Questing Parson

Dizzy Dean Said If It's True It Ain't Bragging

I serve as pastor of a SMALL rural church in Northwest Georgia. Now when I say small, I mean small. Despite my oratorical excellence and my sound theology, I consider it an exceptional Sunday if there are fifty folks in worship. So, we are a small membership church, BUT ...

Sunday evening I completed the day by changing the sign in front of the church and displaying a banner. Here's the banner:

Here's the sign:

You see, this small church every Monday evening provides a free meal to anyone who wants to come in and partake, and, in addition, carries meals out into the community to homebound folks. (Full disclosure: we don't start serving the meals until 5:00 even though the banner says 4:30. We just can't afford to buy a new banner.)

The sign announces a free vaccination clinic for pets on Saturday of this week. In cooperation with the Echota Advocacy and Pet Rescue Group, this little church, twice a year, provides free vaccinations for anyone who brings their pets. The event starts at 1:00, but by noon there's a line around the church.

In addition, over the last decade this small church has sent members out on mission trips twice to Mexico, once to Haiti, Fiji, Peru, and twice to Appalachia.

Every year, on the Saturday before school starts, this small church, that conceived the project, coordinates, in cooperation with two other churches, providing every child certified by the school systems' family advocates as being indigent with new clothes (shopped indivudually for each child whose sizes were supplied by the family advocates), a book bag, grade and indivudual school appropriate school supplies, and a haircut for the boys and a beauty treatment for the girls.

Over the last ten years this small church has sponsored three transitional houses for homeless women with children, has sponsored a missionary family to Peru, opened the church to a community yard sale for anyone who wants to buy or sell without any charge to the participants, allowed youth bands to have secular rock concerts in the church, established a policy of helping anyone in need who comes to the church for help (Our philosophy is if they are ripping us off it's God's problem.). And joyfully welcomed anyone who wants to come to be part of the fellowship, regardless of their sexual orientation, religious background, race, or ability to sing on key during the hymns.

Each year, on the first Saturday in February, the church sponsors a Women's Retreat that attracts ladies from up to three states to hear the outstanding speakers, to join in the singing and fellowship, and to gobble up the food.

Wait! Did I mention the scouts? How about feeding the local football team before the Friday night game? The annual community Easter egg hunt. Did I mention that all of the above is done in a spirit of service and not evangelism?

The day I retired, Bishop Lindsey Davis asked me to fill-in at this church until he could find someone to appoint here. Two bishops later, I'm wondering if I had pissed Bishop Davis off and he was getting even.

You know, I've been attributing my flagging energy at the end of the day to my age. But after listing the above, I'm of the mind that the reason I'm sometimes tired is I'm the pastor of the BIGGEST LITTLE CHURCH in Georgia.

Now, I need to take a nap. There's no telling what project they'll come up with next.

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.

 

Thank You Billie Jean

The parson took a deep breath, following the washing of the dishes after the completion of the gourmet dinner he’d prepared (he’d provide the recipe but it would make too many jealous), then he moved into his study, powered up the computer, clicked on PBS, and then selected “American Masters: Billie Jean King.”

The program brought memories of how the parson’s life changed the day after Christmas in 1967, when his daughter arrived. Three years later, Billie Jean King convinced nine of the top professional women tennis players to organize the Women’s Professional Tennis Association. Nine of the top players - Billie Jean King Rosemary “Rosie” Casals, Kristy Pigson, Jane “Peaches” Bartkowicz, Valerie Ziegenfuss, Kerry Melville, Julie Heldman, Nancy Richey, and Judy Dalton - withdrew from the existing professional tennis organization in protest against male player making ten to twenty times as much money in the same events.

Two years later, when the parson’s daughter was five, the United States Congress passed Title IX, which provided for the inclusion of women’s sports in educational institutions.

In 1973, when the parson’s daughter was six, Billie Jean King kicked Bobby Rigg’s ass.

You’d think acceptance of women in sports would by this point become a foregone conclusion.

But change in sports comes almost as slow as accepting women int he pulpit. In the 1982, because there was no female soccer team at the parson’s daughter’s high school, she tried out for the boy’s team. On the last day of the tryouts, the coach cut her. At a team meeting of the returning players from the previous year, some of the male players said to the coach, “But, coach, she was better than the ones you accepted.” The coach replied, “Yeah, but she’s a girl.”

Two days later, the parson was in the office of the Assistant Superintendent of Schools, not a good friend but an acquaintance of the parson. The parson said, “Okay, Herman, hear me out on this. First, I’ll give you a two statements. And then I’ll ask you two questions. the first statement is this: “Coach Jefferson cut my daughter from playing on the soccer team.  The second statement is: When the returning players protested she was better than those not cut,  he answered in front of eighteen witnesses, ‘Yeah, but she’s a girl.’  Now, Herman, here are the two questions. The first is this: Have you heard about Title IX? The second is this: Do you want to talk to me or my lawyer?”

Two weeks later girls’ soccer was institute in the system the parson’s daughter was a student. Looking back on it, the parson considers it one of his better moments.

Where Are the Women

Sunday night the parson cacooned himself within the covers early. As was his custom on Sunday nights, no alarm was set to rouse him in the morning. On Monday mornings the parson crawled out of bed when the warmth of the covers no longer protected him from the day.

This night he fell asleep quickly. It had been a good day. The people had received his sermon gladly. A couple had talked to him of joining the church. And the Sunday evening Bible study had gone exceptionally well.

