Questing Parson

Thanks Curtis

Curtis -

A glitch prohibits me from replying to comments via the comments on my own blog (go figure). But I wanted you to know how much your last comment meant to me. You put a little perk in the step of this old parson. Thanks.

Young and Knowing

 The parson sat with two colleagues at his favorite diner. The table they shared was clear except for the coffee mugs in front of each. The two pastors, one male, one female, across from the pastor were in their mid-fifties and served churches in the same district as the parson.

Evelyn, the career server and sneaky monitor of the parson’s cholesterol intake, had provided the table in the back of the diner for their meeting and was keeping the coffee mugs filled. The subject of the morning’s discussion was getting more participation of the area churches in the homeless ministries.

Ben Andrews, a young pastor, two years out of seminary, had been eating on the other side of the room. His view of the parson’s table had been blocked by the buffet table in the center of the facility. As he paid his tab, he noticed the pastors in the back and came to greet them.

“Morning, Parson,” exclaimed Ben.

The parson acknowledged his presence and introduced him to the other pastors. Ben took the chair beside the parson.

“How are things going at Testing Ground of Naive New Pastors Who Have Been Told They Are Being Sent To A Great Opportunity United Methodist Church?” the parson asked.

“Great,” said Ben, “just great. We’re starting a new outreach program that I think is going to get us noticed. But I have to tell you, Parson, that it would be a lot easier if the denomination made resources more available to us for this. What is needed is for the church to ....”

Ben went on to explain to the parson and the other clergy the shortcomings of the current support of the smaller churches and gave them a three point presentation on how this could be remedied.

“Sound’s like you’ve really thought this out,” said the male pastor across from the parson. 

“I have, sir,” said Ben. “I’m sure as we come to understand the nature of the small congregation throughout the conference we’ll find movement in that direction.”

“It’s good to hear you’re excited about your ministry,” the parson intoned. “By the way, I was talking to Edwin Garrison the other day. He was bragging about your preaching.”

“Well, that’s nice to hear, Parson,” said Ben. “I really appreciate you telling me that.” There was a short pause before Ben jumped on this bandwagon. “You know, Parson, we need to develop a more comprehensive sermon helper program that follows the lectionary for the General Church. I mean the internet is full of sermon aids, but it seems to me we have to come up with our own site that provides this and provides it so that as we follow the Revised Common Lectionary while uplifting denominational issues and causes. I know you’re friends with some of the delegates to the General Conference; I wish you’d bring this up to them. I’d be glad to give you some talking points on this.”

The female pastor said, “Would you want the General Church to tell you what to preach?”

“Oh, no, no, I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to imply that.”  From this Ben went on with a verbal thesis on freedom of the pulpit and the need for each pastor to follow the lead of the Spirit in the preaching, but that the sermon helps could be a reminder of denominational matters.

Soon after this Ben followed with his suggestions of a more effective use of the local church property being held by the General Church clause in the Discipline of the Church. That was followed by a discussion on the proper ways to empower the smaller church to maximize the potential of each member. And that was soon followed by an analysis of the appointive system and how this could better match each individual pastor to a particular church.

A mental alarm clock must have gone off in Ben’s head because he suddenly announced he had to leave. He was headed to a meeting with the local community volunteer organization where he was going to present some ideas on how to maximize the participation of the local governmental agencies.

The parson and his two colleagues watched Ben depart. Each seemed to relish the silence that was kicked up by his wake. Evelyn came and refilled their cups. Each took a long sip of their refreshened liquid. 

“How long has he been serving a church?” asked the female pastor.

“Two years,” acknowledged the parson.

“He’s something else,” said the male pastor.

“I know,” said the parson, “he reminds me of myself.”

“Of yourself?” intoned his two friends in unison.

“Sure enough,” said the parson. “I seem to remember when I was his age I also knew everything.”

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Enabling Jeanette

 She walked into the soup kitchen with the confident swagger that always accompanied her visits. Sitting down at the first available table, she asked one of the volunteers what kind of soup was being served this night. 

“Tonight is turkey vegetable, Jeanette,” the volunteer responded.

“Did you guys use white meat or dark meat?”

“It’s white meat.”

“Well, I’m kinda partial to dark meat. It gives it a bit more flavor, don’t you think?”

The parson, walking by, overheard the conversation. He stopped and turned to Jeanette. “Jeanette,” he said, “the soup is free, white meat or dark meat, it’s free. Do you want some?”

