Questing Parson: A Personal Ministry

The parson had been absconded in his office all day concentrating on transferring blog posts from this site to the new one that would go up soon. Bleary eyed from the monotony of the endeavor he headed to the church Fellowship Hall in pursuit of the source of the tantalizing aroma of the Monday Soup Supper’s main entrée.

Scooping a generous portion into the generous plastic bowls that had been donated by a local restaurant, he then loaded up the edge of the bowl with two large homemade biscuits and then placed on a small saucer like plastic plate a large portion of the cherry/pineapple upside down cake Ms. Parson had invented that afternoon.

The parson was almost to the bottom of his second bowl when Madison, one of the church youth and a junior in high school took a seat at his table. Soon she was joined by her mother who was there assisting Ms. Parson in today’s preparation.

“Madison,” you’ve got twenty stops tonight so you need to get going soon. “Here’s the list of people to take the Soup Supper to.”

Madison unfolded the list of folks she was to deliver. She scanned the paper. Her forehead wrinkled again. The then scanned it a second time, this time with her finger tracing down the list of people. She looked up at her mother and exclaimed, “You guys have made a mistake,” she said, “Ms. Edna is not on this list.”

“Ms. Edna is on Jerome’s list,” countered her mother.

The parson, having finished the second bowl of soup and having devoured a second helping of pineapple/cherry upside down cake now pushed the refuse before him to the side and concentrated his attention on the conversation before him. Certainly, Madison was no longer aware of his presence as she leaned forward in what the parson suspected might be a budding generational dispute.

“Ms. Edna is on Jerome’s list???” Madison squealed in a barely suppressed tone. “Ms. Edna’s on Jerome’s list. Ms. Edna cannot be on Jerome’s list. I deliver to Ms. Edna.”

“Madison,” said her mother in a motherly tone that resembling the tone the parson had often heard as his daughter tried to match wits with his unmatchable granddaughters, “it doesn’t matter who is on whose list.”

Suddenly, Madison recognized the parson’s presence at the table. She held her arms out in a “Can you believe this?” movement. Her eyes zeroed in on the parson’s and she pleaded. “Will you please talk to my mother? Would you explain that this is not a delivery service I do, that this is a ministry?”

The parson looked at Madison’s mother and said, “Julie, this is a ministry.”

Madison slapped the table with her palm. “It’s not time to be funny, Parson. I need your help here. Look, if Jerome gets Edna on his list he will go up to the Senior Citizen Village and he’ll deliver the meal to her. That’s what he’ll do. He won’t sit down and talk to her. She doesn’t really need the food as much as she needs to have someone to talk to. Don’t you guys understand that? Jerome will tell her he has a lot of people to deliver to, and we do, but that’s all Jerome does. Jerome gives her some soup.”

“Madison,” said her mother, “that’s what we do. We deliver food to the homebound. We make contact with them. We let them know we care.”

Madison leaned across the table and gave her mother a look that only a very talented young woman with a determination that matched her mother could express. “Oh great!” she said. “Hi Edna, we want you to know we care, so here’s some soup! That’s our definition of caring? I don’t think so. Do you even listen to his sermons?” Madison didn’t look toward the parson as she pointed her finger in his direction while continuing her intense gaze at her mother.

“Madison, you’re being ridiculous.”

“No, Mom, no,” she said. “I am not being ridiculous. Last month I went to Ms. Edna’s house and she was sitting there in her rocking chair all alone, and when I put the soup supper in her kitchen and came back into her living room she started telling me how much it meant to her that I came by every Monday. She started telling me that, Mom, and then she started telling me how much it meant to her that somebody my age would take the time to sit with her and to hear her talk, that she didn’t have anyone to do that anymore. And pretty soon, Mom, she was crying because she said she appreciated me so much because she’d outlived most of her relatives and it was nice to have me to talk to . And then I started crying and then we were hugging each other. So, Jerome is not going to take supper to Ms. Edna, damn it! She is my ministry and she is dependent on me!”

The parson watched the tear run down her right cheek and splash on her REI Fleece Jacket. As he pushed his chair back, Madison was sobbing. “You can’t let Jerome take supper to Ms. Edna, Mom. She doesn’t really want this stupid supper. She just wants me to sit with her and listen. And I can do that, Mom, you may not believe it but I can listen to Ms. Edna really good.”

The parson left the table and walked to the end of the room. “Hi Jerome,” he said. “Look, how about we take Ms. Edna off your list. Madison will take hers and you can take Henry Woodall his supper. Sounds like a plan?”

Jerome replied, “Sounds like a plan, Parson.” Then he turned back to his texting.

The parson headed back across the room to deliver the good news to the Very Reverend Madison.