Questing Parson

Pray for the Parson; I'm Confused

My, my, my, how we struggle in the United Methodist Church. How confusing things get. Here's a quote from a United Methodist News Service story titled: "Bishops Offer Advice After Same Sex Ruling."

"Clergy cannot preside over the wedding ceremony. Specifically, these bishops say, clergy cannot officiate at the vows, exchange of rings or the declaration and pronouncement of marriage. They cannot sign the certificate of marriage or participate in any way that makes it appear to people present that they are conducting the wedding.

"However, these bishops say, clergy can assist same-gender couples in finding other venues for their weddings; provide pre-marital counseling; attend the ceremony; read Scripture, pray or offer a homily."

So, I cannot appear to be conducting a same-sex wedding. BUT I can provide the pre-marital counseling, be at the ceremony, read the scripture at the ceremony, pray at the ceremony, and offer a homily at the ceremony that is, according to the laws of my church, 'incompatible with Christian teaching.'"

Bear with me, bishops, I'm an old retired parson, living out here in the country, far away from sophisticated theological thinkers.  I need a little time to think. I'm more than a little confused.

To Go To Church Or Not

The parson sat in a booth in the back of his favorite diner. Before him was a bowl of fresh fruit and a cup of decaf coffee. The choice of ingredients illustrated his fervent desire to regain his former thirty-year-old figure. (For the last two months he'd been repeatedly telling himself miracles still happen.) In his left hand was his iPhone on which he was reading the latest news and while he wondered again what happened to the iPad.

“Excuse me,” said the man who approached the booth, “you're the parson; aren't you?”

“Guilty as charged,” the parson replied.

“I doubt if you remember me,” he said.

“You're Jeff Crenshaw's nephew,” the parson said.

“I am, I'm Edward Floyd. Do you have a minute, Parson?”

“I do,” said the parson as he put his iPhone away. Have a seat. Would you like some coffee and breakfast?”

“No, thank you. I'd just like to ask your advice about something.”

“What's up, Edward.”

“I'm getting married in August. Susan Jennison, you may know her.”

“I do,” the parson said. “Her dad and I have worked together on some community events over the years.”

“Well, everything is going great with us, except she insists that when we get married we should attend a church regularly.”

“That's the biggest problem you have?” the parson asked.

“I guess there are some other things we need to get used to, but that's a big deal to Susan.”

“It's not, I take it, a big deal with you?”

“No, sir. I don't think church attendance or, for that matter, church membership is needed for someone to live a good moral life. Look, Parson, with all due respect to your profession, listening to a sermon every week doesn't make anyone necessarily a better person or even a Christian for that matter.”

The parson smiled, “You're not going to get any argument from me on that.”

“So, you see my point?”

“What's your point?”

“My point is if a person gives regularly to charities, and if a person volunteers on a regular basis to work in things like a non-profit, well, those kind of things are just as good as going to church.”

“I can't argue with that,” said the parson.

“So you see the point I'm trying to make with Susan.”

“I'm not sure about that,” the parson said. “Tell me, do you do that?”

“Do I do what?”

“Do you give to a charity on a regular basis, let's say once a week; and do you volunteer to work with some non-profit, let's say once a week?”

The parson had finished his fresh fruit and his decaf before Edward answered. “Thanks for your time,” he replied as he stood to go.

In the Room with David Blankenhorn and Jonathan Rauch, as Part of Krista Tippett's Civil Conversations Series on "On Being" from American Public Media

Thank You For Your Service and I'm Praying For Your Return

The parson pulled out his laptop as he sat in the waiting room of the doctor's office. He'd brought his uncle, for whom he acted as a guardian, for a checkup. Now, his uncle in the doctor's exam room, the parson decided to write a blog while he waited.

What to write on? Francis volunteering to tutor kids in the transitional housing ministry? Frank telling the parson he'd fund the upcoming project to aid the local school providing clothing to indigent children? The possibilities were endless. The challenge, as always, was which idea would mesh with the parson's current frame of mind. He pondered the possibilities.

Across the room, and it was a large room, a man began to speak on a cell phone.

