Questing Parson

Who Told You, God?

The church meeting was over. It was one of those meetings that bounced between up and down, really up and really down. The newer members of the congregation were advocating a more proactive role for the church in taking their ministry into the community. The older members were being resistant with the “Who’s going to pay for this?’ litany.

Specific issues involved the proposed tutoring program, a community food pantry, a clothes closet, and a mentoring effort with some at-risk kids.

In some form or another things got approved, but not without a cantankerous resistance that was spirit deflating. The parson was tired. He was packing up his briefcase as he talked with Mildred Steward, a member who only voted after knowing which was the wind was blowing. Mildred was lobbying the pastor to spend more time with her sister in a local nursing home. Chloe Jane, a nine-year-old who’d been at the meeting with her mother, knocked on the door.

“Hi, Chloe Jane,” the parson greeted. “How’d you enjoy being at the meeting.”

“Do you really want to know?” Chloe Jane asked.

“Sure, tell me what you thought.”

“I thought it was a little silly, Parson.”

“What was silly?”

“It was silly the way everybody was talking about if we should help people who don’t have as much as us.”

“My goodness, child,” said Mildred, “you shouldn’t call what adults do silly.”

“Well, it was silly,” said Chloe Jane.

“And who, might I ask,” said Mildred, “told you the meeting was silly, God?”

Chloe Jane wrinkled her brow. She stared at Mildred.

“No, ma’am,” she said finally, “God didn’t tell me that. God gave me a brain so I could tell me myself.”

Trying To Be Relevant

  

Persistence

I’m not writing a blog today. I’m just basking in the glory of it all. 

The first time I talked to her about joining the church was in 1973. She was a neighbor, living across the street from the parsonage. 

Since then I buried her husband; I shared in her sorrows and in the joy of her second chance at love with her current husband and her pride in her child.

Yesterday I baptized her!!!

One Billion Trees and Counting

Wangari Maathai - Spiritual Journey from 30goodminutes on Vimeo.

What Story to Write?

 The parson sat with the computer in his lap daring an idea to come into his mind that would be the genesis of a story for his blog. The idea would not take the dare. 

An hour later when the idea had not come, the parson spoke to Charlie Brown, his faithful canine companion. “Come on, Charlie, let’s get away from this boring place.”

Charlie Brown bounded toward the door and was sitting impatiently beside the rear passenger door before the parson was down the front steps. Together they drove to the fifty area recreational area where he sometimes allowed Charlie Brown to run to his heart’s content.

Charlie Brown was sitting expectantly as the car pulled into the lot. When the door opened he bounced out, ran around in three circles and then headed at a trot down the hill. The parson sat himself on a picnic bench and watched Charlie frolic. In a few moments, the parson rose and began his own exercise, walking at a good pace along the paved path that circled the facility.

Two-thirds around the circuit, the parson greeted a couple sitting on bench. Then nodded. Facial expressions shouted this was not a romantic outing for the two; anger punctuated each countenance. The parson walked on. Rounding a curve that was prelude to the path dipping into a depression, Charlie Brown came romping up, tail wagging, tongue hanging, ears flopping. He paused to sniff the parson’s hand and then in a quick movement turned toward the pond at the bottom of the hill where the geese swam.

A movement on top of the hill caught his eye. The sound of laughter captured his attention. She must have been around eight. “Higher,” she commanded, and the soldier with the beret pushed her hard. She squealed; he laughed. The parson watched intently. The moments were precious; the parson knew deployment was in two days.

Charlie Brown had reached the bottom of the hill and now flung himself into the air to belly flop into the pond. The geese, accustomed to Charlie’s antics, showed no panic. Soon the geese and Charlie were paddling away, side be side. The parson paused in his walk to remember if Charlie’s seat cover was in place in the car. His memory assured him he’d have nothing to justify to Ms. Parson.

Cresting the hill, the parson saw Henry and Helen, “H & H” as they were referred to, walking on a path on the other side of the football field. They were holding hands as they had been for the fifty-five years of their marriage. The parson marveled at their love, their energy that took them to a dance every other Saturday night, and their deadly skill at poker. 

Charlie Brown came running to the parson’s side, having no doubt panicked when the parson had gone from his sight. Together the two walked around the soccer field and back to the car. Charlie Brown graciously shook as much wet from his fur as possible before jumping in. The parson slid behind the steering wheel wondering which story he would write.

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The Mystery of the Place

 The sun lost its struggle to break through the clouds and prepared to dip below the horizon. And yet the effort painted the clouds with a strange orange hue. 

The parson pulled his car into the left hand lane close to the curb as he stopped beside the mailbox. Lowering the window he reached out to retrieve the day’s mail. Charlie Brown, his faithful canine companion, roused himself on the back seat and awaited the next stop. 

Parking the car, the parson stepped out, opened the rear door and headed inside. Quickly he sorted the mail, checked for messages, made a couple of notes on things to do, and then quickly prepared to leave again.

