Questing Parson

A Day Off Is A Day Off

Ring! Ring!

“Hello.”

“Hey, Parson, it's Jim Oliver.”

“Hello, Jim, how are things with you?”

“Going good, Parson, going good!”
“Glad to hear it; how's Alice?”

“She's spunky as ever. Say, Parson, look, Harvey Nelson and I are down here at the church. We were working on that leaky faucet in the kitchen. We got to thinking about some things and thought we'd ask you to come down and talk with us a bit.”

“Can't do that today, Jim.”

“You can't?”

“No, I'm sorry. Maybe some other time.”

“You're doing something special today?”

“No, I'm not doing anything special.”

“Then why can't you come talk with us?”

“It's my day off, Jim.”

There was a moment of silence, then Jim continued. “Your day off. You have a specific day off. I didn't know pastors did that.”

“This one does. Been doing it for, gracious, let me think, about forty plus years.”

“This won't take long, Parson.”

“What is so important, Jim.”

“Well, we've been talking about that literature they've been using in the Sunday School.”

“That's something to take up with the Council on Ministry.”

“Okay, maybe, but we thought it might be more productive to talk to you about changing it before that.”

“Do you know who suggested that literature, Jim?”

“No, I don't.”

“Well, you bring it up at the Council on Ministry.”

“So, you're not going to talk to us today. So, let me ask you this: Suppose I called and told you Alice was in the hospital on you day off? I guess she wouldn't get to see you.”

“No, as a matter of fact, Jim, if you called me to tell me Alice was in the hospital I'd be there in a heartbeat day off or not.”

“But you won't come and talk to me and Harvey about the literature?”

“No, Jim, not today.”

“Why not?”

“Because, Jim, you're not in the hospital and it's my day off. But please tell Harvey I'm appreciative for you both fixing the leak.”

“How do you know we fixed it right?”

“I don't, Jim, but I'll check it tomorrow when it's not my day off.”

Defining Success

The parson was strolling down the sidewalk of a country town that had been restored to a turn-of-the-twentieth-century village. The transformation was apparently a success, All the businesses within the restoration area seemed to be thriving.

As the parson peered into the window of a store that was now a combination antique and sandwich shop he noticed a familiar figure inside. Heather Swathmoor, newly graduated from seminary and about to be ordained and appointed to her first parish, was sitting at a table with a Ruben sandwich and a book before her. The parson envied her and the anticipation that must be hers with this appointment. His mind wandered back to the really old days, when pastors of Heather's age were usually told they were being sent to “a wonderful opportunity.” The parson headed to the door.

Approaching Heather, he greeted, “Well, hello, Reverend Swathmoor.”

“Oh, Parson,” exclaimed Heather as she rose and hugged the parson. “How good to see you. Please sit down. What are you doing here?”

The parson took the table opposite Heather. “So, I hear you're getting a church.” The parson was aware of Heather's appointment, and he was aware of the church to which she was about to become pastor.

“I am; I'm so excited. I'll be there in three weeks. It's called Gregory's Chapel. It's in the Southeastern district. It's a country church. I know it has problems,” she continued, “but the district superintendent said there was a possibility I could make a name for myself there.”

The parson smiled. He indicated to the server who'd approached he only wanted a decaf coffee. “It sounds like a wonderful opportunity.”

“Well, that's the way I'm going to approach it,” she said. “I've done a lot of research to prepare going. The church was founded in 1842. It saw some real growth when the railroad came through the area just before the Civil War. For a while the town was really growing. It was a kind of hub of the cotton trade in that area. Around the 1950s they had their largest membership, but in the late 70s the membership stopped growing.”

The parson sipped the decaf and studied Heather as she talked. He tried to remember if he'd been this expectant when he headed out for his first church.

“The tragedy is, Parson, they have been losing about ten to fifteen percent of their membership every year for the last five or six years. I know it has to be disheartening to them. So I'm going to set a goal for myself to increase the current membership by fifteen percent next year. I think with hard work I can do.” it.”