“Look, I don't care what the problem is, you tell him I want a warrant taken out. That no good woman should never have spent that money on a new car. That's just stupid. I know Eddie wouldn't ever tell her to do that. Look, he's in the Army, serving his country, over there fighting for our freedom. Do you think he'd send his re-enlistment money to her to buy a new car? I don't think so. So, you go down to the court house and take out a warrant on her? Do you hear what I'm saying?”

There was a pause. The man was apparently listening to the other person talk. It gave the parson pause to reflect on the phenomenon of the twenty-first century, that being some people, when speaking on a cell phone, think they are in a twentieth century phone booth.

After hearing what the person on the other end of the conversation said, the man continued, “I don't care if they're married. Listen, he met that woman in North Carolina when he was home for some kind of training. I mean how long could he have know her? He's just not using his head. So hear we are now with him sending her money home and what does she do? She buys a new car. Do you think he'd want her to use that money for a new car? I don't think so. She hasn't known him long enough to know him the way we do. So, I'm telling you I want you to take out a warrant for her for theft by deception. That's what she's doing to him; she's stealing from him by deceiving him.

“Hell, the next think will be when he comes home and then she tells us she's pregnant. No telling what she'll want him to do with his combat pay then. Look, I don't care if they're married. He's over there fighting and she's over here spending his money. We need to take a stand and let her know we won't put up with it.”

The parson's uncle walked back into the waiting room, his examination completed. The parson rose, walked with his uncle to the car, placed his walker in the trunk and walked to the driver's door. Before opening the door he pulled out his iPhone, punched the “Notes” icon. Then under “Prayer List” he added: “Pray for soldier, that God will protect him in his deployment and give him strength for the battle that waits when he returns home.”

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.

Love Of A Career

Saturday. The parson had taken his walk with Charlie Brown, his faithful canine companion, and now sat at a local eatery. A big day was ahead, gutters to clean, lawn to be trimmed, new floor to be laid in the soon-to-be grandchildren room. Busy days require nourishment.

Charlie Brown, upon seeing or smelling, the local establishment plopped himself down on the rear seat of the car with a grunt, an audible grunt that communicated his boredom. The parson checked that Charlie Brown's water container was full then headed inside.

He wasn't ten minutes into his brunch when Eddie Pepperell entered. On seeing the parson he approached the table. Eddie was the son in a family the parson had knows for decades. Eddie's father and the parson had spent many days hiking through the forest of Northwest Georgia.

“Parson,” said Eddie. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” said the parson. “Have a seat.”

Eddie pulled out a chair across the table from the parson. He pulled himself up to the table and said in a quiet voice, “Can I talk to you, I don't know, maybe, as a pastor for a minute.”

“Sure, Eddie,” the parson replied, “anything wrong?”

“Well, Parson, it's like this. I think things may go wrong. And I don't know what to do about it.”

“What's going wrong?” the parson asked.

“Me and Wanda,” said Eddie. “I'm worried that our marriage won't make it.”

“Tell me about it,” said the parson.

“Okay, well you know I went to work two years ago as a manufacture's representative. I've really worked hard to build a strong number of business for whom I can provide them with needed supplies, advice, and such. The business has grown where I'm making a comfortable living.....”

The parson interrupted. “Your dad told me you were more than comfortable.”

Eddie studied the parson for a moment. “Okay, Parson, I'll admit I'm more than comfortable. I've been able to provide a great home for Wanda and the kids. And that's part of the problem. I don't think she appreciates what I've done. She's always complaining that I'm never at home and that when I am I bring work home with me. Look, I'm building the business still. Someday I can maybe bring the kids into it. Everything I do is to build my career in order to provide for them. But I'm just not appreciated.”

Eddie went on for a good while without the parson interrupting. It was a free flowing rant about him becoming successful and trying to remain successful, of him and his family needing him to establish a successful career. Then he concluded:

“So, Parson, I just don't know how to talk to Wanda about the importance of my career.”

The parson didn't say anything.

“Don't you have something to say? Some comment?”

“I do, Eddie, but I don't think you'll like it.”

Eddie stared. Then he said, “Try me.”

“Well, Eddie,” the parson said, “it's been my experience that no matter how much you are in love with your career, you career cannot love you back.”

