The
parson was sitting at the table with the gathered brothers and
sisters assembled to complete the final planning for the upcoming
Homecoming. It was a happening the church had not experienced for
several decades.
The parson sat back in his chair as the meeting meandered about the planning of table placement, old Uncle Jim who might not be able to make it but whose two nieces would be there, to whether to use the blue table cloths or the red ones or perhaps a combination of yellow and orange would provide a more warm feeling and reflect the coming Halloween celebration, to the need to be sure everyone who was bringing covered dishes remember to cook for ten people minimum, to Isabella Cornwall's bunion which might prohibit her from being the official greeter, to whether Ralph Prichard would be offended if the circular tables were placed outside under the oak trees to accommodate the expected record crowd, to how many gallons of iced tea should be anticipated, to Rosemary's insistence that Susan Apella be asked to sing a special number, to ....
The parson listened and nodded and affirmed the desires of several members of the committee. The parson was not disinterested in the coming event, but he felt the really important decisions such as Susan's solo and the color of the table cloths should be left to the combined wisdom of these saints. The parson did however occasionally go out on a limb in regard to the more mundane matters.
“So Parson,” asked Hazel Grim, “what about Brother Gottaway? How should we compensate him?”
“Well,” the parson replied, “you folks have been very vocal in your belief he's the best pastor you had over the years. I would think you would want to be generous. And, I don't know if you're aware of this or not, but he and his wife will be celebrating their anniversary the day of the Homecoming. I'd like to suggest a bouquet of flowers would be appropriate to present his wife at the service.”
“Are you talking about a flower arrangement? We've already talked about Janet handling the flowers.”
“No, John, I'm talking about a bouquet to be give his wife, not to sit on the altar,” said the parson.
“Well, we're paying him to preach already, Parson,” said John.
The parson ignored him. “I've already told him that since they are coming on their anniversary we'll foot the bill for them to spend the weekend here, including a hotel room.”
“You what?” interjected Henry. “Who's going to pay for that?”
“I thought I'd take it out of my discretionary funds.”
“Can you do that?”
“Yes, I can.”
“I don't know about that.” The parson leaned across the table, “Henry, the name of the fund is “The Pastor's Discretionary Funds.”
Henry's wife placed her elbow between his fourth and fifth ribs.
“Okay, okay,” said the chairperson, “let's get on with it. We'll give them the flowers. Mildred can you take care of that?”
Mildred said she could and the chairperson continued. “Now, the Parson's taking care of the accommodation. The only thing left is how much should we compensation him for the sermon.”
There was silence around the table. Finally, the chairperson said, “Parson, what do you recommend?”
“I think you should consider no less than $250, considering the distance they are coming, the price of gas and what they are giving up to be here.”
“Are you kidding,” Henry protested, “$250.00?”
“I thought you told me he was the most popular preacher you'd ever had?”
“Well, he is, but goodness gracious Parson. I mean, well, I mean ... Look Parson, what do you get when you're invited to preach at all those places you go?”
The parson smiled, “Well, that's my business, Henry, but obviously it's more than you folks can afford.”
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