaned forward and continued in a softer voice, “You’re that lady’s pastor; aren’t you?”

The parson acknowledged that he was.

“Well, I can tell you since you’re a pastor cause I know you’ll keep it in confidence. You see, she and me we were pretty heavy in drugs. I mean, we didn’t know each other then, but she was doing drugs with her group and I was doing drugs with my group and we didn’t know each other, you see. So, anyway, her daughter kinda had it with her about her drugs. You see, she was living with her daughter. And, well, her daughter threw her out. She just said she couldn’t put up with it anymore and plop her mother was on the front walk.”

He held up his hand and turned to retrieve a coffee cup from a side table from which he took a long sip. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“So, that’s what happened to her. And me, well, I got in a wreck one night when I was kinda stoned. Well, it wasn’t kinda; I was on another freaking planet. Pardon my language, pastor. Anyway I don’t know how it happened but I seemed to have parked my car up against an oak tree about twenty feet off the road.” He leaned forward to once again embrace the parson’s confidence. “I don’t have the foggiest idea how I got twenty feet off the road; but there was no way out of it. The hood was just hugging that tree. So the next thing I know there are these blue lights flashing everywhere. And pretty soon I’m in the county slammer.”

The phone in the waiting room rang. The parson turned to see if anyone was responding. When they did not, he held up his hand to his new friend and then went to the phone. He informed the caller the people he was asking for had gone to the cafeteria to get some supper. They thanked him. The parson turned back to the little man from Alabama who needed no cue to continue his discourse.

“The judge was a member of the church I used to go to when I was sober. So, I guess he was open to giving me a break. He told me he would probate my sentence if I would agree to go into treatment. I mean the choice was treatment or jail so I guess you can figure which one I picked. Well the counselor I went to told me I need to go to a meeting. I did. Sharon was there. She made herself go because, you see, her daughter had just shamed her into it when she threw her out on the street. So she went. And I went. And I guess it was about the, well, I guess it was about the tenth meeting when we went to get coffee afterwards, and you know what? We have been together ever since.

“So, she’s been having this horrible problem with blood pressure. Well, she had some other problems too, but the blood pressure was the worst of it. So she’s been having these fainting spells. I don’t know if she had them before we met in treatment or not, I mean, we’ve only been married ten years; but the thing is we’ve been sober all ten of those years so they have really been special. We both got jobs and we were doing really well I guess. We didn’t make a lot of money; you know, people are a little hesitant about hiring former drug addicts so we had to start at the bottom. But we hung in there and we were able to get the down payment on the double wide. You know, pastor, we’ve fixed that thing up so good you wouldn’t know it was a trailer except that I just told you. We got roses growing all over the place, and I built this kinda of lattice woodwork around the bottom and painted it a smokey blue so it would, it would, what do you call it? it would, oh yeah, it would accent the trailer color. It’s real nice.

“Well, Sharon was back in the back of the trailer in the bedroom this morning. Actually, I guess she could have been in the bathroom, but, anyway, I heard this God awful noise like someone had slammed something against the hood of the car and I called out to her if she knew what that was. She didn’t answer so I went down the hallway and there she was all laid out in the hallway. I just didn’t know what to do. She was breathing but she wasn’t moving and I don’t think she could hear me so I called 911.

“The next thing I knew they had her at the Emergency Room at our county hospital and then the next thing I know they have her on a helicopter and I’m standing there in the hospital yard watching that thing fly away with my Sharon and I got to tell you I was scared to death. I finally went back in the hospital and got them to explain it to me. One nurse drew me a map and showed me how to get here and so here I am and Sharon is back there in the ICU. She’s got all these tubes hanging out of her and I just don’t know how she’s doing to be. I mean when I went back there while a go there were some bruises on her. I don’t know if she got them when she fell at the trailer or whether she got them back there when she tried to get up with all them tubes hanging out of her.

“Do you know anyone here at this hospital who might be able to help me. I just don’t know what’s going on. I’ve been here all day and my Sharon is back there with all them tubes and, well, you know she’s had a hard life, my Sharon. But she’s done real good since we’ve been married and it’s just not good she’s back there. I don’t understand what’s the matter with her. But I know it ain’t good.”

The parson asked him if he could give him a minute. The parson left the room. By the time he returned the Yankees were ahead three to one. He motioned for the man to come with him. The parson punched a code into the panel; the door swung open. The parson escorted the man into a consultation room where a doctor waited and he returned to the waiting room as the doctor explained what was happening with Sharon.