“Well, of course, I do, Parson. Why else would I stop by?”

The parson walked away. He headed to the kitchen to retrieve some more tea. As he brought the tea out he saw Janet Morris with a bowl of sleep and a plate with half a dozen biscuits. He overheard Janet say to Carolyn Johnson, “Do you know where the grape jelly is. Jeanette wants some grape jelly with her biscuits.”

The parson halted in his tracks. “Are you getting this together for Jeanette?”

“Yes, I am, Parson. And she wanted me to ask if it would be possible for someone to fix some mac n cheese.”

The parson hurried across the room and filled the tea dispenser. He then headed to Jeanette.

“Jeanette, did you just sit down here and ask Ms. Morris to get your food?”

“I did. I prefer she gets my food. She’s a little more generous with the servings.”

The parson flopped down in a seat across from Jeanette. “Listen, Jeanette, first, I’ve told you before we don’t do special orders here so quit asking what kind of meat it is. Second, everyone who comes in here gets their own food. You’re the only person who has someone bring it to you. does that seem a little strange to you?”

“Actually, Parson, it doesn’t. I’ve had a strenuous day. My bones ache. I’d like to get the food myself but there’s always the chance I’d spill it.”

The parson rolled his eyes, got up and walked to the kitchen. He asked one of the youth to request all the volunteers to gather in the kitchen. When everyone was in place the parson said:

“Look, folks, I’m really grateful for all you folks do. And I’m so happy you want to make this a great experience for these folks, but in the case of Jeanette you guys have to stop falling for all her lines. We have to take a stronger stance with her. I don’t mean we need to stop helping her, but we do not need to enable her bad habits. So, I’m just asking everyone to make sure what you do with Jeanette is to provide what she needs but don’t fall for her lines and don’t give her any more deference than you would any other person who comes to the kitchen. And please don’t fall for any of her lines about needing money. If she asks for money send her to me.”

Everyone nodded. Everyone went about their business. The folks who benefited from the kitchen drifted in and out. The room was filled with laughter and conversation. Most folks seemed reluctant to head back out as the temperature was dropping. But eventually the place emptied following the exclamations of gratitude. Everyone was gone , aside from the volunteers, except for Jeanette. She continued to sit in the corner.

When the parson came by her table pushing a broom, she asked, “Parson, can I talk with you for a moment?”

The parson sat down across from her. “What’s up, Jeanette?”

“Look, I’m sorry about being so pushy when I came in. I really did like the soup, and the biscuits were great. I’m grateful for all this; I really am. I know you’re kinda upset with me, but I still need to ask you something.”

“What’s that, Jeanette.”

“Everybody says it’s going to get cold tonight. Looks like winter’s coming. That old furnace at my place is on the blink. I need time to save some money to get it fixed. So I was wondering if you could spot me a twenty so I can get one of those small electric heaters. I just need to heat one room until the furnace gets fixed so one of those little ones will do. I know you’re trying to get me to quit begging money, but I really need some help with this.”

The parson reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, extracted a twenty and handed it to her. She thanked him with enthusiasm, hugging him in the process. And then she left.

When everything was cleaned up, everyone properly thanked, and the church locked up the parson and Ms. Parson headed home with Charlie Brown, the parson’s faithful canine companion in the backseat.

“Honey,” inquired Ms. Parson, “did I see you slip some money to Jeanette?”

“I did,” said the parson. “She’s having a problem with her furnace so she needed one of those portable space heaters. I only gave her twenty dollars.”

“That was really generous,” said Ms. Parson.

“It was only a twenty,” the parson responded defensively.

“Sweetheart,” Ms. Parson said as she patted his leg, “you bought Jeanette a new space heater last December.”

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Seconds Allowed

She is five. Her parents moved into the community a few weeks before the school year began. Her name was Gretchen. The family had never been part of the church before two weeks ago. They were feeling they way around the liturgy as well as the local customs of the members. And Gretchen was the center of it all.

The Great Thanksgiving was over, the invitation given. The people made their way to at the ushers’ directions to the altar. There they knelt silently, most praying, as the parson moved down the altar with the youth communion assistant giving each the elements. “Take eat; this is my body .... Drink this in remembrance.”

Gretchen knelt with her parents as totally fascinated as they were unsure what to do. It was obvious this was their first communion. They followed the example of those kneeling near them. The parson pronounced a blessing on this group, and then they rose to return to their pew.

