Questing Parson

Charlie Brown's Church

The planning group was meeting in the fellowship hall. The group had been meeting for a few months now, making long and short range plans for the church to better serve the community.

The group had ordered and studied a detailed demographic study of the community within a five mile radius of the church. They'd evaluated various Sunday school materials and settled on an ecumenical one that would appeal to the larger community. A list of people to be approached to teach the various classes was made and members of the committee appointed to recruit them.

The meeting ended with discussion of possible tag lines to go on church marketing materials, lines that ran from “The Lord's Landmark” to “Multiplying God's Love.” The time period for the suggestions to come in was still open, so the group made no decision.

After a closing prayer everyone was picking up their papers and bidding each other good-bye. Helen Potter, looked down at Charlie Brown curled in the corner quietly chewing on the chewy she'd graciously provided him at the beginning of the meeting. “You know, Parson,” she said. “I've got something you could put on the sign out front that might attract some folks.”

“What's that?” the parson asked.

“How about, 'Where Does Your Dog Go To Church?”

Love and Future Plans

The parson has finished cooking up the biscuits to accompany the soup at the Monday Night Soup Kitchen. The regulars made their way in at the announced time and began to consume their evening meal. The “couriers” arrived and began to pack up the many dozen meals to be delivered to the various homebound and sick members and members of the community. Soon the fellowship hall was a passel of activity and laughter as the haves and the have-nots gathered around the common tables.

The parson headed back to his study where he began to put together the bulletin for the next Sunday’s service. He worked for an hour-and-a-half before he heard the deliverers of the goodies returning to the church. Powering off the laptop, he headed back to the fellowship hall where he filled a bowl with the cheddar cheese and potato soup and some of the other goodies displayed on the serving table.

Looking around for a place to sit, he observed several tables with all the chairs taken. Florence, who visited the meal fifty-two times a year with fifty-two separate stories of why she needed some money, was sitting with Edward, a resident from beneath the interstate highway bridge. The parson decided he didn’t need to give any money away this evening and headed to table off in the corner.

His soup was about half finished when Rebecca, one of the youth leaders approached.

Can I sit with you, Parson?” she asked.

“Sure, Rebecca,” said the parson. “By the way, thanks for being the scripture reader yesterday.”

“You’re welcome. I wasn’t as nervous this time as I was the first time I did it.”

“You did great both times,” said the parson.

Rebecca sat and began to sample the soup. “This is pretty good,” she commented.

The parson had now finished his portion and nodded his head in agreement.

“Parson, can I ask you about something?”

“Sure, Rebecca.”

Rebecca looked about the room and then leaned forward across the table.

“How old do you think somebody has to be before they’re ready for love.”

The parson was unprepared for this. “Are we talking about Bobby?” he asked. Bobby was Rebecca’s boyfriend of at least two years.

“I guess we are,” said Rebecca, “but mostly we’re talking about me.”

“Are you in love?” the parson asked.

“Everybody seems to think I am, but there’s love and then there’s love, if you know what I mean.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I love Bobby. I love him like I do right now. But I’m not sure that this kind of love is the kind of love I’ll want when I’m older.”

The parson took a moment to spread some grape jelly on the remaining biscuit. Having done so he took a large bite, chewed it carefully and then asked, “What are we talking about, Rebecca.”

Rebecca sipped two spoonfuls of soup. She sat up in her chair and seemingly weighted her words carefully. She looked over her shoulders in an effort the parson recognized as one designed to determine the whereabouts of her mother.

“Parson,” she said, leaning forward, “I’m planning to be a micro-biologist.”

The parson digested the information. “You’re in love and you’re planning to be a micro-biologist?”

“Parson,” said Rebecca with a bit of impatience evidenced in her voice, “that’s the whole point. I’m planning to be a micro-biologist.” She paused, leaned back, then leaned forward again. “Okay, I see. Look the problem is I’m planning to be a micro-biologist and Bobby is not planning at all.”

The parson paused before answering. “You mean he doesn’t know what he wants to do after college?”

“I mean he doesn’t know what he wants to do after whatever.” She stopped and chewed on a biscuit. “Mom said you made these biscuits; is that true?”

“It is.”

“These are great, Parson.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Anyway, look, Bobby, I think, is just waiting to see what his mother wants him to do. He doesn’t have the slightest idea where he’s going to college. Me? I’m going to Duke University. I know I meet all the requirements. I’m sure I’ll be admitted; and I know how to get the financial aid I’ll need. But, Bobby? He doesn’t have a clue.”

“You’re both juniors, Rebecca.”

Deborah spooned up the last of her soup. She wiped her mouth delicately with her napkin. “Parson, I know I’m a little hyper about this, but being juniors is exactly when we should be taking care of these things.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Thank you. Thank you very much. But my mother is always talking about how sweet Bobby is. Look, Parson, I know he’s sweet. He’s a nice guy and I love being around him. He’s funny. He’s considerate. He’s in love with me. But that’s as far as it goes.”

The parson started to make a comment, but he wasn’t fast enough.

“It’s easy to be in love when you’re seventeen. But I don’t think it’s going to be that easy when you’re twenty-seven or thirty-seven, God forbid, excuse me, Parson, and not have a clue what you’re going to do with your life much less you love.”

“Rebecca, are you asking if you and Bobby should break up?”

“No, Parson, no! I don’t want to break up with Bobby. Goodness, Parson, there are dances in our senior year, there are parties, there are all kinds of things that you need to have a date for.”

“And after your senior year?”

“See, I knew you would understand.”

“You did?”

“Yes, I did. You know that there has to be a maturity in love for it to work. And not having goals is not

being mature. Gosh, I’m glad I talked with you. Thanks a lot, Parson.”

“You’re welcome.”

Rebecca gathered up her dishes. She reached over toward the parson. “Let me take those for you,” she said. Then she headed toward the kitchen with the plates. Halfway there she turned and said, “Oh, I almost forgot. Bobby said he’d be glad to read the scripture next Sunday.”

The parson watched the future micro-biologist walk off while wondering if Bobby had a clue what was coming.

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