The parson was in the waiting room only a few minutes when he was invited to accompany the wife back to see the lay pastor returned from surgery. Relief poured out of her in torrents. 

Returning to the waiting room the Yankees had won the game. The parson’s new friend was back in his seat. After having a prayer with the wife, the parson walked over to the man from Alabama. 

“How did things go with the doctor?”

“He explained it good. Sharon has a blood clot or something. In the morning she’s going to have some tests. The doctor told me he would come out here and get me.”

“I’m glad the doctor explained it. He’s a good doctor. He’ll take good care of Sharon.”

“Can I ask you one more thing?” said the man from Alabama. 

“Sure,” replied the parson.

“Could you have a prayer with me like you did with that lady?”

“I can,” said the parson.

He did.

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Old But Dependable

The parson entered his favorite dinner to partake of a hearty breakfast. Seating himself at his usual table in the back, he found Helen, the waitress, placing a cup of decaf on the table in front of him. 

“Morning, Helen. How are you and the family?”

“We’re doing good, Parson. Fred’s off the night shift now so we get to see each other for a change.”

“That’s nice, Helen. Glad to hear it.”

“You want anything besides the coffee, Parson?”

“I do, Helen. I do. Let me have two eggs over medium, a couple slices of bacon, a sausage patty, grits, some baked apples, and those special hash browns you guys fix.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, I’m seriously hungry.”

“Are you going to tell Ms. Parson about this artery clogging breakfast?”

“Are you going to tell Fred about getting forty dollars more in tips last week than he thinks?”

Helen slapped the parson’s shoulder and walked away.

The parson was reaching to pull his Kindle from his coat pocket when Ryan Segars walked up. He pulled out a chair and invited himself to join the parson. In no time at all Helen was there. Ryan told her he only wanted coffee. Which she delivered promptly.

“So, how are things with you, Ryan?” the parson asked.

“Not too bad, Parson.”

The parson inquired about Ryan’s family. Then the two discussed some community issues which revealed to the parson Ryan was planning to start a recall petition to remove the commissioners. Finally  Ryan got around to discussing his church.

“What do you think the chances are we could get a new pastor next year, Parson?” he asked.

“Why in the world would you want a new pastor?” the parson asked as he leaned back to give Helen plenty of access to place his order on the table. The parson immediately dug into his early morning feast while he listened to Ryan’s lament.

“You know as well as I do, Parson, Rev. Jenkins is getting up in age.”

The parson paused in his chewing, then swallowed, and commented, “Do you know how old I am?”

“Parson, you’re different. You’re a young-old, if you know what I mean. You go hiking; you’re always active, but Brother Jenkins is, well, he’s old.”

“Your church is growing, Ryan.”

“That’s true, but it might grow more if we had a younger pastor.”

“Your youth group is active.”

“That’s true also, but, Parson, ... have you ever heard him preach?”

“No, I haven’t,” said the parson.

“To say he’s a bit of a bore would be an understatement. I mean he just talks in a monotone. Truth is when he’s preaching it’s easy to realize how old he is.”

“I thought attendance is up at your church.”

“That’s true, too. But, look Parson you know what I’m talking about.”

The parson had finished his meal. He put some money on the table and invited Ryan to accompany him. As he passed Helen he whispered, “I put the money for my tab on the table. I promise I won’t tell Fred how much the tip is.”

Outside the parson walked toward his car, noticing Ryan’s 1959 Chevy Impala parked two spots down. He turned to Ryan and asked, “That’s quite an antique you have for a car, Ryan. When are you going to get a new one?”

“I wouldn’t trade that for anything, Parson,” said Ryan. “It gets me where I want to go.”

“Exactly,” said the parson. “Exactly. Think about that, Ryan.”

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Discipleship

The parson, at the explicit instruction of Ms. Parson, had carried the necessary ingredients to the church, chopped, peeled. sliced and completed all the necessary tasks prelude to combining everything into a large pot with the appropriate amount of stock to be transformed into the main course for the church’s Monday Soup Kitchen.

With the arrival in the late afternoon of the volunteers, the cornbread, peach cobbler, tea and coffee were prepared, and all was ready for the hungry. At the appointed hour they came. The usual occupants of the tables were there, slurping the food down with eagerness. The children of the hungry, having an advantage over their parents of a school lunch, feasted more quickly and soon were romping across the church grounds with Charlie Brown, the parson’s faithful canine companion, at their side.