On impulse the parson sat himself down, leaned his head back, closed his eyes, exhaled deeply and expelled his breath as he felt his fatigue. He looked around, taking in the details for the thousandth time. Outside the sun slipped down beneath the horizon and the light began to fail. Where the parson sat fading light enveloped in an aura of peace.

The took in the space again. There was something about it, a quietness, a stillness, and a mystery. The parson breathed deeply as though to inhale the essence of the room. He rose from his seat and moved to the door.

Outside Charlie Brown sat beside the car in anticipation of another ride. The parson opened the read door. Charlie Brown jumped in and with an audible grunt lowered himself to lay upon the seat. The parson moved behind the wheel. He cranked the car and reached for the gear shift.

He stopped and stared at the door from which he’d just exited. He remembered the sermons preached inside, the congregation that surprised him with their accomplishments and frustrated him to distraction with the limits of their faith. He thought of the frustrations the weekly appearance in that room brought him, the sermons needing more than he’d delivered, the people barely listening, the complaints that Aunt Mandy’s favorite hymn had not been sung in months. The room was symbolic of all that confronted a pastor.

The parson marveled at the mystery of sanctuaries and the hold they had always had on his life, from the chapel at the youth camp in his high school years, to the balcony pew of his home church in his teenage years, to the front pews in the years of his discovery, and distinctive mystery of each sanctuary whose walls had absorbed his words. 

The parson had left his fatigue inside. Now he drove away with a lighter demeanor, marveling at the healing power of sanctuaries, especially empty ones.

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Communion Participation

EMAIL

To: Questing Parson

From: Eddie Smithson

Dear Questing Parson

Thank you for your invitation to be a part of the communion service at your church during the Annual Seekers Weekend Retreat. Alex told me you would be asking me to take part. I certainly would be happy to do so. However I would like to clarify a few things. Exactly what part would I play in the service and to what extent would I be involved with the prayers and other parts of the ritual?

Thank you.

EMAIL

To: Eddie Smithson

From: Questing Parson

Dear Eddie:

I’m happy to answer any questions you might have.

In regards to prayers and such, I will be handling that. We’re using an abbreviated version of the communion ritual. This primarily consists of what we United Methodists call The Great Thanksgiving. 

Alex wanted me to contact you to be the person who actually assists me in distributing the elements. We’ll be serving the elements by intinction, which is the act of the participant dipping the bread into the wine him or herself. Our request to you is to be standing beside me holding the bread from which each will tear off a piece and then dip that into the chalice.

I hope this provides some clarification for you.

EMAIL

To: Questing Parson

FROM: Eddie Smithson

 Dear Questing Parson

Thank you for making that clear. I think I should be able to handle that without any difficulty and I would be glad to help. However, I would like to inquire as to who, in your church, is allowed to take the Sacrament in your church.

EMAIL

To: Eddie Smithson

FROM: Questing Parson

Dear Eddie:

I am glad you have agreed to be a part of the service. I know Alex will be more than happy to learn this news.

As to who participates, in the United Methodist church the Sacrament of the Lord’s Supper is open to all.

Looking forward to meeting you.

EMAIL

To: Questing Parson

FROM: Eddie Smithson

Dear Questing Parson:

I am not sure I completely understand your use of the term “open to all.” I assume you are referring to “all” to mean that persons of any denomination are free to take communion in your denomination.

EMAIL

To: Eddie Smithson

FROM: Questing Parson

Thank you for your interest in our liturgy. Actually, when we say the Sacrament is open to “all” it is not referring to the various denominations, although that is certainly included. The invitation is to all, denominational as well as other.

EMAIL

To: Questing Parson

FROM: Eddie Smithson

Am I to take this to mean that you let anyone, including people who are not members of a church to be a part of this?

EMAIL

From: Questing Parson

To: Eddie Smithson

The short answer to your question is “Yes”; we do.

EMAIL

From: Eddie Smithson

To: Questing Parson

Excuse my confusion, but by saying that you are saying ‘non” Christians would be welcome to take part in the communion.

EMAIL

From: Questing Parson

To: Eddie Smithson

Dear Eddie:

Your last email begs the question of why a “non” Christian would even be at such a service. But the direct answer is that we’re not going to make that decision for the individual. The person partaking of the Sacrament is the one who determines whether he or she is Christian.

EMAIL

To: Questing Parson

From: Eddie Smithson

In all due respect, Sir, anyone could say they are Christian and be part of the service.

EMAIL

To: Eddie Smithson

From: Questing Parson

I cannot argue with your logic.

EMAIL

To: Questing Parson

From: Eddie Smithson

It seems to me your church is opening the door to sinners, thieves, and even gays to receive the Lord’s Supper. Frankly, Parson, I cannot countenance a “non” Christian being a part of this celebration.

EMAIL

To: Eddie Smithson

From: Questing Parson

Dear Eddie,

After careful consideration I have decided to not argue with your logic.  As a consequence Joe Walker will be assisting me in the service instead of you. 

Hospital Blessing

Her age was indeterminate. She looked well into her sixties but something about her demeanor hinted at a decade, at least, less, and hinted at a life of difficulty having visited itself upon her countenance.  

