Questing Parson

It Couldn't Be Said Better

This Is A Pop Test?

The parson had just popped the trunk of his hybrid and begun placing the groceries he'd just purchased inside.

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

The parson turned to behold a young man whom he did not recognize.

“Things are well with me,” he said. “I'm sorry; do we know each other?”

“Ah, no, no we don't know each other. But I've heard of you. And I've heard of that church where you're the pastor. Friend of mine told me you folks have what you call an “inclusive” church.”

“We try to be inclusive,” said the parson.

“Inclusive. Well, what's that mean. Does that mean you let foreigners worship there?”

“Foreigners?”

“Yeah, foreigners. Them illegals. Are they welcome to worship there?”

“We don't ask for documentation at the door,” said the parson.

“Bet you don't. And I heard that homos are welcome there. That true, too?”

“The doors are open to everyone.”

“Yeah, well you realize you're only encouraging illegals and you're condoning a sin that is an abomination in the eyes of the Lord.”

“The doors are open to everyone.”

“I bet. So, you're telling me it's okay if I come to your church and worship with the low life?”

The parson stared at the man a moment. “The door is open to everyone,” he said.

“Right,” said the man. “Tell you what, I'll see you next Sunday.”

The parson finished placing his groceries in the trunk. He closed the lid and then slid in behind the wheel. He cranked the car, but before taking the car out of park he looked up and the cloudless sky and said, “This is a pop test, right?”

The Parson's Granddaughter Writes Today

Should States Recognize Same Sex Marriage?

By: Ansley (the Parson's thirteen-year-old granddaughter)

By definition love is a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person. Love is a concept that everyone knows about. How would you feel if all of a sudden your right to love was taken away? Empty? Alone? This is how approximately 8.8 million people feel all the time. Gay marriage is a touchy subject to discuss because it deals with religion as well as personal values. Although in American society people as a whole are not in favor of gay marriage, I strongly believe in the right to marry the same sex. I can understand why people would be against same-sex marriage, but do they understand why I would be for it?

Let’s take religion to start off with. Someone once anonymously stated on an online article, “I always thought the freedom of religion implied to the right from religion as well.” If this were to be true, is it right for the country to take away someone’s right to love based strictly on their beliefs? What if someone is a different religion other than Christian and doesn’t go by the Bible? How does being atheist fit into all of this? All of these are significant points to consider. What about the fact that state and religion are supposed to stay separate? If state and religion were actually separate, I bet more than six states would approve of gay marriage.

Morals also play a part of this ongoing argument. The way you were brought up affects your view on this. Your religion, how your parents were raised, and the type of household structure you were brought up in can affect your opinion on this issue. I was raised to accept everyone for who are. If they had disabilities, you accept them and learn to live a lifestyle that accommodates their needs. How is gay marriage any different? The way you feel about other people is just a part of who you are, just like disabilities. If someone wouldn’t look down on another person with a handicap, why would they look down on someone who is in love with the same sex?

Naturally people are going to disagree with my point of view. But if I were to ask someone who has a different viewpoint than me why gay marriage shouldn’t be legalized, what would their argument be? Does not legalizing gay marriage come down to feeling uncomfortable? Is it something people aren’t used to and therefore it is presented as wrong? But when you think about it, isn’t that how everything new works?

I believe that same-sex marriage should be made legal everywhere because it is simply just love. When you think about it, who is really hurting? How is it going to affect you in a negative way? Same-sex marriage, whether between men or women, is just a form of love. Maybe it is different from what you are used to, but when it comes down to it, it is all just the same thing. It’s just a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person.

What's Your Calling?

After watching think about visiting What's Your Calling

 

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.

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Jamaica Died

Jamaica died. Funny, that seems such a trifle thing to say, but it is true. Jamaica died. My friend, the Rev. Paul Turner, called to tell me the news. Jamaica died.

This did not make the evening news. There are not going to be scores of people at his funeral. But he will be missed; he will be missed because Jamaica was one of a kind, an original, unique, never to be forgotten by those who really knew him.

He was an attraction around the neighborhood of the inner-city church where I was pastor. When Jamaica walked down the streets everyone knew it was Jamaica walking down the streets. Jamaica’s attire could not be missed. On any given Wednesday, or Thursday or Friday, for that matter, you might see Jamaica strolling along singing some tune at the top of his voice for an audience of himself. It was possible to ignore the singing, but one could not ignore the way he was dressed.