Heather finally turned to her Ruben. The parson continued to study her. Placing her sandwich on her plate she took her napkin and wiped a smear of Thousand Island dressing from her lips.

“So, what do you think, Parson. It's possible to do that; don't you think?”

The parson leaned over the table and said softly to her, “Heather, let me make a sugges.tion to you. If you slow the decline to five percent, that will be a victory. And then you can move to other goals from there.”

Heather stared at him a moment. She finished the sandwich as she watched him. “Slow the decline and then work on increasing the membership.”

“That sounds like a plan to me,” the parson smiled.

Secular Preaching?

The parson was selecting some choice meats for the week's groceries. As was his custom he scoured the meats first, looking for values. Once the values were chosen he headed to the produce section where he'd round out his menu planning for the week. Produce was the challenge for the parson. Choice meats could be sliced up and frozen for several day's consumption. Fresh vegetables usually had to be purchased in quantities that did not lend themselves to freshness at week's end. It was the challenge for a widower living alone.

The parson had made his selections, had wandered up and down the aisles selecting the items needed to round out his week's menu, and was now browsing the beverage section in search of some Alice White Australian and Robertson South African wines. As he puzzled for another time over the reasoning behind the store's place of the various wines on the shelves, he heard a voice.

“Parson, what are you doing on this aisle?”

The parson turned to see Freddie Chambers, pastor of the Gird Thy Loins From Sin Lest You Fail to Obtain Celestial Glory Church of the Blessed Redeemed, looking at him with a puzzled look on his face.

“Ah, Freddie, I'm on this aisle because I'm looking for a nice red wine to compliment the pasta with asparagus sauce I'm planning to cook tonight.”

“You drink, Parson?” asked Freddie.

“Sometimes I do,” the parson replied. “Sometimes I use a funnel.”

Immediately the parson realized Freddie didn't get the joke. He decided to drop it but was now conflicted as to whether to direct his full attention to Freddie or to continue looking for the distinctive Alice White label. Freddie helped guide him out of his dilemma.

“Parson, you fascinate me. You know, here you are on the wine aisle of the church, and I know that a couple of days ago you were at one of the Rome Braves game. My nephew said he saw you there. I read your column in the newspaper and you mentioned that you spent time hiking at Cloudland Canyon State Park. I also know you're taking time off to go to Alaska. I don't understand how you can spend so much time in secular activities and still preach the gospel every Sunday.

The parson hesitated in his answer, not because he was at a loss for an answer but because his eyes had just zeroed in on the distinctive teardrop bottle of a Robertson wine.

“It's called preaching from life's experiences, Freddie.”

“Well, I prefer to spend my time in communion with the Lord in my study each day,” said Freddie.

“You're much more lucky than I,” the parson responded. “God seems to have chosen not to inhabit in my study.”

A Key To Pastoral Success

Ring! Ring!

“Hello.”

“Parson, It's Bruce Watkins.”

“Bruce, how in the world are you? It's great to hear from you.” Bruce was fresh out of seminary. He attended the parson's church during his college years, and, then, spent a tour with the United States Marine Corps as an intelligence officer. Upon his discharge, eight years later, he entered seminary.

“I'm doing really well, Parson. Really well. Jane said to tell you hello.”

The parson, after smiling inwardly as he remembered Jane's natural beauty and genuine personality, remembered that day almost eighteen months before. It was one of those occasions when the parson as he led them through the ceremony had no doubt this marriage would last forever.

“You give her my love. What are her plans after you get to your appointment?”

“We really don't know yet, Parson. We're hoping she can find some meaningful work there.”

The parson again smiled to himself. Jane was an educational psychologist who was fluent in Spanish and Japanese. He didn't think she'd have a problem finding a job as Bruce moved into serving his first church in three weeks.

“I don't think Jane will ever lack for employment,” the parson offered.

“I don't either, Parson. Look, the reason I called was first to thank you. I know the district superintendent and maybe the bishop called and you gave me a good recommendation.”

“Don't discount the impression you made yourself, Bruce.”

“Look, Parson, the second thing is Andrew Jenkins mentioned that you were taking some grandchildren to Alaska and wouldn't be at conference.”

