Questing Parson

Love Witnessed

The parson's gift to two granddaughters this past Christmas was the promise of two weeks in Alaska, including climbing a mountain. The ascent is scheduled for June.

Two weeks ago the parson rose from his favorite rocker, and took note the rise from the rocker took an inordinate amount of time. In fact, the parson surmised the rise was more like that of an elderly man than a man such as is the parson, one with the physical prowess of one ten years younger. The parson paused when he finally achieved the full upright position. He paused and thought.

One granddaughter is an accomplished dancer; the other granddaughter is a gold medal winning gymnast. The trek up to the top of that Alaskan mountain would be a little challenging, especially if one had difficulty exiting a rocker and who would need to keep up with those two generations younger. The parson, being the astute thinker he is, calculated that there might be just enough time in the four months remaining to regain a small portion of his vigor.

All the above is but prologue to the parson sitting with his back resting against a rock outcropping just beside and a little below the overlook near the top of Fort Mountain in Northwest Georgia. Charlie Brown, his faithful canine companion, lay beside him with his snout resting on the parson's leg. It had been a long hike. Charlie Brown was snoring softly; birds were singing. The Alaskan jacket the parson wore warmed him comfortably. A seducing weight pulled slightly downward upon the parson's eyelids.

Voices pulled the parson back to wakefulness. Someone was on the observation deck off to the parson's left and a little above. The voices had awakened Charlie Brown also, but after a quick assessment with his nose he resumed his sleep.

“I love you, too,” the female voice said. She spoke with a slight Hispanic accent. “I'm glad you're home.”

They paused a good while. The parson got the distinct impression there might be some spit swapping going on.

“What are you doing, Frank?” the female voice floated with a tinge of surprise over the air.

“Julia, will you marry me?” came the male voice, definitely not Hispanic and definitely Northwest rural Georgia.

There was a squeal. There was a sound of feet jumping up and down on the wood. “Yes, yes, I will,” she squealed.

There was another pause. This pause was longer than the first.

“I can't believe it. It's beautiful. Oh my gosh, Maggie is not going to believe this. I love you. I love you.”

There was another pause.

She spoke again, “Oh Frank, you make me so happy.”

Frank's voice didn't carry on the wind. The parson definitely got the feeling Frank was the strong silent type.

There were no more voices. There was only the wind blowing across the face of the mountain. A blue jay flew down and rested on a branch not five feet from the parson and Charlie Brown. The parson watched him for a moment. He then decided it was time to move his creaking bones. He rose slowly. He stepped forward and peered around the rock toward the overlook. They were gone.

Charlie Brown had finished stretching. The two moved up to the path. The parson walked out on the overlook. He was a bit disappointed Frank hadn't carved his and Julia's names inside a heart on the railing.

Valentines I Have Known

It's Valentine's Day. I'm a widower now so I don't have to tie the string around my finger to remind myself. But the day got me to thinking. You know, looking back on it, I've gone through a lot of valentines.

There was Katie, my first valentine. She possessed a power that women should not possess. She had that magnetic appeal.

You know, the appeal of which I speak. You're sitting in a room; you know she's sitting to the side and a little behind; you try to contort your eye socket in order to gaze upon her countenance without betraying you're staring. Finally, in desperation you crane your neck a bit; then, you just give in and look at her. She sees you looking; she smiles; you jerk your head back around in desperation at the realization she was looking at you looking.

That was in the fifth grade. The summer before the sixth grade I made the decision to look Katie directly in the face and declare the yearnings of my young heart. I hopped on my bicycle, pedaled to her house, knocked on the door. I told the man who answered I wanted to speak to Katie. But, alas, I was informed Katie's parents had made her tag along with them when they moved to Kansas. Katie was my unacknowledged valentine.

There was Carole. Oh, my goodness there was Carole. To be perfectly honest I have to sneak up on the memory of Carole. To confront it abruptly would make my heart giddy-up to a dangerous pace. Carole had freckles; there were two hundred and seventeen freckles; I counted them one afternoon as we sat on the sofa in her den. Carole had blue eyes, deep, deep blue eyes. Carole's eyes were really deep. I know. One Thursday, during my ninth grade year, I fell into them.