It was her movement that raised the parson back to the surface of his consciousness from the depths of the slumber in which he’d slipped. The uncle was still in a drug induced slumber on the hospital bed. The parson’s computer was open on his lap where he sat in the hard chair. He moved the computer from the precarious position just belt side of going over the edge to the floor.

She turned at the movement. “I’m sorry, sir, I was trying not to wake you.”

“No problem,” said the parson, as he rose from the seat. “I really didn’t need to be napping anyway.”

He moved to the window and studied the pattern of the roofing pebbles and the large air conditioning unit just twenty feet from the window. The clouds were beginning to move in as promised by the weather channel. The balance of the day was promising to be gloomy, with the air damp, the wind blowing, but no rain actually falling.

Turning from the window he saw the woman reentering the room from having emptied the trash in a cart outside. She began to dust the furnishings with quiet efficiency, obviously following a practiced routine of best efficiency.

“How long have you been working here?” the parson asked.

“I’ve been here about seven years now,” she said, her eyes not meeting the parson but remaining focused on the task at hand.

“Do you like it?”

She stopped, moved to a small bucket-like container where she kept her supplies and returned the rag into it. “Yes, I do,” she said. “I’m very grateful for this job. It is an answer to a prayer.”

“That’s great to hear,” the parson said. “Not many folks see work with such a grateful heart.”

She looked at her watch, picked up her bucket and began. “Eight years ago, I lived out on those streets,” she said. “I could give you the whole story, but I’ve got other places to clean so here’s the Reader’s Digest version. I was a professional person in an earlier life. But I kept sampling some liquid refreshment until I just fell into that bottle. Now, I won’t bore you with the details, but things got really rough. Then one day I was hungry and I went over to that church over there,” she pointed out the window to a steeple in the distance. “I asked them if they had any food. Well, the lady took me down to their kitchen and she cooked me a meal. I mean, she didn’t give me any five dollar bill or anything like that. She cooked me a meal. And then she asked me if I had a place to stay. When I told her I didn’t she took me outside where they had this little camper in the parking lot. She told me I could stay in there. I did. I stayed there for a few days. Most of the time I was in there I was going through withdrawal. But she kept bringing me food and checking on me.”

The woman paused. She brushed her hair from her head. “To make the short story long, I got myself clean. That woman got me some clothes. I came over here and applied for a job. This is the job I got. And there’s nobody in this hospital that cleans a room better than I. Because with every room I clean I have cleansed my soul.”

She turned and headed to her cart outside the room. Looking back, “You have a good day, sir. I’m sorry I woke you,” she said. “May God bless you as God has me.”

The parson stood staring at the empty door. His uncle slept on having missed the Visitation.

Right Soup; Wrong Address

Ring! Ring!

“Hello.”

“Hello. Is this the Parson?”

“Yes,” said the parson, not recognizing the voice. “Who is this?”

“You don’t know me, Parson,” the voice said, “but I wanted to call you to thank you for the wonderful ministry you folks have on Monday night.”

“Are you talking about our Soup Supper?”

“I am, Parson. What a wonderful thing that is. I can’t tell you how thrilled my husband and I were to have you bring us supper last Monday. Oh, my that soup was good. And whoever made that cornbread must have taken lessons from my grandmother.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. Who did you say this is?”

“I’m Evelyn Simmons.” 

“Have we met, Evelyn?”

“No, sir, we have not. But I’ve heard about your church. That’s why I was so startled to find some young people at our door with our supper last Monday night.”

“Some of our youth brought you supper?”

“Yes sir.”

“And you’ve never had any contact with our church before?”

“No, sir.”

“Do you mind me asking where you live?”

“Not at all. Not at all. We’re at 4541 Tower of Ongoing Maturity.”

“I see,” said the Parson. “I’m really glad you enjoyed the meal. Your husband was there, also?”

“Yes, he was. And you know, Parson, those young people who brought the soup and the other stuff were not in a hurry. They just sat down in the kitchen with us and talked with us about so many things. We don’t get people their age coming by to talk very often. It was wonderful, and I just wanted to thank you for it.”

“Thank you so much for calling, Evelyn. I can’t tell you what a blessing it is for you to take the time to thank us.”

The parson and Evelyn talked a few more minutes. Then they ended the conversation. On Sunday morning, the parson questioned the two youth who’d delivered to Ongoing Maturity.

“Do you guys remember taking a meal to two people, a husband and wife, at Ongoing Maturity, who you’d never seen before?

“Yes sir,” said the older of the two. “Actually we knocked on the door and when they invited us in it was obvious they needed a meal. So we gave them the two we had. We did go back to the church to pick up another two meals to deliver the the right place.”

“Well, make sure you take another meal to them this coming Monday, if you will.”

“We will,” they promised.

The parson walked to a quiet corner of the church to read over his sermon, realizing he had no words to portray the presence of Christ in the congregation that came close to the witness of two confused adolescents last Monday.

Conversation with James Forbes from 30goodminutes on Vimeo.