Suddenly into the Fellowship Hall came church members who did not usually appear for the Monday soup ministry. The parson watched them from the table were he sat with Sharon who was trying to hit him up for money to purchase medicine which the parson had funded the previous week. They headed straight for the kitchen. In a short while they exited the kitchen carrying bags. The parson watched them walk out the door.

Holding up his hand, the parson said to Sharon, “Hold it, Sharon, not this week. I don’t have the money this time. And I know you’ve already got your medicine. Try for a better story next week.”  The parson headed for the kitchen.

“What’s with the in and out parade of folks a few minutes ago?” he asked Ms. Parson. 

“They came to pick up meals for the homebound,” said Ms. Parson.

“Whose idea was this?” the parson asked.

“They got together after church yesterday and decided to do it,” Ms. Parson replied. 

“You didn’t instigate this?”

“Nope.”

That night, on the way home, the parson contemplated the difference in making disciples and in being a disciple.

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Sunday Morning Activities

Sunday morning, the parson headed toward the church. The chill of the fall day quicken the steps leading to the car. The sun was shining; the wind was barely a puff. The parson placed his sermon-filled briefcase in the back, and off to church he rode.

The drive was pleasant over the five miles between his house the church. He listened to  warm voice of Liane Hansen and Weekend Edition Sunday. Ms. Hansen was offering a bit of help to the listener trying to solve the puzzle of Puzzlemaster Will Shortz when he passed by Albert Robinson’s place.

Albert, a member of the Administrative Council, was perched on the seat of his large riding lawnmower. He was headed up the slope from the street toward the house, the clippings spraying out from the blade’s housing. Albert’s back was to the parson as the parson passed. 

Not too long following the parson’s arrival at the church the adult saints gathered in the Fellowship Hall to feast on the pastries and coffee while the youth and children beat a path to the Youth Activities Center where they were away from the watchful saintly eyes. Laughter signaled the beginning of a good Sabbath. Soon everyone was in their respective Sunday School class while the parson sat studying his sermon.

The parson suddenly shot upright from his sofa. He’d promised he’d pass out the information sheet on the subscription campaign for the denominational newspaper. The sheets were on the kitchen table at home. He looked at the clock. It was late, but he calculated he would have just enough time to make it.

With deliberate speed the parson guided his car from the parking lot and pointed it toward home. A short distance up the road he passed Albert Robinson’s home. Albert was still atop the lawn mower, this time heading across the yard near his front door. The parson smiled, giving a nod to envy.

At home the flyers and subscription cards were gathered up and tucked under his arm. The parson then jumped in the car and headed back toward the church. 

Albert Robinson had completed the cutting of the lawn as the parson’s hurried return to the church passed him. He was now on his sixth or seventh pass across his sister-in-law’s front yard, which bordered his own. The parson took note of the thickness and green of the grass, wondering how Albert kept it so lush.

The morning service went well. The singing way joy-filled; the people were attentive; and a celebratory spirit enveloped the gathered. The parson greeted the saints as they left, including Albert’s spouse who informed the parson Albert was “a bit under the weather.”

With everyone gone, the parson gathered his things and headed home, passing Albert’s well-tended lawn along the way.

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Sometimes I Blog Sometimes I Don't

The parson sat down to write his blog.

The parson was sooo tired.

 

The parson did not write a blog.

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Duplicate Data

The parson was sitting in the lobby of the supervisor’s office thumbing through some literature when he was summoned.

“Hello, Parson, come on in.”

The parson followed the supervisor down the hall and into the conference room. Once there the discussion ensued about the parson’s service at his parish and headed into anticipations of what might be done once the parson decided to move on.

It was a good time. There were no issues where the two were not in agreement. No issues, that is, until ...

The supervisor handed the parson a computer printout that had been downloaded from the Episcopal Area computer. The parson stared at the sheet of paper.

“Do you mind if I see the form I mailed in before this meeting?”

The supervisor looked in the file and slid the papers across the table. The parson studied them.

“Look at this,” the parson said, pointing to a section of the evaluation forms. It was a section where the parson had filled in statistical data which he had been required to manually look up and some of which he’d had to determine with a calculator.

“What about it?”

“You had me spend all the time I did compiling these figures and you had them in the computer all the time.”

“Looks that way?”

“And you don’t see anything strange about that?”

“No, what’s the problem?”

The parson leaned forward and suggested, “Maybe we should end in prayer.”

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