“That's right,” said the parson. “I'll think of you sitting in the gathering of the ordained as we bounce along in our raft through the rapids of the Nenana River.”

“I somehow don't think you're going to give us a thought, Parson. But, since you're going to Alaska, I won't be able to see you at conference. So, I wanted to call and see if you might have any advice for a novice pastor.”

The parson smiled. He remembered the best advice he'd ever received. “I do, Bruce. I do. You know, the best advice I ever got was when I was backing the car out of the driveway of my parent's house to head for my first appointment. My dad was retrieving the mail from the mailbox. He came over, leaned down, and said to me: “You'll be a success if, when you leave that church, the people say, 'Look what we did!'”

It's Not the Age; It's the Age

The parson was at the bottom of the really big slide, the kind that's a tube. From inside the slide came a squeal. The squeal proceeded the appearance of a three-year-old grandson from inside the tube.

“Okay, let's go again,” shouted the grandson. “You can go with me this time.”

The parson turned to follow his scampering feet to the ladder which would take them to the platform where the bridge that led to the really big slide on the other side of the playground apparatus. A voice beckoned him.

“Parson, how are you?”

The parson turned to see Quincy Edwards, a lay leader in a nearby congregation. “Hello, Edward. I'm good. In fact if I felt any better the Baptist might call it a sin.”

Quincy sat on the bench next to the playground area and replied, “Funny, Parson. I'll have to remember that one. Look do you have a moment to answer a question?”

“Sure,” the parson replied, “what's up?”

“Do you know a preacher named Ronald Letterman?”

“I can't say that I do; why do you ask?”

“Because we just learned that he'll be out next pastor. Some of us are a bit concerned about it.”

“Have you met him?”

“No, we haven't.”

“Then what are you concerned about?”

“It's like this, Parson. We're told he's a little over sixty. This will probably be his last appointment before he retires.”

“That concerns you?”

“Well, yes, it does. Look, Parson, we suggested that the only way our church was going to grow was if we got a young pastor. We need someone young to bring some new life to the place.”

“Hey, are you coming?” came a cry from the ladder as the grandson began his ascent to the top of the slide once more. “Come on, we can go down together.”

The parson turned back to Quincy. “Look, Quincy, I don't think you have a worry.”

“Why not?”

The parson was halfway up the ladder when he answered, “Because, Quincy, the youngest pastor in Northwest Georgia is seventy.”

Looking Forward to Pentecost

“So, how was the sermons last Sunday, Parson,” asked the parson's non-church-going friend.

“It seemed to go okay,” the parson replied.

“Okay, okay, it just went okay?”

The parson smiled at his engineer friend. “Yeah, sometimes they're just okay.”

“I thought you put a lot of effort in your sermons, Parson.”

“I do,” the parson said, “but sometimes they're just okay.”

“So, do you know ahead of time if it's going to be great or just okay?”

“You know,” said the parson, “that's the mystery of it. There are days I walk into the pulpit thinking I've got the best sermon I've written in a decade and after the service I get those standard responses, 'Enjoyed the sermon.' And then there are times I go into the pulpit ashamed of my failed effort and I get stuff like, 'You'll never know what that sermon meant to me.'”

“How do you explain it?”

The parson smiled, “Tell you what, why don't you come to church on May 27^th and I'll explain it to you.”

Let's Keep In Touch

The parson received the text about five in the afternoon. Adam Trawick, an old, old friend updated him on his approach to the parson's town.

The parson and Adam had been the best of friends during college. Life had taken them in different directions. It was by chance they bumped into each other at a hospital in the Really, Really Big City. They'd promised to contact each other soon. Adam had followed through.

Adam had been meeting with an architect. Adam was the chairperson of the building committee at his church. They were planning on building a new sanctuary. It was going to be a very involved project. The church, the parson thought, was lucky to have Adam at the helm. Returning home from the meeting
Adam was passing through the parson's town.