Jamaica was way ahead of his time in fashion taste. He may have been centuries ahead. Or, come to think of it, he could have been centuries behind. Who knows? What he was, without a doubt, was one of a kind.

As Jamaica walked down that sidewalk singing his song, he might be sporting a turquoise print skirt worn over navy blue sweatpants. Both of these would stand in stark contrast to the black and white plaid vest worn over a tuxedo shirt with blue button studs. And the top might be tastefully adorned with a pith helmet of faded khaki color.

Jamaica resided on this earth in the parish I served, but Jamaica lived on a separate plain. Jamaica was not inhabited by the normal mores that constrain the average person. Indeed, Jamaica was beyond average. His clothing was but the beginning.

On a frequent but irregular basis Jamaica would attend our church services. As is the custom of fashion plates like Jamaica he always made a late entrance. That entrance would have him parading down the aisle toward the front pews immediately after the first hymn, but after everyone was seated in order to afford them a view of his latest expression of eccentric fashion. He had been known to stop before entering his selected pew to raise his hand in recognition of the pastor and call out to me, “I’m here, Pastor, and I’m yearning to hear the Word.”

My church was a teaching parish. Seminary students assisted with the service. One of my greatest delights was the first time Jamaica showed up in the tenure of one of these students. As the parishioners and visitors and Jamaica filed out, shaking hands and proclaiming how they “enjoyed” my sermon, when Jamaica came by, I’d introduce him to the rookie student and then say, “Jamaica, this is a seminary student. Could you tell her about the Book of Romans?”

He would. Having the student trapped by the subtle way I’d worked her into a corner so she couldn’t escape, he would, in fact, recite the Book of Romans to her.

Jamaica was a star student in high school long ago. He excelled in athletics and academics. And then the accident happened. He struck his head. Brain damage resulted. Jamaica was never the same. A young black kid from a poor black family got limited medical care. Jamaica descended into a world that only he inhabited.  

I could never enter Jamaica’s world. But occasionally, in those rare moments of lucidity, he entered mine. There was the day we sat in the window of Zesto’s devouring the fried chicken, onion rings, and blueberry milk shakes and talked of the recent City Council elections. He explained to me the prejudices and misdirected efforts of the occupants of the local police precinct. And on one of those occasions he even discussed what he classified as the “shallow theology” that had informed my sermon on the previous Sunday.

I’m remembering the last time we ate together in that window. He was dressed in creased blue jeans, with a floral skirt of some summer weight pleated material that would rise and fall with the movement of his walking. These were accented by the oxford blue button down shirt with the black and white striped tie, all of which stood in stark contrast to the bright red straw Easter style bonnet upon his head with white feathery object sticking out the right side. I don’t remember what we talked about that night. But I do remember when we left. I turned toward my car; he turned in the opposite direction and began to skip down the sidewalk singing, “Oh what a beautiful morning …” which sounded incongruous coming from him in the late hours of the night.

My last memory of Jamaica is the day I did a video interview with the Reverend Paul Turner about his faith journey into his ministry to the GLBTQ community. We’d finished the interview in the parlor of the Epworth United Methodist Church, the church of the parish I’d served so long ago and where Jamaica had felt welcomed. During the last twenty minutes or so of the interview Jamaica had his face up against the window with his palms plastered to his cheeks to give him a clear view.

Afterward, I took Paul outside to meet Jamaica. We talked for a while. We shared some good stories. Jamaica told me he loved me. He needed a ride to someplace. I asked Paul if he could take him. As they walked toward the car I called out, “Hey, Jamaica, tell Pastor Paul about the Book of Romans.” The last words I heard Jamaica say were directed at Paul:

 ^“Paul, a servant of Christ Jesus, called to be an apostle and set apart for the gospel of God— the gospel he promised beforehand through his prophets in the Holy Scriptures regarding his Son, who as to his human nature was a descendant of David, and who through the Spirit of holiness was declared with power to be the Son of God by his resurrection from the dead: Jesus Christ our Lord. Through him and for his name's sake, we received grace and apostleship to call people from among all the Gentiles to the obedience that comes from faith ….”  His voice faded as he and Paul drove off.

Jamaica died. He was my friend. I loved him. I will miss him.

