Why Would You Want To Do This?

She was one of the most intriguing people the parson had ever encountered in his ministry. The child of two accomplished parents, one a surgeon the other a noted scholar in early Native American culture and college professor, she had always demonstrated an exceptional intelligence. The parson had been intrigued not so much by her innate intellectual attributes but her ability to utilize these in a proletarian manner that attracted others to engage her in conversation.

She'd been a member of one of the parson's previous churches. Back then she was an awkward preteen, unsure of her natural abilities and totally unaware of her budding beauty. In addition she possessed an athletic ability that would assure the financing of her college education. Her main sport was soccer. That, in and of itself, assured the parson's focus on this child of unusual ability.

Today she and the parson sat in the Java Junction, the coffee and sandwich place at the Outlet Mall near the parson's house. She, her Mom, and her sister, a sibling nine years her junior, now sixteen years old, had come for a shopping trip in celebration of her sister's birthday. She'd come along on the trip in order to spend some time talking with the parson. Important decisions faced her.

The parson studied her intently as she stirred her coffee with the wooden stick. The stirring was a distraction for her. There was not sugar or cream to stir. She seemed nervous, unconsciously delaying the conversation. The parson found this amusing as he remembered a day, when she was a senior in high school. She'd sucked the parson into a discussion of the implied differences in group ethics between Richard and Reinhold Niebuhr. The parson remembered vividly that day and his feeling he was in a battle of wits and he was unarmed.

“So, Parson,” she said and then sucked in a breath and audibly exhaled, “I'm thinking about going into the pastorate.”

The parson was a bit taken aback. He'd always thought of her as eventually becoming a professor of religion, philosophy, ethics, or such. He had never pictured her as a pastor. The thought was immediately appealing. The church, he knew, needed, desperately, people with her intellect and her humility, her assurance and her humility.

“What do you think?”

“Why in the world would you want to become a parish pastor?”

She jerked her head up. “What? Why?” She paused. Then she said, “I didn't expect you to say that. Why would I want to … I mean, you're been one all these years. Why are you asking me why?”

The parson smiled. It's a legitimate question. “Why would you want to be a parish minister?

“I just think I could be good at it. I mean, well, look, Parson, I've got my Masters degree. I'm enrolled in the PhD. Program. I know I could get my doctorate and maybe teach in a university, but I, well, I don't know. I think I have some talents I could bring to the church.”

The parson didn't say anything. She stirred her coffee some more. There was silence. After a long moment she looked up, “So, don't you have anything to day?”

“I do,” said the parson. “Why would you want to be a parish minister?”

She stared at him. Her azure eyes were fixed and unblinking. “Why would I want to be a parish minister? I just told you. Look, I'm above average in intelligence. I have a good manner with people. I know I can be supportive of the church members when they face a crisis. I'm good with kids and youth. And frankly, Parson, I can preach. Okay, I know you've never heard me preach. But in college I was really active in the Wesley Foundation. I led worship plenty of Sundays. And I preached on some of those Sundays.”

The parson smiled. He knew it would abbreviate her, but he asked, “Why would you want to be a parish minister?”

She stared at him. Actually, she glared at him. She, then, leaned across the table and in a forced whisper said, “Damn, Parson, why the shit to you keep asking that question?”

The parson didn't respond for a moment. The he said in an equally forced whisper, “Damn, Kathy, why the shit would you want to be a parish minister?”

“Because,” she shot back, “there's nothing else I could do and still be happy.”

“That,” said the parson, “sounds like a calling. Now I know why you want to be a parish minister. And I'll be praying every day I live long enough to see you ordained.”

She smiled a faint smile. A tear trickled down her left cheek. “You know, I just have to do this,” she said.

“I know. I know.”

Comments

[wondering aloud]

...........bang on......

[Linda]

:)