The parson headed toward the coffee emporium. The two arrived at almost the same time. Inside the beverages were ordered. They took a sat at a table in the corner. The two began to catch up on old times, back when the parson and Adam had no cares and no woes, back when getting through Dr. Beckman's statistics class was the major challenge to an otherwise perfect existence, back when they were making plans to dazzle the world with their combined onslaught following graduation.

They both exchanged stories of children and grandchildren, of career paths followed and changed, of wives and lovers, and, even at their age, plans for the future.

Both now joked with each other over how their expectations had bumped against reality, how the conflict had tempered their ambition and sculpted them to find meaning in careers back then totally unexpected. And now they sat in the coffee shop reflecting on the unforeseen paths they'd taken.

“Remember, Vicki?” asked Adam.

“I'll never forget Vicki,” the parson smiled.

“Ever hear from her after graduation?”

“Never,” said the parson.

“Franklin Hodges, I wonder what became of him?”

“He's another one who vanished after school.”

“Strange, how people turn corners in life and just don't look back,” Adam reflected.

“I know what you mean,” the parson replied.

“How about Jeff Stewman?”

“Jeff came through town when I was in graduate school. We shared a pizza but I haven't heard from him since.”

“That is surprising. You guys were really close back in those days.”

“You know, that day he came through town. I remember we exchanged phone numbers and promised we'd keep in touch. He never called, and I don't know where his phone number is.”

Their conversation continued until night began to slowly close the door to the sky. Adam said he needed to head down the road. The parson acknowledged he had a few things to attend to. The rose, headed out to door to their respective cars, shook hands an.d hugged.

“You know, Adam,” the parson remarked. “Considering we're in our seventies, we probably shouldn't wait another twenty years to get in touch.”

A Stumbling Block to Growth

“Parson,” asked Frank Reynolds, a member of the parson's church, “do you have a minute?”

“Sure,” the parson responded, “what's up?”

“I wanted to talk to you, well, frankly, I wanted to talk to you about the slowness of growth in the church.”

“The slowness of growth? I'm not sure what you're talking about, Frank.”

“I'm talking about the fact that we're not growing as fast as we should. I mean, look, Parson, you're a good preacher and all that, but we need to add members to out church.”

“You're right, Frank. We do.”

“So, what's the problem, Parson? And how do we solve it?”

“Okay, Frank, do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“No, go ahead.”

“Frank, the last four Sunday services we've had a couple there, and elderly couple. The wife's in a wheelchair. Have you noticed them?”

“I have, yes, I have.”

“Frank, you're active in our church, you're concerned about bringing folks in. Now, tell me, Frank, tell me their names.”

“Well, I don't know their names, Parson.”

“Go home, Frank,” said the parson, “and think about why we're not growing as fast as you think we should.”

There Goes Job Security

The parson decided to join some of the area pastors for coffee after the meeting broke up. One of the brothers had a connection with the manager and a section of the coffee emporium was reserved for the ordained. The parson took the rocking chair that split the difference between the two love seats and two arm chairs.

After several minutes of discussing the latest gossip of who was going to be moved where and why at the coming annual conference, the talk began to drift toward the proceedings taking place by the General Conference, the denomination's biggest deliberative body, the one that determined polity and doctrine down in Tampa, Florida.

“Hey, that proposal to limit the terms of bishops was really interesting,” said Ed Taylor, the pastor of the Church-Over-the-Hill-but-Bigger-Than-First-County-Seat.

“It sure was,” replied Tom Joiner, pastor of The Church of Lovely Solitude Beside the River of Gentle Flowing Waters. “You know, it didn't meet the two-thirds requirement, but the bishops must have gotten a wake-up call when it got a majority.”

“Well, I think the most crucial thing before the conference is the matter of our attitude toward gays,” said Sally Crenshaw, pastor of the We Know We're the Bottom of the Barrel So We're Glad to Have a Woman Pastor. “If we don't begin to act like Christians we'll be the laughing stock of the Christian community.”

The parson sipped his coffee, waiting for someone to bring up the issue that was on everyone's mind. Finally, Fred Harvey, a seminary student doing a project at the First County Church On the Other Side of the Mountain. “Don't you think the really significant issue is the removal of guaranteed appointments for elders?”