Holy Union - With A Different Twist

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A Reason For Marriage

They were, while not necessarily “leaders” in the community, considered influential among those who lived in their neighborhood. Each was successful in their chosen field of endeavor. Interestingly, they each headed their own company in the same industry. It was a testimony to their commitment to each other that when one was rewarded a contract at the expense of the other, they would both go out for an evening of celebration for the successful competitor.

The parson had long been drawn to them both for their professionalism, their unique circumstance in business affairs, their commitment to serve in the community where they lived, and their unique relations to his church which did not and never would encompass membership, and their obvious devotion one to the other.

Rhonda and Dave were not Christians. They had real problems with the organized church. They rejected much of what the church put forth. The parson often felt Paul would have been at home speaking to this couple and their acknowledgment of “an unknown god.” Over the years the parson recognized that, while they kept “religion” at a distance, they were passionately connected to the “greater good,” and while they did not desire to be a part of any organized religious body they were intrigued with the concept of “the first principle,” the “divine cause,” the “ultimate meaning,” and dozens of other descriptions of what the God might be. It was this aspect of their lives that, perhaps more than any other, attracted the parson to them. Many a night they'd sat on the porch drinking Robertson Wine from South Africa as they debated theology.

Now they sat in the parson's study. Rhonda and Dave were holding hands on the love seat. The parson was sitting in his rocker. “What's up?” the parson asked.

Rhonda actually blushed. Dave looked out the window. Rhonda cleared her throat. She responded, “Dave and I wanted to ask you if you would marry us.”

The parson stared at them, no doubt open-mouthed. He then reacted, “You want to get married?”

“Yes,” said Dave, “we do. And we'd be honored if you would be the one to tie the knot, so to speak.”

“You want a church wedding?”

“Well, no, not really,” said Rhonda. “We were thinking of a ceremony in our backyard with a few close friends and neighbors. I mean, I know, your presence would naturally make it a religious ceremony, and that's fine with us. But we're not thinking about getting married in the church proper.”

The parson smiled. He kept staring. There was a long pregnant silence. The parson was at a loss for words.

Dave broke the silence. “So, will you do it?”

“Can I ask you a question?” the parson inquired.

“Sure,” said Dave. Rhonda nodded her head.

“Look, you guys have lived together in a committed relationship for seventeen years. You have made it clear to me you don't think the formality of a marriage ceremony is necessary to a happy and fulfilled life. And certainly your life together has given evidence that you're right. So why in the world, after all these years, would you want to now get married?”

Now the silence was initiated by Rhonda and Dave. After a few moments Rhonda spoke. “Okay, here's the thing. You've met my daughter Harriet. And you know about her getting married last year. So, Harriet and Mike are pregnant. The baby's due in about three months. Dave and I have talked about it. We've decided that we need to get married now because, well, we shouldn't be living together out of wedlock because of needing to set an example for the grandchild.”

The parson smiled. The parson rocked in the rocker a short while. The parson's smile got larger. He'd heard less compelling reasons for getting married in this very study.

“Okay,” said the parson, “what's the date we're going to tie this knot?”

A Change Not Now Needed

I've been a widower for almost nine months now (for the second time). I've been a pastor for forty-six years now. I tell you this: Until you have lost a spouse you have no idea what grief is. I think back on all the times I tried to be a pastor throughout those years to the grieving widows and widowers. I look back and I realize how pathetic were my well-intentioned efforts. No one can prepare you for the devastation of mourning. And no one can comfort you adequately.

But, sad as the cliché may be, life does go on. There comes a day when you wake up and realize that your spouse is dead and you are not. And as much as being the surviving spouse just sucks, you are the survivor and you are living. Life, then, must be acknowledged. Life then must be claimed. Life must, by its very definition, go on.

I embraced the fact I must go on. I embraced it right after taking my eight-year-old granddaughter on our Excellent Alaskan Adventure, of which I written on these pages. Having that child hug me with her unbridled love, having that child's enthusiasm for the future infect me, I decided to live every day I am alive.

With that decision I've begun to rearrange my life. And so, despite my aged back that cries out in protest every inch of the change, I have begun to move on. The carpet needs to come up in the two rooms that still possess them. There's laminated hardwood floors to be installed. Lynn's not here anymore; there's no reason her sewing room cannot be turned into the grandchildren's room. And the kitchen, oh, the kitchen, just an acknowledgment of the century I live in demands some modifications to the kitchen.