The ushers directed the next group toward the altar. They did not notice Gretchen slip out of the pew to which she’d just returned and take her place at the back of the new group moving to the altar. Again the parson and the youth assistant proceeded down the rail and the words were repeated as they did so.

As the parson reached Gretchen, she leaned forward and whispered, “Parson, is it okay if I have seconds?”

The parson leaned forward and whispered, “You certainly can.”

“Thanks,” she said as the bread was placed in her hands after which she took a big swallow.

After the service Mildred Carson cornered the parson. “I can’t believe what that child did. What got into her?”

“I don’t know,” the parson replied. “Maybe it was the Holy Spirit. Have you ever asked the Lord for seconds, Mildred?”

Count Your Blessings!

I'll Be Back Monday

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Once Again I Am Thankful

 First, I am thankful for the opportunity to do this again. I am thankful nobody has asked me to stop. I am thankful you are reading this.

I am thankful for the sunshine today, or for the rain, or for whatever is going outside as you read this.

I am thankful these days for flannel lined blue jeans made for grownups. I am thankful for anything that keeps this aged body warm at my age. 

I am thankful for people who don’t complain. But I’m also thankful for those folks who do complain about everything. There is something consistent and foundational about those folks, and at my age I find it comfortable for people to be predictable.

I am thankful for my family. To be honest I’m more thankful for some than others. Grandchildren certainly make children bearable. 

I am thankful now that my hearing is fading and my vision is growing weak that I still have a few years before I have to renew my driver’s license.

I am thankful for gifted people. for people with the gift of music, the gift of teaching, the gift of leadership, and the gift of caring, and especially thankful there are so many of these folks in the community in which I live.

I am thankful for good jokes: A jewel thief breaks into a country mansion anticipating rich pickings. As he creeps about looking for a safe he suddenly hears a voice call out, “Jesus is watching you.” The burglar almost has a heart attack but, after a few moments, he convinces himself that he’s just hearing things. He continues his endeavor, and again he hears, “Jesus is watching you.” This time the thief is convinced, and he cries out, “Who said that?” “Gabriel,” came the reply. The burglar is really freaked out now and he begins backing out of the room. He trips over something that comes crashing to the floor, and at the same time hears a good squawk. Taking a risk he turns on his flashlight to see what he knocked over. There on the floor is a cage and inside is a parrot. “Jesus is watching you,” says the parrot. “You stupid bird,” says the thief. “And I suppose your name is Gabriel.” “That’s me,” says the parrot. “What kind of idiot would name his bird ‘Gabriel’?” wondered the thief out loud. Says the parrot, “The same idiot who named his Rottweiler ‘Jesus’.”

I am thankful for people who laugh at the jokes I like. 

I am thankful for the knot in my stomach that grips me every Saturday night. It reminds me I still care very deeply about what I’ve been called to do.

I’m thankful for people older than me; it’s nice that there are people older than me, and those older folks know things I don’t. I am thankful for children who know things I should never have forgotten.

I am thankful that the Quik Trip has the best milk shakes in Georgia.

I am thankful for surprises that are good and worries that amount to nothing. 

I am thankful for talented people who have “made it” but have not turned their backs on those who have a way to go. 

I am thankful for the destitute woman I know who panhandled enough money to buy her homeless friend shoes before winter arrives.

I am thankful next year there will be new reasons for thankfulness.

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Needed Procedure

The parson sat in the family room at the hospital with a member of his church, an woman in her sixties whose father was experiencing some medical issues. She asked the parson to accompany her as she was unsure what to do.

On the way to the hospital, the two had discussed her own and her father’s desires regarding medical care that came near the end of life. Both were of the opinion that they did not want any extraordinary measures to be taken when the results would not significantly improve their quality of life. And then they discussed the times with her father that now occupied the corridors of her memory. She laughed, and she almost whispered as she shared the tender moments.

Arriving at the hospital the parson shared some banner with her father who was as feisty as ever despite his weakened condition. and then they headed to the family room.

The doctor soon joined them. He eased himself in a chair directly across from the love seat directly opposite them. He slowly discussed all the results of various testing and answered questions she asked him. He smiled sometimes as he explained some test’s purpose. He informed them the tests really didn’t tell him what he needed to know and he would like to have her, who had the Power of Attorney for Healthcare, agree to an angiogram being performed on her father to determine if there were a blockage near the heart.

