Questing Parson

A Happy Ending

There are those days in the life of every pastor. It was two for the parson. One group disapproved of the way a project was being handled by another group. Each group called the parson. Each gave their view.

The parson listened; he tried to quietly express his opinion. It was exasperating. Perhaps it was so particularly because the parson was tired. He didn't want to deal with church issues. At one point he leaned his head back against the couch and in his mind rewrote the end of the gospel:

Jesus was crucified, dead, and buried. The third day he rose from the dead and appeared to his disciples. Peter said, “Lord, while you were in the tomb we organized a church.” And the Lord Jesus replied, “I'm out of here.”

Every pastor has those days. But not every pastor's day ends as did the parson's.

“Ring, Ring.”

“Hello.”

“Hello, Parson. It's Wilma Maddox.”

“Hi, Wilma, how are you tonight.”

“Well, from the look of things I'm probably a bit better than you. Harvey and I were talking. He said he thought you looked a bit distracted this morning. Look, we just want you to know that whatever you're having to deal with at the church or at home, Harvey and I love you and we're praying for you. And, look, if you ever need to get away from it all, just call. You can hide out here. Just park your car in the garage where no one can see it and make yourself at home in the guest room.”

“Wilma, you'll never know how much this call means to me.”

“You mean a lot to me and Harvey, Parson. Don't you ever forget we love you.”

Wilma bid the parson good night. The parson looked at Charlie Brown, his faithful canine companion, on his bed across the room. “Charlie Brown, I've decided to keep on keeping going.”

Joan Chittister on Disappointment

Let's Not Talk

Ring. Ring.

“Hello.”

“Hello, Parson, It's Jim Gilmer. How are you?”

“I'm fine, Jim. I haven't talked to you in years. How are you doing?”

“I'm getting along fairly well for an old man. Can't complain; that's for sure.”

“Where are you living now, Jim?”

“We bought a little cabin in the mountains not too far from the Chapel in the Serene Valley of Complacency. You remember that church. You spoke at a spiritual retreat there.”

“I do,” said the parson. “How's the family.”

Jim related to the parson how he and his spouse were doing well. They now had four grandchildren who delighted them when the visited.

“Good to hear you're enjoying life,” said the parson. “I'm curious, though, Jim, what led you to call me after so many years?”

“Well, I called to ask if you heard the news?”

“What news?” asked the parson.

“The news about our former classmate being arrested.”

“What classmate was arrested?”

The parson knew what was coming. He'd read the papers. He let Jim relate to him how one of their former seminary classmates had been arrested and charged with possession and distribution of child pornography.

“So, what do you think about that, Parson?”

“Jim,” said the parson, “you haven't talked with me for over twenty years. Now, all of a sudden you want to talk about our friend being arrested. Does that strike you as odd?”

“Well, no, I don't think it's odd, Parson. I know you and he were close at one time. I thought you might have the skinny on his peculiar behavior.”

“Jim,: said the parson.

“Yeah?”

“Say good-bye, Jim.”

The parson hung up.

An Inconvenience?

The parson headed down the outlet mall walkway tagging along with a granddaughter. They’d already made their way through her list of stores and purchased each desperately needed item. Now it was time to return her to her parents where she could model the selections from her first clothes shopping trip without a parent. (It was almost like shopping alone for the parson tended to place few limits on her.) But before turning home there was a stop to be made at the ice cream parlor. The two needed a nutritious supper after such a strenuous day.

She was concentrating on her rainbow sherbet cone with the same intensity as the parson’s attention to his black cherry when Patricia McGibbon entered.

“Hello, Parson,” she said approaching their table.

“How are you, Patricia?” the parson asked. “I thought you were on vacation.”

“Well, I certainly thought I was. But I guess you might say we got tossed out.”

“Tossed out? What are you talking about, Patricia?”

“We were on the Outer Banks in North Carolina having a marvelous time. That place is simply divine. Then we get told to get out. That darn hurricane is 600 miles away and they want everyone to leave. Can you believe it?”

“Patricia, the authorities were trying to protect you.”

“I think they were being a little premature, Parson. And I don’t like to be imposed on like that.”

The parson paused to run his tongue with the precision that only age can grant around the line where the scoop meets the cone to eliminate the portion that had begun melting as a result of the interruption.

“I think, Patricia, that a lot of people were put out. Did you think about all the money those locals are going to lose because the tourists had to be evacuated?”

“I tell you what I think, Parson. I think that if that storm turns out to sea or misses those islands they are going to hear from me about this intrusion!”

Patricia went to the counter to order whatever. The parson directed his granddaughter toward the door before the conversation could continue.

Outside as they walked away his granddaughter asked, “What was that about?”

The parson replied, “That was about her, Sweetheart. That was all about her.”

