Questing Parson

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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Donation Or Handout?

Florence drove the parson up the wall. She showed up at the church on schedule, just minutes before the worship began, just about every Sunday morning. 

“Morning, Parson,” she would call out getting out of her beat-up mini van. “Hope you preach a good sermon this morning. The Lord knows we need the Word preached as powerfully as you preach it.”

“Thank you, Florence,” the parson responded. “Why don’t you come on in and judge it for yourself.”

“I’d like to do that, Parson. I really would. But I’ve realized my brakes are giving out and I’m just going to have to get them fixed. You know how so many folks depend on me to get the places. And to tell you the truth I need some money also to take care of a little project I’ve started.  I just stopped by to ask if there was any possibility I could hit up you for a twenty. You know God will bless you for giving it.”

The parson smiled. He admired Florence’s ability to never be distracted from her mission. And usually that mission involved lightening the parson’s wallet. 

“Look, Florence, I want you to stop coming by just before I have to preach to ask for a handout. OK?”

Florence responded in the affirmative as a smile began to form on her face when she noticed the parson lifting his robes to retrieve his wallet.

“That’s a nice looking thing you’ve got around your neck there, Parson,” she said as she reached out to rub the parson’s stole.

“Thank you, Florence,” the parson responded. “See you tomorrow.”

Florence was non-committal as she hugged the parson and then headed for her mini van. The parson watched her obese body topped by the dirty stringy hair head to the van where she got in and pulled away with a wave to the parson.

The service went well; nothing unusual happened, but then again the parson was used to nothing happening that was not in the bulletin. After the worship he and his faithful canine companion, Charlie Brown, headed home for a bit of lunch. Then, it was back to the church where the youth wanted him to see a rehearsal of the Christmas play.

Before the rehearsal began the church phone rang. The parson answered to hear the pastor on one of the more affluent churches speaking. “Parson, there’s a woman up here named Florence, kind of a heavy-set, unkempt, person. She’s asking us for some assistance for her electric bill. She says you can vouch for her.”

The parson paused a moment as he bowed his head to ask the Lord to forgive him for the sin he was about to commit. “Yes, Greg, Florence. She’s really down on her luck. But what a spirit. I hope you can assist her as much as possible.”

Greg said he’d dip into the abundant indigent fund his church operated. The parson knew Florence would dance a gig on the way to the van.

The next night was Soup Supper Monday at the parson’s church. Fred and Jessie were there. Both were homeless. One lived under a bridge; the other lived in the back of an abandoned box truck. Both Fred and Jessie had recently gotten a job, thanks to some of the church folks who also attended Soup Supper Monday. The parson greeted the two with surprise.

“Hey, you guys seem a little decked out tonight,” exclaimed the parson. 

“Don’t we ever,” called out Jesse as he stood up and turned in a circle for the parson to see. Fred did so, also. 

“The new job must be going well, if you already got new clothes.”

“Well, Parson,” said Fred, “actually we didn’t buy them. Florence took us over to Walmart. She said it was going to get colder and we needed new clothes. She said she’d come up with some extra money so she could fix us up. And look here ...” Fred put his foot up on the edge of the table. “... she bought both of us a pair of good winter boots.”

The parson thought about Florence, living in the old abandoned house down on Ralph’s farm. He thought about her lack of electricity, of her meager SSI check. He marveled at the boots.

A familiar voice broke the parson’s admiration. “Hey, Parson, you got a minute?”

The parson turned to walk toward Florence’s voice. “Yes, Florence I’ve got a minute.”

“Look, parson, you know the radiator on the car is giving me trouble. I need to get it fixed. Do you think you could help me out a bit?”

“How much do you need, Florence?”

“A twenty would be a generous plenty that the Lord would smile on, I’m sure.”

The parson handed her the twenty. “You going to eat with us?”

“What flavor soup are we having tonight?”

“Actually, Florence, tonight it’s not soup. It’s greens, pinto beans, mashed potatoes, mac ‘n’ cheese, sweet potatoes, cornbread, and peach cobbler.”

Florence seemed to ponder a moment. Then she said, “I guess it would be rude, after your assistance, not to sample the menu.”

Florence and the parson headed inside. Florence sat with Fred and Jesse. As she did, she suggested, “Parson, when you bring that plate could you give me a few extra greens. They have lots of iron, you know, and I think that might help me stay healthy.”

Checking the Visitors Out

The parson stood at the rear door of the church watching the activities outside. It was a Sunday for a Community Yard Sale. From time to time, the church opened its property for the folks in the area to have a giant yard sale. The church charged nothing for anyone selling their wares. Some made a contribution. Some tithed what they sold. Others thanked the church for what they were doing and when the day was over headed toward the horizon.

The youth of the church operated a hamburger and hotdog stand for the day. The income from these sales helped provide some of their special activities. 

The church yard was full of “booths”, some of which were just tables and some were simply tarps spread on the ground. The balance of the yard was full of cars from people stopping to see what bargain they might find. It was a busy day.

As the parson stood there, Mrs. Harriet McManus took a position beside him. 

“Looks like a good day,” said the parson.

“It is,” Harriet replied. “I just wish the women’s group had published that cookbook. We could have sold so many copies today.”

The parson nodded. She was right. He didn’t mention to Harriet his constant reminders to the women’s group to get with it if they wanted to publish the book.

“Would you look at that dog,” said Harriet.

The parson looked in the direction of her pointed finger. He observed Charlie Brown, his faithful canine companion, being led about the property by one of the members of the youth group. They paused at almost every stranger whereupon Charlie Brown would sniff first their feet and then their clothing. Eventually, inventory complete, he moved to the next stranger.

Harriet continued, “He’s walking along there sniffing at every stranger on the property. He looks like he checking everybody out to see if they’ll fit in.”

The parson watched Charlie Brown who was obviously checking out one of those strangers while the youth talked with a friend.

“I see what you mean,” said the parson. “That dog acts more and more like a church member everyday.”

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Bigotry Confronted

The parson found himself driving pass the farm of a member. To say this particular member was conservative would be an understatement. He held strong beliefs on the inerrant word of the scripture. He studied them fervently and then used the fruits of that study to bully others to his beliefs.

Several weeks before the parson had found himself talking with two members of the congregation who had passed his Sunday school classroom one Sunday morning. They had overheard him berating the gay lifestyle, loudly proclaiming the defilers would go to hell. The two who had heard him almost quit the church because of the hurt they felt in this attack on their twenty-two year committed relationship.

The parson wondered how he would ever get him to stop his firebrand attack on not only the gays but others in the church, including the parson, whose theology did not gee-haw with his.

The parson’s wondering was halted as he passed the tree-lined winding driveway that led to the man’s ranch style house on top of the hill in the center of his farmland. The man had been released from the hospital only two days previous. Headed up the driveway was the lesbian couple who had signed up at the church to provide the patient with a nourishing meal.

The parson smiled and drove on as he wished he could be the proverbial fly on the wall.

Time Out!

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