Questing Parson

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.”

Reasoned Prayer

The parson was stacking his plates on the tray to take them to the conveyor belt for their journey to the hospital cafeteria kitchen. As he rose from the chair, Sam Holliday, pastor of the Church of the Glorious Redeemed, walked up.

“Parson, good to see you. Hope things are going well for you now.”

The parson replied affectionately, “They are Sam; much better. You know, Sam, I'm not sure I told you how much I appreciated your support when Ms. Parson died. The notes you sent all through that first year were, well, they meant a lot.”

“You're still in my prayers, Parson.”

“Thanks, Sam, I need them.”

“Well, I won't keep you,” Sam said. “It really is good to see you again though. We'll have to get together soon for another of our arguments.”

“Let's do that. Give me a call.”

Sam turned to join some folks at a corner table. The parson turned to move toward the tray return. Sam turned back. “Parson, let me ask you something real quick. What do you think about that secularist group trying to kidnap the National Day of Prayer?”

“I guess I've missed this, Sam. How is someone going to kidnap the National Day of Prayer.”

“Some organization of atheists and humanist had a celebration of a National Day of Reason on the same day as the National Day of Prayer. I thought it was insulting. What do you think?”

“You know, Sam, when we get together this can be what we argue about.”

“You're not offended at this.”

“Actually, Sam, I'm a bit hard pressed to find a conflict between prayer and reason.”

Prayer

The parson sat on the front pew of the sanctuary. The lights had been turned off. The only illumination came from the security light on the pole beside the parking lot penetrating the stained glass. Charlie Brown, his faithful canine companion, was curled into a ball just in front of the altar table, just barely more than a brown shadow against the hardwood floor.

The Sunday evening Bible Study had dismissed two hours before. The parson had redone the sign in front of the church, made notes on ordering new Sunday school material, and taken inventory of the refrigerator to determine what had to be purchased for the morning breakfast the next Sunday. All the doors had then been locked, with the exception of the side sanctuary door which was the parson's most frequent point of entry and exit. It was on the pew adjacent to and maybe thirty feet from that door the parson sat, the glow from the stained glass windows providing only a soft illumination.

There was a tap on the door. It slowly opened. John Matthews, the senior pastor at a nearby county seat first church, peeked in.

“Parson, Parson,” he called out in a soft voice.

The parson recognized the voice. “John,” he responded, “what's up?”

John, obviously now seeing the parson alone in the darkened sanctuary, made apologies. “I'm so sorry, Parson. I didn't mean to interrupt. I just saw your car and all the lights were off so I stopped to make sure everything was okay.”

The parson rose from the seat. Charlie Brown, noting the parson rising, now stood, stretched, and stepped down from the chancel to stand beside the parson. “No problem, John. Thanks for caring enough to stop. I was just taking a few moments to enjoy the solitude.”

The parson and John stepped outside, both following Charlie Brown who had dashed past them and now sat beside the rear passenger door of the parson's car. As the parson turned to lock the door, John spoke again.

“Parson, I don't mean to be prying, but were you praying?”

The parson turned toward the parking lot. “I suppose that depends on your definition of prayer,” the parson said.

“I have to tell you, Parson, I have a bit of trouble with a devotional life. I mean, I know I should have a more disciplined prayer life, but I just can't seem to bring it off. How do you do it? What do you pray for?”

The pair had now had reached their cars. The parson paused, opened the door for Charlie Brown to jump in. Closing the door he turned back to John and replied.

“You know, John, it's funny you'd ask that. This morning I was listening to Krista Tippett on her program “On Being.” She was talking with humorist and storyteller Kevin Kling. In the course of that interview, Kling talked about when he was a child he prayed for God to get him things. Then as a young adult he prayed for God to get him out of things. I'm at an age now, John, that while I can totally agree with Kling, because that's pretty much the story of my prayer life But now, in my older years, I'm finding that just sitting alone in that sanctuary, without saying anything aloud, and just desiring only that God be with me in this mess of a thing called life, is my most fervent prayer.”