It's hard to believe one can sit on a sofa for hours on end, holding hands, giggling, while talking about nothing in particular, and still maintain one's innocence. You'd have to be sitting on Carole's sofa while in the ninth grade, counting her freckles, to understand the dynamics.

As with Katie, Carole's dad decided there was more money to be made elsewhere. He, too, took his daughter with him when he moved. There's no telling how many yards of grass I cut to raise the money to buy a bus ticket to Florida the summer of my tenth grade year. My daddy had a friend who lived near Carole's new home, and they invited me to stay with them a few days. It was long enough, I thought, to recount Carole's freckles.

I never got to count Carole's freckles that summer. Some snotty kid named Ralph was now counting them. Funny, that it took three times as long to get from Jacksonville to Atlanta as it had from Atlanta to Jacksonville. Carole, my fickle valentine.

There were a lot more valentines following Katie and Carole. Some were the heart shaped card types; some were the heart shaped box of chocolates types; some were a dozen red roses recipients. Remembering, I'm grateful.

Now, I'm ending this blog before I start sounding like Willie Nelson reciting the lyrics of “all the girls I've known before.” But I'm ending it with fond memories of valentines of my past while hoping you took the time to count the freckles on your valentine of the present.

The Real Problem

“I tell you this with all confidence,” said Homer Cowlings, a pastor at a local fundamental church, “the prophecies of the Book of Revelation are unfolding now, even as we speak. We are nearing that seven year period of The Great Tribulation that will last three-and-a-half years. . . .”

The parson rose, trying to do so quietly, having made a decision there was no point in hanging around for this discussion. He stepped toward the door, but his exit was not unnoticed.

“Hey, Parson,” called out Homer, “are you not interested in the prophecies of Revelation?”

The parson paused, with his hand on the door, and looked back at Homer and his friends. Then he said, “Actually, Homer, I'm going to be completely truthful with you. No, I'm not interested. I don't understand the Book of Revelation. I have to leave the interpretation of these end day so-called prophecies to people more conversant such as yourself.”

“Well, you should be interested in it, Parson. It spells out the end of time clearly.”

“Homer,” said the parson, “you'll have to forgive me again. I'm also not the least bit interested in the end times.”

Home started to say something. The parson held his hand up and said, “I'll tell you what I am interested in, Homer. I'm interested in the here and now. I'm interested in living in the present as a Christian. To do that, Homer, I've discovered my difficulties have nothing to do with the things in the Bible I don't understand. You see, Homer, Revelation is something I don't understand. So it gives me no difficulty. But, Homer, there are a few things in the Bible I do understand. Things like, 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' I understand that, Homer. I understand it completely without any question. And, you see, Homer because I understand it, it's what gives me the most trouble. That trouble comes from the fact that often I just don't want to do it.”

The parson opened the door. As he was stepping out he looked back. “I tell you what, Homer, as soon as I'm able to live out these things I do understand I'll come and let you teach me the secrets of Revelation.”

Love From Beyond

I'd been working in the yard all day. It wasn't the smartest thing I'd done recently as the temperature was around ninety degrees. But despite my exhausted feeling and my aching muscles the day had been, it seemed, re-creational.

I was just about to head to the shower when there was a knock on the door. Opening it, I found a man in his mid-thirties standing there.

“Are you the Reverend Kent?”

“I am,” I said. “Can I help you?”

“Well, sir,” he said and then told me his name and the company he represented. “We've processed your pre-application form for supplemental insurance, and I'd like an opportunity to go over it with you.”

Now, the truth is I had been on Ms. Parson's insurance before her death. And forty-five days after her death my coverage was dropped. I, indeed, was in need of some supplemental insurance. But I told him, “I didn't send you any pre-application form.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, “I have it right here.”

He handed it to me. The application was dated the day before Ms. Parson entered the hospital. And it was in her handwriting. She had experienced a premonition, we learned, she wouldn't survive the surgery. And, seemingly, she arranged even after death to take care of me.

