Questing Parson

No Answer to the Questions

The parson walked across the campus of the big university in the really, really big city on of which the seminary was part. He'd been at hospital where occasionally he volunteered for some testing and procedures in the cardiac clinic. Now he was headed to the seminary library to look up a couple of obscure facts and to continue his pretense of being a scholar.

Absconded in a corner of the library, the parson was reading about the history of several churches in his conference, churches who had been in existence during the expansion of his denomination in the eighteenth century. His study was interrupted.

“Parson, what are you doing here?”

The parson turned to see Emily Watson, the daughter of a dear friend, now a student at the seminary. “I'm just reading up on some church history no one else is interested in,” said the parson. “It's really good to see you. How are your studies coming?”

Emily sighed. “Can I talk with you a minute?”

“Sure,” the parson replied, “have a seat.”

Emily seated herself across the table from the parson. She looked intensely at the parson for a moment then said, “How long does it take to be certain?”

“Certain about what?” the parson asked.

“I'm not sure, Parson. It's just that, well, I'm in my second year now, and it seems the more I learn the more questions I have to ask.” Emily then began to relate her studies of the early theologians, Augustine and others; she talked of the writings of Kant, of Bonhoeffer, of current religious thinkers.

“I read and read but the more I study the more questions I have. I wish, Parson, I could be as certain as you are.”

“You think I'm certain about things?”

“Well, you always seem to have the answers to the questions.”

“Oh, Emily, I don't. I don't. I'm just like you, Emily, every time I turn a page I find a new question.”

“Doesn't that discourage you?”

“Not one bit,” said the parson. “Not one bit. If I had the answer to all the questions I'd no longer be able to marvel at the mystery.”

Doubt / Believe

Doubting Easter from Igniter Media on Vimeo.

An Honest Doubt

The parson entered the well known chain restaurant with the breakfast buffet bar. There were gathered the clergy of the parson's area and denomination to share stories of their local parishes, some of which were not too exaggerated. The parson on seeing the assembled brothers and sisters at three tables pulled together in the corner noted they'd already begun to eat.

He headed to the buffet bar and began to load his plate with an immpressive assortment of cholesterol laden goodies. But being the nutritional advocate he is, he balanced his selection with a variety of fruits. He headed to the appointed area and greeted his colleagues. They, in turn, greeted him but immediately went back to their conversation.

“The thing is,” said Will Adams, the pastor of a three to four hundred member congregation, “despite all this he's one of the best and hardest working lay person I've ever come across.”

“Nevertheless,” said Sara McChuchenson, the associate pastor at one of the county seat churches, “you must be careful because he could upset the apple cart, so to speak.”

“Maybe you could just sit him down and talke with him,” suggested Ralph Turner, the pastor of a two point circuit.

Will turned to the parson, “Maybe we should get your opinion, Parson. You've got the most experience of anyone at the table.”

“What's the situation?” asked the parson as he forked a slice of country biscuit laden with country gravy into which the “chef” had crumbled some crisp sausage.

“Okay, here's the story,” said Will. “I have this relatively new member in the church. He's a terrific leader. He's organized some effective outreach to our inactive members; he's revitalized the youth group.”

“Run him off immediately,” the parson said. “But be sure and give him directions to our church.”

“Funny, Parson,” Will responded, “but seriously while this fellow's been working like nothing could stop him, he's got doubts. On several occasions in conversations with me or with me and some others he's expressed doubts about his faith and even dxpressed doubts about things like the virgin birth; he's raised issues of Paul's influence in the earlhy church effecting the direction of the church, possibly away from Jesus' core teachings. Just all in all, while he's a good leader he just seems to be filled with doubts.”

The parson was gobbling down the last of his breakfast by the time Will had concluded his litany.

“So, Parson, what's your take.”

The parson took a swig of his decaf. He looked around the table and then at Will. “What I think is you should never doubt doubt.”

If He Didn't Have To?

The parson sat with his Kindle in hand, reading Robert B. Reich's Aftershock: The Next Economy and America's Future. Reading Reich's recommendations for fixing the economy struck the parson as Christian in approach but difficult to carry out in today's climate of calling such proposals “socialist.” Coming to the end of the chapter, the parson switched the Kindle off and sat up. His friend, Clint Conally, sat with his head leaned back against the wall, eyes closed, breathing deep, eyelids flickering in rim sleep. The third member of the gathered trio that day, Harvey Dustin, walked into the hospital room at that time.