A silence draped itself around the group. The parson rocked and sipped.

“Well, frankly, I think it's a really good thing,” said Tina Robertson, a fresh out of seminary student. “Everyone needs to be held accountable.”

“That's true,” replied Monty Harrelson, who was serving his fourteenth appointment in thirty years, “but you have to be aware this opens up the gate for some vindictive district superintendent to hound a person out of the ministry.”

The conversation on the elimination of the guaranteed appointment continued for another forty minutes. The parson, fascinated with the conversation decided to go against his better judgment and pay almost three dollars for another fifty cent cup of coffee. He sipped and observed and listened.

Finally the as the afternoon tiptoed up toward evening, the group began to break-up. The parson rose, stretched his aged muscles, and headed toward the vet's office to pick up Charlie Brown, his faithful canine companion. As he walked to the car the parson thought to himself: I hope I live long enough to see how this filters down.

Reflections on My Church

In Tampa, Florida, the multitude of delegates to the United Methodist General Conference (that body of elected delegates and bishops who determine the polity and doctrine of the church) began to gather in the morning hours. Some stopped to consume a full breakfast. Some made do with a doughnut and coffee. Some skipped breakfast all together and rushed to begin the day's business.

In a rural town in Virginia, nestled against the Blue Ridge Mountains, a young pastor, just now completing her first year of ministry after ordination, headed toward the local jail. The homeless woman who was her latest project had been arrested.

In the hallway outside the floor of the conference, a layperson from New York and an elder from North Carolina were in deep discussion of the proposal to limit the tenure of a bishop. The layperson sought clarification from the clergy on his views on the matter.

In South Georgia a middle-aged pastor stood on the bank of a river and in an absent-minded manner cast his fishing line into the water. Whether the fish were biting or not was not the point. The goal was the solitude, the quietness, the isolation where he could consider if he wanted to continue with what had become, for him, the disappointment of ministry.

In Tampa, when the delegates were called upon to vote on members of the University Senate, the church's accrediting body for schools, a delegate asked another who Jan Love was? The other replied she was the Dean of the Candler School of Theology. The delegate voted for her.

An Oregon pastor rose early, poured a cup of coffee, accessed the internet and clicked the live stream from the General Conference to watch the proceedings.

In Atlanta a seminary student at the Candler School of Theology headed down the stairs into the stacks in a desperate search for needed documentation for the paper due tomorrow. She had absolute no idea the Dean of her school had just been elected to the University Senate. Nor did she, at this point in heer career, care.

The Oregon pastor returned from pouring her second cup of coffee just in time to hear a delegate from North Georgia making some point to the presiding bishop. The entire recitation was not heard but it did not matter as the bishop ruled the person out of order.

At an Illinois hospital, a pastor jolted upright from his chair when a nurse walked into the room where he'd been keeping vigil with the oldest member of his congregation.

In Peru a missionary opened the doors of the newly established library and prepared for the onslaught of borrowers hungry for what was inside.

Two delegates at the conference became rather agitated in their discussion of whether or not elders of the church should be guaranteed appointments.

A lay pastor in Nebraska walked into work late again hoping his need to be with a couple in his church who had called him about their troubled marriage would be understood by a non-church-going supervisor.

Down in Florida the General Conference adjourned for lunch. In New Jersey a pastor was busy slapping sandwiches together at the shelter.

In Africa, a worn and tired pastor fell onto his bed, a cot, without undressing, utterly exhausted from a day with AIDS victims.

The Tampa delegates listened with rapt attention when the Reverend Lorenza Andrade-Smith was introduced. She shared part of her story of selling all her possessions and living in solidarity with the homeless in the streets of San Antonio.

In Ohio, a pastor and his Pastor-Parish Committee haggled over his compensation for the next year.

Delegates in Tampa ambled back to their hotels. Some stopped at a restaurant to swap stories and gossip. Others eagerly sought their rooms and a night's rest.

Across the globe United Methodists did what they do. In the morning the church will go back to work.