I scheduled a time for the agent to come back. But I'm not sure he understood why I wouldn't give him the application back.

Youth On the Move

The worship service was proceeding well. Spirits were high; the participants were as cheerful as the springlike weather outside.

The congregation was singing “I Am A Friend of God.” The parson paused in his singing to look over the assembled saints. As usual, the younger ones were gathered in the first few pews directly in front of the pulpit. Memory interrupted the parson's melodic offering. A couple of those younger ones had not been born when he came to this church. Others had come down that first Sunday for his “Children's Sermon.” Now, seven years later, they were still sitting in the same pew, a few of them in college. A few years back the church had changed the title from “Children's Sermon” to “Not Just for Kids” time.

The service proceeded as usual, prayers, songs, scripture, offering. And then when it came time for that “Not Just for Kids” portion the parson noted those particular pews were no longer occupied by the younger ones. They'd moved to the other side of the church.

The parson was puzzled. Surely, he'd remembered his deodrant. The younger ones were gracious enough to move back for that special time. But as soon as it was over they moved back to the other side of the church.

After the service the parson asked some questions. They'd moved, it seemed, because Emma Watson, a recently widowed senior citizen was sitting by herself on that far side. The youth collectively had decided she didn't need to be sitting alone.

It was a rare Sunday, a Sunday when the parson felt he'd really been at worship.

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.

Experiencing A First Love

Mutual acquaintances were gathered about the facility. She and the parson sat in the lobby, having each, separately, absented themselves from the inane conversations going on among the others. It was a big lobby. Perhaps it was the vastness that gradually pulled them toward each other. In any case, they soon found themselves sitting in comfortable chairs almost adjacent to each other. The chatter of conversations in the other areas were muted by the cascading splashes of the water feature ten yards away.

“My name's Emma,” she said, after studying the parson for a spell.

The parson told her his and then asked, “You're here with your parents?”

“Actually, I'm here with my aunt. My daddy's a doctor and he's doing an emergency operation and my Mom's visiting her mother. So my aunt brought me here. I think she has to meet with some people and then she's taking me to the pancake house before she takes me home.”

“I guess it's kinda boring in there for a young lady your age.”

“It sure is. How come you're out here and not in there?”

“It's kinda boring for someone my age, too.”

“Oh,” she said. She began to swing her feet back and forth in a motion that took them under the seat and then outward almost parallel to the floor. She seemed to be thinking. Then the thoughts found words. “What do you do?”

“Well, my main job is a grandfather. But I have another job as a church pastor.”

“Cool,” she said. “My uncle is a pastor. He's up in Tennessee. Maybe you know him.” She told the parson his name but it didn't ring a bell. The parson told her so. “Well, you would like him. He tells lots of funny stories. My Mom says he tells too many, but I don't think so. Don't you think people should have fun in church?”

“I do,” I responded. “A church that's not fun isn't much of a church.”

“You're right,” she said.

“How was your Valentine's Day?” the parson asked.

“It was full of chocolate. I've got piles of chocolate all over my room. Do you like chocolate?”

“I do,” the parson said.

“I do, too,” she said, “but I don't think I'll eat much of it. Chocolate isn't that good for you.”

“Did you get any Valentines?” the parson asked.

“I sure did.” The parson asked her if any of them were special. She looked at him from under ridiculously long eyelashes. “Well, I got one special one. It was from my boyfriend.”

“Is he in your class at school?”

“No, he goes to another school. But we see each other at my brother's soccer games. His brother plays soccer on my brother's team.”

“I guess since his Valentine was special you really like him.”

“I do; he's really nice. He's mature. I think other girls like him because of that but I'm his girlfriend. We have lots of fun together. I think my Mom likes him too. At least, she thinks he's nice, too.”

“You're a lucky girl,” the parson said. “What's his name?”

“Jeremiah,” she replied.

“What's his last name?”

She wrinkled her forehead and replied, “I don't know his last name.”

Her aunt walked up and gathered her in. The parson watched her walk away, a seven-year-old in love.

A Wedding Not Attended

“Are you the pastor here?” he asked.