“What does that involve?” she asked the doctor.

The parson listened as the doctor explained a procedure the parson had experienced four different times. He remembered the tube being inserted in his groin and how he’d watched the progress of the tube on the monitors as it meandered up his vessels to his heart.

“What do you think, Parson?” she asked.

The parson looked at the doctor and said. “Doctor, let’s assume you do the procedure and that you find a large blockage near the heart. Now, considering the fact your patient is ninety-five years old, has already had open heart surgery for a double by-pass, and has experienced two strokes, would you do open heart surgery again to take care of the blockage?”

The doctor was silent a moment and then replied, “Well, no I suppose we would not with his age and condition.”

“Then why,” asked the parson, “would you want to do this procedure other than the government will pay for it?”

The doctor was quiet a moment. He then rose from the chair, shook the parson’s hand and said, “I guess you have a point.”

“As the parson and she walked back to her father’s room, she said, “Thank you, Parson.”

Profit or Non-Profit?

Sunday afternoon. As had become their custom, the parson and Ms. Parson, were occupying themselves in the church kitchen and fellowship hall, chopping vegetables, taking stock of needed items, setting up tables, and otherwise preparing for the Monday evening soup kitchen the church hosted each week.

The “Soup Supper Monday” had now become a familiar event at the church. Originally started as a personal project of the parson and Ms. Parson, the church folks had begun to participate. They had even suggested the expanded ministry of delivering the meal to the homebound members of the community. Every week the ministry grew. 

The big surprise of Soup Supper Monday had been the seemingly “average middle class” folks of the community who stopped in on a frequent basis with their kids. “Just came by to see if there’s anything I can do to help.” These folks, who lived in above average homes, would pitch in. One would take notice except the demeanor they displayed when sitting at the table exhibited one whose pantry was bare.

Another unexpected benefit was the sitting down every Monday evening of the “haves” with the “have nots.” They began to see each other as people. Church members were becoming fascinated with the places where these folks lay their heads at night. Occasionally a church member would send a homeless person to see someone who “was hiring.”  “Just tell him I sent you.” One of two had found employment.

The parson and Ms. Parson chopped away. As they did Frank Wiggins walked in. Frank was an old fixture of the church. Frank was at the Soup Supper Monday every Monday downing his share of the grub. Frank was one of those who sometimes drove the parson up the wall. The parson had to curtail his bluntness with Frank. It was a love/hate relationship and the parson could never be sure which side was occupying either his or Frank’s thoughts.

“Hey, Parson,” called out Frank as he walked in. “Afternoon, Ms. Parson.”

Both the parson and Ms. Parson acknowledged Frank’s presence. Neither offered Frank a knife to assist them. Frank was an observer, not a participator.

“I saw your cars here so I wanted to stop in and tell you how much the Soup Supper Monday means to me. I really appreciate it.”

“Thanks a lot for saying that, Frank,” the parson said. “It’s greatly appreciated.”

“Well, I’m not the only one,” said Frank. “Everybody in the community is talking about it. And, gracious, from the number of people here every Monday this thing has really gotten popular.”

“It has, Frank, it has.”

“So, anyway, I thought I’d stop by and talk to you about this. I think it’s okay that you guys started this with the meal being free. But when we have this many people coming, I think we need to really sit down, maybe have a church task force or something, with something as successful as this we need to figure out how to turn a profit.”

The parson bit his tongue. He was determined not to jump Frank. Just because Frank didn’t get it, the parson tried to reason with himself, Frank didn’t need to be attacked. The parson was determined not to let the churning emotion inside him dictate his response. He was successful.

The sound of the reverberations of the butcher knife Ms. Parson had just thrown into a wooden chopping block on which she’d been slicing carrots, played harmony to her voice proclaiming, “Frank, are you out of your mind? Repeat after me, Frank; repeat after me: It’s Free!!! It’s Free!!! It always will be Free!!! Thank you for your input, Frank. But it’s FREE!!!  Now go set up some tables in the fellowship hall.”

The parson said nothing as he began peeling potatoes and Frank retreated silently into the fellowship hall.  

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The Office Is Moving

The parson sat staring at the eNewsletter from his episcopal area headquarters. The item which caught his attention was the announcement that pertained to the relocation of a district office. It seems the superintendent of one of the districts was moving his office to another location.

