The One That Got Away

The parson was squatting on the bank of the stream that meandered through the woods not far from his church. He couldn't sit; the ground was too wet from recent rains. Charlie Brown, his faithful canine companion, was sniffing out an inventory of critters that lived in a half mile radius. The parson had just reeled in his lure and now cast it out again.

Charlie Brown appeared. He came and sat beside the parson, facing away from the screen. Charlie made a moan, not a growl but more just an acknowledgment something was afoot. The parson turned to look over his shoulder in the direction Charlie Brown was looking. Jeff Allen came into sight on the trail that divided the bamboo growth.

“Hello, Parson,” called Jeff. “I saw your car parked up on the road. I remembered you told me you sometimes hung out in these woods, so I thought I'd see if I could find the attraction.”

“Good to see you, Jeff,” said the parson as he raised himself from his squat and made another cast into the stream.”

“I didn't know there would be fish in this stream,” said Jeff.

“Apparently, there aren't today,” the parson acknowledged.

The parson reeled the line in again. He leaned the rod against a tree and then sat upon the trunk of a fallen one. He reached behind the trunk and pulled up a cooler. He removed a couple of apples, some cheese, and two bottles of beverage.

“Want a snack?” asked the parson.

“Ah, no thanks, Parson,” said Jeff. The parson promptly returned one of the apples and one of the beverages to the cooler. He returned the cooler to the ground and retrieving a knife from his pocket sliced the apple and cheese. He then made mini sandwiches out of the apple slices and cheese. After the top was twisted from the bottle he was prepared for his treat.

“How are things going at the church?” the parson asked.

“The seem to stay the same, Parson. They seem to stay the same. No matter what I do, or what I don't do, the church remains the same size and the same people do all the work while the others fuss about it.”

“You sound discouraged,” said the parson.

“That's not a strong enough word, Parson. Look, I'm going to stay this next conference year, but if something doesn't happen at the church I'm going to find some other avenue of service.”

The parson took his last bite of his apple/cheese mini sandwiches then drained the bottle. Without replying yet, he replaced the empty bottle in the cooler. He then retrieved his rod and walked back to the edge of the stream where he cast once more into the water.

“Jeff,” said the parson, “I've come to the conclusion, over the four decades I've been a pastor, that small churches are small because they choose to me.”

The parson stopped talking and snatched the rod up to hook whatever was playing with his lure. He began to reel the fish in. He got it to the edge of the stream and started to pull it upward to the top of the bank when, with a mighty flip, the fish tore itself from the hook and splashed back into the water.

“Damn,” said the parson. “I almost got him that time.”

The parson decided that was a signal to hang it up for the day. There was church work to be done. He hooked the lure to the reel and tightened the line until it was taunt. He picked up the cooler and sat it next to the rod and reel now leading against the tree.

“Jeff,” said the parson. “Listen, don't ever judge your ministry on whether or not you grow a church. Like I say, some churches just don't grow. You judge your ministry on whether you answered your call and kept your vows. If you have you should think twice about quitting because there aren't a lot of you around.”