Questing Parson

Surely God Was Laughing

Once  upon a time - well, actually it wasn’t once upon a time. It was precisely in 1991. So, in 1991, there was this priest of a particular denomination that would be considered high church. I’m not going to name the denomination. But, here’s a hint. Consider Anglican; now, Americanize it. This priest of that denomination and I bumped up against each other from time in our professional relationship. It was no secret he considered me to be a bit of a bumpkin, a bit too casual with my theological pronouncements, and definitely low church in my liturgical approach.

We did, however, overcome this and minister as colleagues in the ecumenical area that we had in common.

At any rate, in 1991 this priest of that particular denomination was conducting the liturgy at the morning worship service of his parish. It was a large congregation. The services were well attended. And, as such, all the pews were filled that particular Sunday in 1991. But, for the priest of whom I speak, there was a problem.

The problem was he wasn’t particularly fond of women priests. And yet, his associate priest was a woman. I have no idea how that poor woman got into that situation. On the particular Sunday of which I speak this female priest was scheduled to preach. Did I mention the priest of whom I’m speaking did not think females sould be priests? Perhaps that is why he, after sitting in a place that was out-of-sight of the congregation, exited the sanctuary during the female priest's sermon. He proceeded to the area behind the chancel. And there he did this and that until he felt the call of nature.

Feeling the call of nature he entered the restroom just off the chancel. There he proceeded to sit and do what he felt the call to do. His doing was accompanied by appropriate grunts and sighs. Having completed his natural functions, he took care of things, rearraged clothing, and flushed. And then he exited the bathroom and re-entered the chancel and sat in that seat out-of-sight of the congregation.

The female priest, with a smile that extended from earlobe to earlobe, ended her sermon with, “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen.” She stepped down from the pulpit and took her place in the seat just behind the elevated pulpit with her hand over her mouth as if to mute the convulsions of her body. Into that pulpit the priest of whom I speak stepped. And when he did the congregation gave him a standing ovation.

God, in God’s great humor, had not reminded the priest of whom I speak to turn off his lapel mike when he slipped out of the chancel.

 

I'm Remembering the Day When My Daughter . . . .

I'm remembering the day my daughter got cut from the high school soccer team, not because the other player was better but because she was a girl.

 

A Question of Gender

Ring. Ring.

The parson answered the phone and was delighted to hear his daughter’s voice. “Hi, Sweetheart,” the parson said. “What’s up?”

“I have a little girl here who wants to talk to you.”

“Okay,” the parson responded feeling a bit of expectation that his youngest granddaughter wanted to talk to him. “Put her on.”

“Hi,” said a sweet voice.

“Hi, yourself,” said the parson. “It sure is nice to talk to you.”

“I know,” she said. “You preach; don’t you?”

“I do preach,” the parson answered.

“Okay, I told my Mom I wanted to talk to you because she won’t talk to me serious. I need to ask you something about God.”

“I’ll try my best to answer,” the parson said. “What about God?”

“Do you think God is a boy or a girl?”

This one caught the parson by surprise. Being the gender sensitive cleric he is he realized the answer to the question was important to her. He began talking as he searched for the right way to answer this for a child her age.

“Well, little girl, most of the time people talk about God like God is a boy. But there are other people who ….”

“I just want to know if you think God is a boy or a girl,” she interrupted.

The parson said, “I was trying to get to that. You see ….”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You are answering this just like my Mom. I just want to know if you think God is a boy or a girl. All you guys have to say is ‘yes’ or ‘no’. But you don’t do that. I guess I just have to tell you. If you want to know, I have decided that God is a girl.”

The parson marveled at the firmness of her voice. And before he could reply, she continued.

“That’s all. God is a girl. Okay, I have things to do. God is a girl; that's it. Bye.”

“Call ended” popped up on the parson’s iPhone. He turned his eyes upward and whispered, “You laugh just like my mother.”