Charlie Brown barked, either indicating an “Amen” or expressing a desire to go home.

Answered Prayer

Sunday morning. Folks were arriving early it seemed. The Fellowship Hall was filled with jovial members and a few shy visitors, all of whom were gorging themselves on the sausage or egg or bacon biscuits, various pastries, coffee, and juice.

The parson wasn't stuffing himself. He was sitting on a small children's chair in the primary Sunday school room where several of the younger ones were gathered. They were discussing various things of import, such as who had the meanest older sibling. Deciding to turn the conversation to a more positive note the parson said, “So, who wants to tell me the best thing that happened to them last week?”

Alice Keating's hand shot up. “I do,” she said.

“Okay, Alice,” the parson responded, “what was the best thing that happened to you last week?”

“I won a potted plant that I could give my mother for Mother's Day.”

“That's great. Where did you win the plant?”

“I won it a my kindergarten.”

“How did you do that?”

“Well, the teacher had this plant and she said she would give it to one of us to give to our Mom. So she took these little pieces of paper and she got us to write our names on them. It was hard because the paper was so little. But, anyway, she put all those papers in a box and then she drew one out. And, guess what, the one she drew out had my name on it.”

“That's wonderful,” said the parson. “You were a lucky girl last week.”

“Actually,” Alice confided, “I really wasn't lucky. I cheated.”

“You cheated?” the parson asked astonished.

“Yeah, Parson, I cheated. I prayed.”

God Never In a Hurry

“Listen, Parson,” she said with a wrinkled forehead and deep consternation reflected in her features, “I've prayed about this and prayed about this, but I haven't gotten an answer to my prayers. I'm about as frustrated as anyone could be.”

She was a sophomore in college. She'd always been active in her church. Years ago, as a teenager, she'd told the parson, when he was the pastor of her church, she knew she personally wanted to go into fulltime Christian service. But she didn't think God had called her to it. Now, in her second year of college, she'd driven across the state to talk to him of her frustration.”

“Look, Parson, I have to declare my major next semester. If I'm going to go to seminary I need to start taking courses that will help me there. But as much as I pray I'm still waiting for that assurance that God is calling me.”

The parson let her talk, asking questions here and there to let her get it all out. After they'd talked for over an hour, the parson took her to the local Java establishment. The conversation there strayed to her parents and then to people in the church where she'd grown up. The parson enjoyed being able to catch up on the people who'd been so much a part of his life for so long.

When they'd finished their coffee and were leaving she grabbed the parson's arm on the walkway, pulling him to a stop.

“Parson, you still haven't said anything about my not having heard the call of God.”

The parson smiled at this young woman, so intent on hearing God's voice leading her into a vocation she already knew would be her's.

“Sweetheart,” he said, “one of the most frustrating things about God is that God is so, so slow. But one of the more joyful things about God is that God is always on time.”

Sometimes Ministry Comes Easy

The parking lot was empty. The mail was retrieved, sorted and placed in the appropriate places, but not until the parson turned the heat on in the office. Churches somehow seem much colder than other places on winter days. But there are only a few folks who know that. When the average Joe arrives on Sunday morning someone has turned the heat on hours before. An empty church on a week day when the weather is cold outside is differently cold. The temperature may be higher than outside,having never reached freezing because of thermostat controls, yet the chill is penetrating, especially in the sanctuary.

The parson sat down in the office. The heater was making progress in in battling the chill. He had things to read, calls to make, planning for future sermons. The heater had just turned the corner in its battle, allowing him to divest himself of the jacket, when there was a knock on the door.

Opening it he discovered a woman of middle age, well groomed, well dressed. She stood with her arms over an expensive leather jacket hugging her torso.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“I was wondering if you would allow me to use your church for prayer.”

“Of course,” responded the parson, “did you want to use the sanctuary? It's cold in there. Maybe a Sunday school classroom that has a heater would be better.”

“If you don't mind, I'd prefer the sanctuary.”

“Sure, come on in.”