The parson stared at the new address. He was well aware of the location. It was a business park slap dab in the middle of some really high priced real estate in one of the most affluent areas of the conference. The parson being as ancient as he was made a connection that might not be readily apparent to those with less decades of observation. 

The parson noted the former location of the district office for that particular district was near the home of the former district superintendent. And the office before that near the home of the former, former superintendent. And now the office was being moved to a location that was a good bit closer to the current district superintendent’s residence. 

“Oh, good gracious, Self,” said the parson. “This has to be a coincidence.”

Self replied, “Sure!”

The parson sat back and thought of all the difficulty the churches were having meeting their denominational obligations. He thought particularly of the smaller churches such as the one he served and their faithful struggle to pay out 100% of the asking each year. He thought of the many smaller churches in the district where the office was being moved who had empty space, ready to be converted into spacious offices, which could be rented for the district office for less than half what would be paid in the office park. the rent from such in many cases would finance needed ministries. The funds from such in many cases would help pay a mortgage. And conceivably the money from the rent might make life more bearable for the least of those who walked within the shadow of the church 

The parson thought and thought. The parson thought and thought. The parson thought and thought. The parson decided to retire. He couldn’t figure it out. 

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Retire Again or Not

The parson’s day began with a question and ended with one.

Early in the day Hank Wilbur found him sitting at his favorite diner sipping his decaf along with an order of French toast and turkey sausage.

“Morning, Parson,” Hank greeted. “Great to see you. Mind if I join you?”

The parson did not. He was always glad for Hank’s company. The two went back a long way, having their first parishes border each other’s. Those were the days of trying to get Sunday’s sermon prepared, the sick visited, the meetings attended while at the same time commuting a good distance four days a week to attend classes at the seminary with Greek New Testament flash cards in the lap.

“Sit down, Hank. What brings you out into the country.”

“Rachel asked me to run up to check on some property she owns in Tennessee. I just stopped her for coffee because I liked the way the place looks.”

Hank was retired as was the parson, but Hank did not supply a church as did the parson. Hank and his wife, Rachel, owned a high rise condo in the heart of the big city. It was a result of Rachel’s astute abilities at financial investments. 

The two friends reviewed shared memories; they inquired of each other’s health; gossip of mutual friends brought some laughs and some unspoken prayers. Before long they’d spent over an hour.

Hank leaned forward and asked, “So, Parson, when are you going to finally hang it up and completely retire?”

The parson smiled and replied, “I haven’t really decided, Hank. On the one hand I really love what I’m doing, but on the other I’d like to be able to jump in the car and run over to Homer, Alaska, to do some Halibut fishing.”

Hank smiled. “You should think about doing just that, Parson. You should think about it.”

The parson promised he would and the two departed with promises to see each other again soon.

The pastor went about his daily duties. In the early evening he headed to the home of one of his members where a committee meeting was being held. The parson was greeted in the driveway by the hostess and ushered in the door of the bottom level. Walking up the steps he saw Randy, the four-year-old child of the hostess, in the corner playing with a wooden car. As soon as he spied the parson walking in he dropped the toy and bounded across the room calling to his pastor. The parson scooped him up and hugged him.

The two played together for a few minutes as the other members of the committee drifted in. And then the meeting started.

It was about halfway through the time when Randy walked back into the room to stand straight in front of the parson.

“I want to sit in your lap, Parson,” he said.

The parson pulled him up. Randy rested the back of his head on the parson’s chest and took in all the deliberations. He stayed there until the meeting was over and the parson had to stand to bid everyone farewell.

The parson was the last to leave, hanging back to express his appreciation to Randy’s mother for having the meeting at her house and her leadership in the project. Randy stood beside him.

The parson felt a tug on his trousers and looked down to Randy. “Parson, you don’t have to go. You can stay as long as you want.”

Randy’s Mom gave him an explanation of why the parson had to go. And the three headed toward the parson’s car. There Randy’s Mom picked him up as the parson buckled himself up and started the car. 

Randy reached his hand out with only his thumb, index and little fingers held up. “Love, Parson, love.”

Arriving home the parson gave Ms. Parson a kiss, scratched the ears of Charlie Brown, his faithful canine companion, and accepted the beverage Ms. Parson held out. When he sat down Ms. Parson said, “Hank stopped by my office to say hello. He said he thought he’d convinced you to go ahead and retire completely.”

“Ah, well,” said the parson, “I may have considered it, but I’ve decided to hang around a little longer.”

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