The parson turned and looked down from the step ladder where he was changing the message on the church's sign. “Yes, I am. Can I help you.”

“I hope so. I wanted to talk to you about renting your church for my wedding.”

The parson descended from the ladder. “When are you getting married?”

“Next Saturday.”

“Come inside with me,” said the parson. He folded the ladder, carried it in one hand and the letters from the sign in the other as he walked toward his office. Charlie Brown, his faithful canine companion, followed the two as he snifed the visitor to determine his denomination.

Inside the office the parson set the letters on a side table, invited the man to sit and then plopped himself into the comfort of his rocker. “What's your name?”

“Frederick,” he replied.

“Why do you want to get married here?” asked the parson.

“We drove by here and thought your church looked pretty and would be a good place for a wedding.”

“I'm glad you found us quaint.”

“So, you doing anything next Saturday?”

“Yeah, I'm going to be with my granddaughters.”

“You can't do the wedding?”

“I can't. My church requires pre-marital counseling before I can perform a marriage. You folks don't have time for that.”

“Well, that's okay. My soon-to-be wife has a second cousin who said he'd do it. So, what's the rent?”

“The church is not for rent.”

“I don't understand.”

“Do you go to church?”

“No, sir, I don't. I don't think I've been in a church except for right now since I was ten or twelve.”

“Then why do you want to get married in a church?”

“Isn't that what everybody does?”

The parson smiled, “No, it's not. A lot of people get married outside the church.”

“Where?”

“Your living room. There are all kinds of possibilities. I've done weddings in historic houses, in the Fox Theater in Atlanta. It's not the church setting that makes the marriage, it's the couple's commitment.”

He stared at the parson a long moment. Then he said, “Ain't you suppose to talk to me about I should join the church?”

“Am I?”

“I thought that's what you'd do.”

“Do you want to join the church?”

“Hell, no.”

“Then get your wife-to-be's second cousin to marry you in a place that has meaning for the two of you. Don't get married in a place that you picked out because it looked pretty.”

“You're right. I'm going to talk to Helen.”

The two rose and the parson walked to the door with him. He shook the parson's hand.

“Thanks for the talk. Hey, you want to come to the wedding?”

“I'd love to,” said the parson, “but I wasn't kidding about the granddaughters.”

"You Noticed" by Scott Black Johnston

Scott Black Johnston, Senior Pastor of the Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church in New York City, reflects on God's loving care as reflected in Psalm 8.

 

Scott Black Johnston, "You Noticed!?" - PG5322 from 30goodminutes on Vimeo.

The Changing World of the Clergy

The parson had secured a corner of the room occupied by the book store at a break during the annual conference of his denomination. Obscured in his corner he had time to engage in his favorite pastime of people watching.

During the Executive Session of the Clergy, the presiding bishop in a pitch for a wellness program of the denomination had made remarks that being overweight was a tremendous health problem. He had suggested the clergy should have courage to approach overweight brothers and sisters of the cloth an in love tell them they were overweight and should take better care of themselves. The parson now sat in his corner watching the parade of expanded waists pass by as he contemplated the bishop’s departure from preaching to enter the realm of meddling.

The parson wasn’t aware if it was her voice or the fact she wasn’t a candidate to whom someone needed to relay the bishop’s admonition in love. She was a walking exhibition of wellness.

“Shopping for some preaching books?” her friend asked her after their mutual greeting.

“Actually, I’m in here to buy a Bible,” she replied.

“A Bible?”

“Yes, they told us we needed to bring a Bible with us when we were ordained. So, at the meeting they had with us this morning, they asked me if I brought a Bible. I said ‘sure’ and held up by iPhone. They looked at me like I was crazy. And then they asked me again if I brought a Bible. I showed them my iPhone again. And then I showed them the apps with the three translations I keep on it. Two of them whispered together and then they told me they thought a traditional Bible might be more appropriate than holding my iPhone.”

The parson watched her walk over to the cashier to pay for her traditional Bible. As he did he pulled his iPhone from the belt holster, turned it on and touched the icon to bring up The Message. He read a couple of verses at random as he again felt young, contemporary, and thin.