The parson escorted her to the doorway that led into the sanctuary, at the rear of the chancel. She entered and quietly made her way to the first pew. There she sat down, having seemingly dismissed my presence from her thoughts. She placed her elbows on her knees and leaned forward. Her lips silently moved. Feeling an intruder on a private moment the parson left.

Back in the office, he called a fellow pastor who’d asked him to speak at a function his church was hosting. The parson wanted more information before he answered. They talked for several minutes. Following this he composed several email responses to inquiries; he looked up the scriptures for next Sunday and jotted down some initial ideas for the sermon. He then noticed the time indicator on the computer. He'd been working for almost an hour and a half since she'd taken her place on the front pew.

He headed back to the sanctuary and quietly opened the door, expecting to see it empty, the pilgrim having exited through another door. She was still there. Her elbows no longer on her knees, she had one hand upon her forehead as she continued to pray. Again, there was not audible sound, but her lips were moving.

He returned to the office. Another hour passed. Again he peeked in the sanctuary. She was still there, kneeling now. Her lips no longer moved but her entire countenance reflected deep meaningful prayer.

The parson returned to the office. Now he played Free Cell on the computer as he awaited this woman with a spiritual life far more deeper than was his. In a half hour she knocked on the door.

“Thank you so much,” she said.

“No problem. Is there anything I can do for you.”

“You already have helped me greatly,” she replied.

She left in a car with out-of-state plates, plates indicating a 1500 mile journey. Sometimes ministry is easily provided.

Please Continue to Pray - BUT THERE'S GOOD NEWS

They did an MRI on Lynn today. The neurologist talked with us in the early evening.

First, praise God, for a Hindu woman doctor who when talking to me about Lynn, sat me down, pulled a chair up next to me, and held my hand the entire time.

You cannot imagine the HOPE that surged in me when for the first time a doctor did not use the term "IF" but said, "WHEN she wakes up ...."

Lynn suffered several major strokes during the surgery procedure. We knew ahead of time this was a risk. But we also knew that without the surgery she would live no more than two years. The doctor tells us that WHEN Lynn wakes up she will have neurological damage in her legs. The severity of this will be considerable. How much rehabiliation can help is to be determined. But the doctor says she believes that Lynn's cognitive abilities will be intact; her speech patterns will also.

We are warned that if there is another stroke it will be devastating; but she has not had a stroke since the actual surgical procedure. They are treating her to prevent any possible seziures and, while there's nothing they can do to stop a stroke, they are taking treatment steps to lower the odds of it happening.

Thank all of you for your prayers. This old liberal parson is completely convinced that your prayers were in this healing. The doctor says Lynn may wake up in the morning or in a couple of days but she will wake up.

I'd like to write more, but instead I'm going to offer prayers of praise while I take measurements for the building of the ramp to the front door that will welcome Lynn home, prayerfully soon.

Grace and peace to you all.

Further Prayers Needed

It has now been determined that Lynn, Ms. Parson, suffered a severe stroke during surgery. CTScan indicates this is in her right parietal lobe. On Saturday they will do an MRI to further refine their diagnosis. At the present time there is hope with skilled nursing and rehabiliation care, when she regains consciousness, she may achieve limited mobility but there is also the real possibility that she will never recognize me again.

My daughter came to the hospital to comfort me. She has encephalitis and the stress of this brought on a seizure and she was taken to the emergency room. She was released this evening, however.

It has not been a good day. Please pray for us.

Prayers Answered

Thanks to all for the prayers lifted in Lynn's (Ms. Parson) name. 

After a long, long surgery the doctors are saying the surgery went extremely well. After she was admitted to ICU we talked with the surgeon. His originally told us she would be on a ventilator for forty-eight hours after the surgery. But after an hour in ICU he told us she was doing so well he was going to remove the ventilator within a few hours.

They will keep her asleep in ICU until tomorrow (Friday) morning and then allow her to wake up and evaluate from there.

 

Do You Betray Reason When You Pray?

Bill Moyers and Richared Rodriguez in a conversation about mortality.