Communion Participation

EMAIL

To: Questing Parson

From: Eddie Smithson

Dear Questing Parson

Thank you for your invitation to be a part of the communion service at your church during the Annual Seekers Weekend Retreat. Alex told me you would be asking me to take part. I certainly would be happy to do so. However I would like to clarify a few things. Exactly what part would I play in the service and to what extent would I be involved with the prayers and other parts of the ritual?

Thank you.

EMAIL

To: Eddie Smithson

From: Questing Parson

Dear Eddie:

I’m happy to answer any questions you might have.

In regards to prayers and such, I will be handling that. We’re using an abbreviated version of the communion ritual. This primarily consists of what we United Methodists call The Great Thanksgiving. 

Alex wanted me to contact you to be the person who actually assists me in distributing the elements. We’ll be serving the elements by intinction, which is the act of the participant dipping the bread into the wine him or herself. Our request to you is to be standing beside me holding the bread from which each will tear off a piece and then dip that into the chalice.

I hope this provides some clarification for you.

EMAIL

To: Questing Parson

FROM: Eddie Smithson

 Dear Questing Parson

Thank you for making that clear. I think I should be able to handle that without any difficulty and I would be glad to help. However, I would like to inquire as to who, in your church, is allowed to take the Sacrament in your church.

EMAIL

To: Eddie Smithson

FROM: Questing Parson

Dear Eddie:

I am glad you have agreed to be a part of the service. I know Alex will be more than happy to learn this news.

As to who participates, in the United Methodist church the Sacrament of the Lord’s Supper is open to all.

Looking forward to meeting you.

EMAIL

To: Questing Parson

FROM: Eddie Smithson

Dear Questing Parson:

I am not sure I completely understand your use of the term “open to all.” I assume you are referring to “all” to mean that persons of any denomination are free to take communion in your denomination.

EMAIL

To: Eddie Smithson

FROM: Questing Parson

Thank you for your interest in our liturgy. Actually, when we say the Sacrament is open to “all” it is not referring to the various denominations, although that is certainly included. The invitation is to all, denominational as well as other.

EMAIL

To: Questing Parson

FROM: Eddie Smithson

Am I to take this to mean that you let anyone, including people who are not members of a church to be a part of this?

EMAIL

From: Questing Parson

To: Eddie Smithson

The short answer to your question is “Yes”; we do.

EMAIL

From: Eddie Smithson

To: Questing Parson

Excuse my confusion, but by saying that you are saying ‘non” Christians would be welcome to take part in the communion.

EMAIL

From: Questing Parson

To: Eddie Smithson

Dear Eddie:

Your last email begs the question of why a “non” Christian would even be at such a service. But the direct answer is that we’re not going to make that decision for the individual. The person partaking of the Sacrament is the one who determines whether he or she is Christian.

EMAIL

To: Questing Parson

From: Eddie Smithson

In all due respect, Sir, anyone could say they are Christian and be part of the service.

EMAIL

To: Eddie Smithson

From: Questing Parson

I cannot argue with your logic.

EMAIL

To: Questing Parson

From: Eddie Smithson

It seems to me your church is opening the door to sinners, thieves, and even gays to receive the Lord’s Supper. Frankly, Parson, I cannot countenance a “non” Christian being a part of this celebration.

EMAIL

To: Eddie Smithson

From: Questing Parson

Dear Eddie,

After careful consideration I have decided to not argue with your logic.  As a consequence Joe Walker will be assisting me in the service instead of you. 

Bigotry Confronted

The parson found himself driving pass the farm of a member. To say this particular member was conservative would be an understatement. He held strong beliefs on the inerrant word of the scripture. He studied them fervently and then used the fruits of that study to bully others to his beliefs.

Several weeks before the parson had found himself talking with two members of the congregation who had passed his Sunday school classroom one Sunday morning. They had overheard him berating the gay lifestyle, loudly proclaiming the defilers would go to hell. The two who had heard him almost quit the church because of the hurt they felt in this attack on their twenty-two year committed relationship.

The parson wondered how he would ever get him to stop his firebrand attack on not only the gays but others in the church, including the parson, whose theology did not gee-haw with his.

The parson’s wondering was halted as he passed the tree-lined winding driveway that led to the man’s ranch style house on top of the hill in the center of his farmland. The man had been released from the hospital only two days previous. Headed up the driveway was the lesbian couple who had signed up at the church to provide the patient with a nourishing meal.