I've measured. I've drawn up plans. I've made a priority list of changes. I've shopped and found a trundle bunk bed at a reasonable price, allowing me to have three grandchildren overnight at once. I've drawn up plans for the kitchen renovation, including the new ceramic tile floors. And, to tell you the truth, the present living room furniture is on the schedule of change; I only said I liked it because Lynn did. I'm well on my way to living beyond the grief and embracing the yet-to-be-discovered blessings of life.

Part of the renovations are centered on my little study. I plan to spend a lot of time there writing little essays as this. I need it to be conducive to stimulating my creative spirit. It's going to be a homey office, if you will. So, I'm making changes. One of those is putting some cabinet/bookcases in what is now the closet, thereby allowing more “living space” in the work area. And part of the placement of the cabinet/bookcases in the closet involved removing the shelving. It's that wire-like shelf so prevalent in modern homes. It was in removing that shelf I discovered there's one change I do not have to make.

There's a brace for that shelf, running from the front of the shelf to the wall, giving it support. When I removed that brace, I discovered it's perfect for scratching the back. It's long enough to reach all areas; the angle of the edge provides the perfect tension. It's wonderful.

Who would have thought. With the discovery of that unique back scratching device, I don't need to get married again.

Ordered Priorities

The parson was sequestered at a table in the back corner of his favorite diner. Before him was a delight of cholesterol laden delight, two eggs sunny side up, three
slices of bacon cooked to a crispness the parson liked, a generous helping of grits over which butter was slowly melting, two sausage patties, a portion of apple sauce, two pieces of toast and a cinnamon bun. The snack was complimented by a porcelain mug filled with steaming decaf, the parson's reverence to his cardiologist's wishes.

Halfway through the gastronomic endeavor he was interrupted by Phil Peiffer, who approached his table. “Morning, Parson, looks like you're hungry.”

“Not so much now, Phil,” said the parson. “Pull up a seat.”

Phil did so whereupon the parson asked, “So how's Carolyn? I have seen her or your kids in, gracious, in have been a year.”

“So, so,” said Phil.

“So, so?” asked the parson. “How am I to translate that?”

“Well, we're at a bump in the marriage, I guess, Parson. She thinks I'm neglecting her and the children because I spend too much time at the church. It's not that I'm neglecting her, but, you know, Parson, the church is demanding of our time and we can't always control the way we have to use the time. But, frankly, Carolyn seems to be punishing me by always maintaining a stand off mood.”

“I'm suppose to know how demanding your church is?” the parson asked.

“You know what I mean, Parson.”

“So, tell me, what's demanding so much time at the church?

“Well, we've got a new building program going; we're expanding our youth program; and we're looking into starting a ministry to the homeless.”

“Why does that demand so much of your time, Phil?”

“Parson, you know why.”

“Your laity aren't helping?”

“Well, yes they help, but they want to do it on their own schedule.”

The parson didn't say anything. By now he was working on the past few bites of sausage and was looking forward to sopping the plate with the half piece of toast he'd saved for the occasion. The server had discretely refilled his mug while Phil was talking.

“The do it on their own schedule?”

“Okay, here's an example. I called one of my lay people last night. I needed to him to bring me up-to-date on the building plans. He told me he needed to talk to me today because right then he was talking with his wife about what each of them had done that day and were making plans for the next day.”

“You find that a problem?” asked the parson as he devoured the last sopping and then reached for what was left in the mug.

“Of course, I do. I can't talk to him about the plans while he's at work. He needs to talk to me when he's home.”

The parson wiped his lips with his napkin. He smiled and nodded to the server to let him know he was finished. She brought his check and he handed her a bill and told her to keep the change.

“Phil,” said the parson as he rose from his seat, “I've got to go visit someone at the hospital. But I want you to think about something.”

“What's that, Parson.”

“I want you to think about what that layperson told you was the reason he couldn't talk to you last night. And then I want you to think about the fact that when he and his wife went to bed she probably wasn't in a stand off mood. That layperson, Phil, has his priorities in order.”