Ordination No Option

The parson sat on the sofa in the corner nook of the coffee shoppe. He took a moment to arrange the pillows behind his aged back to accommodate his five foot six frame on the furniture designed for five foot seventeen. Having adjusted to the maximum he took a sip of the rich java, and enjoyed the full body and rich flavor which belied its decaf makeup.

Two seminary students sat across from him, one working on his Master of Divinity the other working on her Ph.D. in a yet to be narrowed down field of American religious history. Both were drinking a mixture whose name the parson might once have recognized when he was learning ancient Greek.

The trio shared news of various acquaintances. The students asked the parson if certain rumors about certain better-know pastors were true, and asked for the parson’s evaluation of the new bishop. The parson, in turn, asked them what they’d heard about the better-known pastor. Their revelations he added to his otherwise empty store house of gossip. As for the new bishop the parson pleaded ignorance, as the bishop’s as yet never extended invitation to dinner at his residence deprived the parson of adequate knowledge to make a determination.

James, the M.Div. student, fired up his notebook to share with the parson an article the new bishop had written. The parson promised to read it later in order to become better informed.

“So, are you’re finishing seminary this year?” he asked James.

“I am, Parson. Finally.”

“Have you started the process with the Board of Ministry?”

James closed his notebook, glanced over at Monique, the doctoral candidate, then back at the parson. He cleared his throat and said in a quiet voice. “Actually, Parson, I haven’t,” he said. “I don’t think I’m going to take the path toward ordination.”

“You’re not!” the parson stammered, forcing himself forward on the sofa. The statement had caught him completely by surprises. He’d known James for a decade and his whole life journey had been leading toward ordination. “Why not?”

James smiled at the parson a moment, then he asked, “You don’t know?”

“Know what?” The parson looked over at Monique whom he’d know just as long as he’d know James. She was smiling, obviously at the parson’s consternation.

“Parson,” said James, “I’m gay.”

The room seemed to shrink. The parson was completely surprised. He’d never considered this. He’d never had occasion to consider this. The parson sank back into the sofa. A thousand emotions surged through his body. He stared at young man he’d thought so long to be a rising star of the church. He did not know what to say. Sorrow wracked his being. The consequences raised their head and impaled his spirit.

It seemed a short eternity before the silence was broken.

“Parson, are you okay?” asked Monique.

“I guess so,” said the parson. “This is why you’re not going before the board?” he said to James.

“It is,” said James. “I’m not going to lie.”

“Are you going to another denomination?” asked the parson.

“No, Parson, I’m not going to do that. I’m sticking around and I intend to make a nuisance of myself.”

The parson smiled. James was a delegate to the Annual Conference. He might start attending more frequently.

“What about you, Monique,” the parson asked.

“I’m not going to be ordained either, Parson.”

“I know you’re not gay, Monique.”

“Right, Parson. But the more I’ve thought about it the more I’m uncomfortable with the thought of being ordained. I think it would be more than two-faced. I can’t reconcile the enormous amounts of money the church spends on itself while the world is hungry. I’m fed up with the hypocrisy. I could go on and on, Parson.”

The parson said nothing for a couple of minutes. James excused himself to get another cup of the concoction he and Monique were drinking. Monique leaned forward, “Aren’t you going to show off any grandkids pictures?”

The parson smiled at her winsome way. He pulled out his iPhone. Monique moved to sit beside him on the sofa as the parson began to flip through the pictures. James returned and sat on the arm of the sofa to view the show.

A while later James moved back to his seat. Monique remained on the sofa. James said, “Are you okay with what I told you, Parson?”

“No, James, I’m not. And I’m not okay with what Monique tells me. I’m disturbed that folks like you can’t find a home in the church. I’m just ....”

The conversation continued for another hour. At that point it moved to the restaurant two blocks down the street, and from there it continued at an Irish pub another block down.

It was almost midnight when the parson left for home, exhilarated from having been with two young people who’d skipped through is parish almost two decades ago and sad, so sad.

Graphic by subscription with Church Art Pro.

Locating the Inefficiency

The parson had been contacted by Charlie Chambers, a pastor at a church in a city halfway across the state, to serve as a consultant to determine why the church was not as effective as Charlie thought it should be. The parson had asked Charlie to shoot him an email in which Charlie would list some of the obstacles to ineffectiveness as he saw them. Following that the parson suggested the two get together to discuss a timetable for the parson to meet with some key laity and then the task force.

The parson had hoped to begin the process before the month of May. His calendar was a bit full during that month. He anxiously awaited Charlie’s response. When it didn’t come the parson re-sent the email. This time he contacted the denominational offices to get Charlie’s official church email address. This time he sent it to the same address Charlie’s superiors used to communicate with him. He also copied Charlie at the personal email address Charlie had given him.

