The parson and Ms. Parson were sitting down to a dinner with friends at a local restaurant. No sooner had the chairs been pulled up than the parson’s cell phone vibrated.
“Parson, this is the ER. There’s an emergency. We need you.”
“I’ll be right there,” said the parson.
The parson, when the hospital chaplain was away, often served as an On-Call Chaplain for crisis intervention situations.
The friends volunteered to get Ms. Parson home. The parson headed toward the ER. Once there the nurse, a member of his church, quickly briefed him on the situation. A man had passed away, sitting in his recliner watching the football game. And then she took the parson to the treatment room where the wife sat wringing her hands beside her deceased husband.
“Hello, Sally,” said the parson, recognizing the woman. She was a member of another denomination but she and the parson had crossed paths on a number of community projects.
“Hello, Parson,” said Sally. “They said you were the Chaplain. I’m glad it’s you.”
The parson sat down beside her. He said nothing.
“You know,” said Sally, “I’m really torn up. I’m going to miss him so much. But, now I know this will sound strange, Parson, but he would be just tickled pink he died the way he did. Shoot, Parson, he’d just settled down to the game and hadn’t even had time to ask me to bring him a beer.”
She continued to relate to the parson the events following him sitting in the recliner. She told him how she’d called 911 but knew there was no rush.
“Isn’t this wonderful, Parson. He didn’t suffer a bit. What a way to go. I hope we’re this lucky.”
The parson waited a moment then asked, “Does Brother James know?” James was her pastor.
“Yes, he does. I called him on the way over here. He should be here in a few minutes.”
The parson sat with her, listening to her tales of their life together. The only pauses were for the wiping of tears. But these efforts were accented by the occasional forced smile. And the talk continued until Brother James arrived.
After a few moments, the parson said, “I’m going to leave you now. Call me if there’s anything I can do.”
“Oh, thank you, Parson,” she said. “You were such a big help.”
The parson smiled, bid Brother James farewell, and departed.
As he stepped through the outside Emergency Room door, thinking about how Sally’s faith meant it wasn’t really an emergency, a young woman approached him. She was dressed in designer jeans above obviously expensive heels. The parson didn’t pretend to be an expert in women’s fashion, but he recognized a blouse so expensive he knew Ms. Parson would never wear one.
“You’re the Chaplain, aren’t you?” she asked.
“I am today,” said the parson.
“Can I talk to you?”
“Sure,” said the parson. “Come on in and we’ll find a private place.”
“No, would you mind if we talked out here?”
“That’s okay,” said the parson.
The parson followed the woman, in her mid-thirties. They sat on the curb near the ambulance entrance. She turned to look at the parson, her body began shaking with sobs, tears gushed, she cried out, “My life is so messed up!”
The parson had been called for an emergency after all.
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