“Hey, Knucklehead,” he called out as his cowboy boot prodded Clint's left leg, “wake up; there's no sleeping while keeping vigil. “Let's go get something to eat. I checked with the nurse and she said Greg would be in surgery another couple of hours.”

Clint roused himself from the chair; the parson tucked his Kindle into his coat pocket, worked his way around the empty hospital bed, and the three headed into the hospital corridor. The parson took the lead. “You're mighty dressed up this morning,” greeted Deborah Miller, the charge nurse on this floor.” The parson thanked her and replied he was dressed for the company he was in. His two friends didn't know the parson spoke the truth. When he retired, even though he supplied a church, he'd not been wearing his clergy collar. But whenever he was with these two and Greg whose surgery had brought them together once more, he wore his collar. He did it to keep them off balance. Of the quartet, only the parson was a “believer.”

The parson quietly spoke to the nurse for a minute and then rejoined his comrades.

The four had formed their bond decades ago during experienced adventures during a tour of exotic places, all expenses paid by their Uncle Sam. Over the years, they'd kept in touch, getting together at infrequent intervals to reform their bond and being at the side of each other whenever a Crisis such as Greg's confronted one of their number.

In the bowels of the big city hospital they found the cafeteria and were pleasantly surprise at the rich selections available. Carrying their piled high trays to a corner table that looked out on a delightful water garden the two settled in for their meal.

“You need to same some blessing or something, Parson. I mean, there are people watching. It wouldn't be much of a witness to start gobbling down that food without returning thanks; would it?” asked Clint with a smile on his face.

“I've already said a silent prayer,” Clint informed the parson. “If I really did a proper audible prayer I might give into the temptation of praying for your worthless soul and that could take long time.”

“Well, we all know you pray for us anyway,” said Harvey. “And, personally, I want to thank you for that. You're the only one of the four of us who is religious, but I want you to know I really find it comforting you care enough for us to want us to come into the fold.”

“That's right,” said Clint, “but you need to know I, for one, am not open to conversion.”

“I'm not open to converting you just now,” said the parson. “I'm a little busy with this meatloaf.”

Quickly the consumption of lunch became the focus of the day. They ate and talked about family and friends, aspirations and goals achieved. Strangely the event that had formed their bond was never mentioned. It never was; in all their years since then it was never talked about. It did not need to be; it was there.

“I can't believe you're still at it,” said Clint to the parson. “I have to tell you I really thought you'd throw in the towel in a few years. But you've hung in there.”

The parson smiled. His vocation was often the butt of humor among the group. “I guess I hang in there because there are so many infidels, like you two, I can target.”

“Yeah, right. And you know how futile that would be,” said Harvey. “But seriously, Parson, let me ask you something. Do you think the Christian religion is going to be twisted into something we don't recognize because of the prominent place the religious right seems to have on things today?”

Harvey's comment ignited an intense discussion of religion. The parson did not fail to recognize the irony of the unbelievers bringing up the subject of religion and not engaging themselves in a critical inquiry into the church.

His friends always surprised him. Neither of them believed in God in any manner that could be accepted by the Christian church. Harvey was a down right atheist. And yet, in all their talk they were respectful. There's power in the collar, the parson thought. He marveled also at their expertise in what they discussed. Prominent theologians were quoted. As was often the case, the parson's unbelieving friends had a better grasp of current theological thinking than any member of his church. And yet, their command of theological issues did not insulate them from falling into the well trodden path of typical criticisms of organized religion.

They'd been in the cafeteria dissecting the church and redefining God or proclaiming the absence thereof for the parson's benefit for over an hour when the parson's phone began to vibrate. He held the phone to his ear and answered. He listened a moment and then expressed thanks to the caller.

“Greg's in recovery. The doctor says everything went well. He'll be back in his room in half to a full hour.”

“That's great,” said Clint. “Let's head back to the room.”

The four stood and policed their table. As they were about to leave, Harvey said, “Look, Parson, since we've gotten into another of those religious discussions, I have to ask you something. How come when you retired you agreed before you had a day off to become the pastor at that little country church?”

The parson looked at his friend a moment, smiled, and replied, “Who knows, Harvey. Maybe it was to avoid having to answer my life's most persistent question.”

“What's that, Parson?”

“Ah, it's a tough one, Harvey. Would I go to church the first Sunday I didn't have to?”

The parson walked off to empty his tray at the proper spot knowing he'd confused the hell out of his friends who now stood looking at each other in perplexity.