After another week the parson had yet to receive a response to his epistle. This time he called Charlie on his cell phone. Charlie didn’t answer and the parson left a voice message requesting a call back. The parson was getting a bit frustrated now.

He called Charlie’s church office. It was two days before the month of May. He got a recording that said: “The church office will be closed until January 4^th. If you would like to leave a message for Pastor Charlie push ‘1’.” The parson did. There was a second recording: “Hi, this is Charlie. The church office is open Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday from 10:00 a.m. until 2:00 p.m.  At other times leave a message.” The parson left a message.

Later in the afternoon, Charlie called. “Hello, Parson, Charlie here. You been trying to get me?”

“I was Charlie. We were going to get together to work out a timetable for the consultation.”

“Oh, yeah, when did you want to do that?”

“How about Thursday? I could meet you any time between 10:00 and 2:00.”

“You said Thursday? Ah, actually Parson I’m I need to be around the house Thursday. I’m expecting some folks to put a new floor in the kitchen.”

The parson thought a moment, then replied, “Well, I tell you what, Charlie. Give me a call when you have some time and we’ll work on trying to locate the cause of the inefficiency.”

Quik Trip Prayer Chapel

The parson and his faithful canine companion, Charlie Brown, were walking around the perimeter of the Quik Trip, America’s best convenience store and, in this case, combination truck stop. The parson was checking the tags of the semi-trucks to see if there were any he could add to his list. He kept a list of the state tags he observed in a quest to add every continental state to the list. Charlie Brown sniffed the tall grass along the path they walked to determine if any strangers had intruded into their territory.

Rounding the corner of the lot, the parson spied a driver sitting on a lawn chair, sipping coffee and munching on a sausage / cheese biscuit he’d purchased inside.

“Hello, Allen,” he greeted. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d retired from the road.”

Allen was a trucker from Minnesota the parson had come to know on his daily walk. Allen twisted in his chair to look over his left shoulder.  “Parson, how the hell are you?” He then twisted the opposite way. “Charlie Brown, you still hanging out with this old codger?”

Allen stood and shook the parson’s hand. “It’s really good to see you, Parson. Hold on a minute.” He jogged to the front of his rig and returned with another chair. “Sit a spell, Parson. Take a load off.”

The parson sat. Charlie Brown realizing the walk was interrupted ambled back. He walked over beside Allen’s chair and plopped his head on Allen’s thigh. Allen, having been trained by Charlie Brown a few years earlier, automatically began to scratch his head and gently pull his ears.

The parson looked toward Allen’s rig. He noted it was new. “So what’s going on? It’s been almost two years. You’re hauling again?”

“I am, “said Allen. “Things didn’t work out off the road. I thought it would, you know. That’s why I stopped. I thought the wife and I could get reacquainted and all. Turns out all the years on the road had separated us a lot. Look, Parson, we still love each other, but, well, I guess we just get crisscrossed being with each other 24/7 after all these years.”

The parson didn’t say anything. Allen had told the parson he was going to retire in order to be with his wife more. The parson was trying to imagine how this turn of events had impacted the man.

“Funny thing is,” Allen continued, “when I went back to the boss to see about driving again he actually hired me back at a higher rate. And I’ve got a regular route. He also lets me transport some fresh fruits from Florida for a homeless shelter back home. I volunteer there on Sunday afternoons. Plus, I’ve got this new rig which just purrs down the road. I wish you and Charlie could come ride sometime.”

“Allen,” the parson asked, “are you okay with this or are you putting on a good front for me?”

“Oh, hell no, I’m not okay with it, Parson. Look, I don’t know exactly when the wife and I became strangers. God knows I was planning to really do special things with her, but it just didn’t work out. I’m a little pissed about it. But, now Parson, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea here. My wife is a wonderful woman, a good Christian woman. It’s just … well; I don’t really know what it is. Do you think after all these years on the road I might have become too solitary?”

“You’d have to answer that, Allen.”

“Yea, I guess I would. Wish I knew where we got so far apart. Funny, I never realized before this that we had a weekend marriage.”

Allen stopped rubbing Charlie Brown’s head which prompted the dog to immediately place his big left paw on Allen’s knee, a reminder to continue. Allen continued. As he did he began to share with the parson some of the stops he had on his new route. There was excitement in his voice when he talked about stopping at an orchard to arrange for picking up fresh oranges during the season. After a while the tales of the new route played out.

“Parson,” Allen asked, “can I ask a favor of you?”

“Sure, Allen,” said the parson.

“Would you pray for me and the wife? Despite all this we do love each other.”

And for a few moments the back side of the truck parking at the Quik Trip became a chapel with folding lawn chairs for pews with three congregants bowed in prayer.

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