The parson smiled and drove on as he wished he could be the proverbial fly on the wall.

Being Accepted

The parson was leaving a community meeting when Ralph, an old acquaintance and a leader in the gay community, joined him as he walked  to his car.

“Ralph,” said the parson, “I’m so glad you were at the meeting. You’ll save me the postage in sending you a card telling you how much we appreciated your visit Sunday. I hope you felt welcomed.”

“I did, Parson. Mark and I both really enjoyed the worship there. In fact this morning at breakfast we were talking about our visit., Mark suggested we should come back a worship with you some more.”

“That would mean a lot to the folks at the church, Ralph. I hope we do see you.”

“You probably can count on it, Parson. We even discussed the possibility of transferring our membership to your church.”

They had arrived at the parson’s car which was just as well because the statement stopped the parson in his tracks.

The parson thought a moment and said, “Ralph, I thought you were active at the Rainbow Church of the Marginalized and Isolated.”

“I am, Parson. I am. But Mark and I have determined there’s a big difference in going to a gay church and going to a church where gays are accepted.

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A Jog and A Rant

The parson had just completed the course he followed every other day on his run. He prided himself on an obvious ability to maintain a physical regimen that belied his age. Now, daily run complete, he rested for a quick moment, just enough time to cool down, before heading inside the recreational center to take a shower. Before he could enjoy that moment, however, Walter Jensen walked up.

“Hello, Parson,” chirped Walter, “aren’t you a bit old to be looking that frazzled?”

The parson took the tail of his shirt and wiped the sweat from his face. “How are you, Walter?”

“Good, Parson; couldn’t be better?”

“And Allison?” the parson inquired about Walter’s wife.

“She’s spending a week down at the beach with her daughter, Helen. You remember Helen, don’t you?”

“I do, Walter. Give Allison my love.”

“I’ll do that.”

Walter then sat down on a bench across from the parson. The parson said nothing. He was thinking about the shower and was not thrilled with Walter having plopped himself into his afternoon.

“What do you think about that crap in Vermont?” Walter asked.

“What crap in Vermont?” the parson asked.

“The law they passed saying gays can get married.”

“Actually, Walter, until you walked up I hadn’t thought about it in ... mhhh, let’s see ... maybe twenty hours.”

“It’s a serious problem, Parson.”

“What’s a serious problem, Walter?”

“People of the same sex getting married. It’s going to ruin marriage.”

“Whose marriage is it going to ruin?”

“Everybody’s.”

“Not mine.”

“It will, Parson We have to stop this, somehow.”

The parson stood. He used his shirt to once again wipe his face. 

“Look, Walter,” said the parson. “I can see where you’re planning to go with this. And I’m all prepared to tell you how years ago you thought blacks and whites shouldn’t get married. But Henry over at your church is black, and Shirley, his wife, if I’m not mistaken is white. Years ago Walter you wouldn’t have let Henry join your church and if Shirley had married him you’d have kicked her out.  I’m also prepared to point out to you that I personally know there are two couples in your congregation who live together and are not married and have children. Years ago you would have wanted them kicked out of your church. And you know what, Walter, in both those cases years ago you would have used the Bible to justify your judgmental attitude.”

The parson paused a moment, ran his hand through what hair he had left, and leaned forward. “So Walter don’t you even try to start quoting scripture with me about same sex unions. If you did we’d get into a Bible quoting contest and you’d lose, Walter. You’d lose, Walter, and I’d enjoy throwing the scripture back in your face. But more than that Walter, I’m tired of this bogus issue. When your congregation starts spending ten percent of your total offerings on helping the poor, on clothing the naked and feeding the hungry let me know. Until then, Walter, don’t talk to me about what’s Christian and not Christian about any kind of marriage. Until then, Walter, you’re not qualified to host the discussion.

“Now, excuse me, Walter. When you walked up I was almost cooled off. But not I’ve got myself all heated up again. I’m going to go take a shower and cool off. After that I’ll probably feel terrible for jerking you up up like this. But right now it feels pretty good.

”Now go home, Walter. Go home and call Allison. Call her and tell her you love her and you miss her. Do that, Walter, because the greatest threat to your marriage is not some gay couple in Vermont. The greatest threat to your marriage is the way you ignore your wife.”

The parson turned and headed toward the shower.