That Bible study the parson had resisted for years. Finally, he gave in on the condition that it be an actual Bible study. And so for the last two-and-a-half years almost every Sunday night had involved a study of the Bible. At first there had been some resistance to the parson's methodology. He had begun at Genesis 1: 1 and was proceeding through the books of the Bible, talking of the events that had shaped it, who wrote it, why they wrote it, pointing out the contradictions.

The “Bible-is-the-literal-word-of-God”-folks challenged him on the third week of the Bible. “But,” said their leader of that group, “the Book of Revelation says ….” The parson cut him off. “Look,” said the parson, “when it comes to Revelation, I will bow to your considerable knowledge. With regards to Revelation, you have read it much more than have I. In fact, I try not to read it. It involves some vision of terrible things that are going to happen in the future. I'm a follower of Christ. I concentrate on the wonderful things that are happening now. But, I don't want to ignore your point. As you're aware, we started with Genesis and we're going book by book through the Bible. We should get to Revelation in about, well, let's see, ah, about five years. So, please, hold that thought until then.”

They never came back. And so it was on Sunday night the parson and the Bible study participants looked critically at the differences in the stories told by the Deuteronomist storytellers and the Chronicler. The study had ended with the group focusing on the fact that the Chronicler left out anything that might reflect badly on David as an ideal king, especially leaving out the women. But the study ended with the observation that the Chronicler made a slip.

In 2 Chronicles 35: 25, he talks about “all the singing men and singing women” who mourn Josiah's death. So, concluded the parson and his group, the women did have a part to play after all. And supposing this was a Temple activity, the women had a more active part than the Chronicler's version led his hearers to believe.

Monday morning arrived. The parson rose. He switched his iPad on and began to surf the web for the news. After acquainting himself with what was happening, he looked for stories about March madness. There it was on almost every newspaper and magazine available on the device. There were the men's brackets, the rankings, the dark horses, all in the NCAA Men's tournament. The parson spent twenty minutes looking for the brackets, the rankings, the favorites, the dark horses of the NCAA Women's Tournament. He couldn't find any reference. It was as if Women's Collegiate Athletics did not exist.

Amazing, six hundred years before Jesus the storytellers left the women out, and still today few would admit they, also, occupied the court.

Interview With Serene Jones, First Woman President of Union Theological Seminary

This is an excerpted interview with Dr. Jones for PBS Religion and Ethics. Click on the link below the video window to access the extended interview.

Watch Serene Jones Extended Interview on PBS. See more from Religion & Ethics NewsWeekly.

Independence Lens Looks At Women

Watch Women Are Not the Problem, They Are the Solution on PBS. See more from Independent Lens.

Strong Women, God Bless 'Em

I love women. Okay, there it is, right out in the open. I love women. Who can say when this love affair started? I honestly don't know.

Maybe it was Francis. Francis was that drop dead gorgeous babysitter my parents hired for my brother. Somehow they didn't think I was capable of taking care of my brother when I was twelve. He was five then. So, they hired Francis to babysit my brother. And I would watch Francis babysit my brother. And after she put my brother to bed I would watch Francis watching television. Did I mention Francis was drop dead gorgeous?

We moved from the town where Francis babysat my brother. When we moved I'd grown beyond my childish ways. Maybe the reason I love women has something to do with Kay. Kay lived up the street from me in the new town to which we moved. Kay was something else. Kay taught me the joys of swapping spit.

I'm going to detour from this history of my progression through the various stages of learning to appreciate women now. This blog carries a PG-13 rating. I'll just give you a quick snapshot. That snapshot acknowledges the obvious fact that the men and women of my generation are much better lovers than the generations that followed us. We were more practiced, more attentive, never in a hurry. We certainly should be. We spent ten years in foreplay.

It was the Women In the World Summit 2012, just recently ended, that prompted my journey back in time remembering, as Willie, said, “all the girls I've loved before.” Things have really changed since those days when Kay and I were coming of age. Women have truly come a long way.

I was fortunate to grow up in the family I did. In an age when women were perceived as mere appendages of their husbands, the women in my family actually ran the show. I don't think I realized that until I was in my thirties. I'm sure my late realization was a direct result of those women's unique ability to let the men in the family think they were in charge.

Mama, my grandmother, had a fourth grade education. When my grandfather died she carried on for thirty plus years, teaching us lessons we never learned in the universities we attended. My great aunt, Mama's sister, when her husband died kept the auto garage he owned, the largest in Atlanta, running with even more success than he enjoyed. Looking back on it I can't help but wonder how many city blocks of downtown Atlanta my aunt owned.

And then there was my mother. Mother's birthday was last week. I have to admit I didn't realize what day it was until I read the acknowledgment on my brother's Facebook page. (But, then again, Mother always did love him best.) [:-), brother]

My mother was a child of the 1920s, and I have no doubt that she and my Aunt Virginia danced until the dawn at the dance clubs of Atlanta. She was a beauty. She was confident. And she had this view of life, far ahead of her day, that gender should be no impediment to whatever one wanted to accomplish. Mother should have had daughters to offset the troubles my brother and I caused. Mother was to be respected. No, let me rephrase that: Mother demanded respect. My mother had no hesitation of engaging in a wrestling match, a real wrestling match, with any adolescent male ignorant enough to think she wouldn't whip his ass in front of his onlooking peers.

The Women in the World Summit, as I said, got me thinking about those genteel Southern ladies who shaped me. The women who are their children have excelled, one was in the first class of ordained women in the Church of England, and one a successful businesswoman. As for my brother and me, we were feminist long before someone trotted out the word.

It was a joy to see that parade of twenty-first century women speaking and being interviewed at the summit. It gives hope for the world. I can attest from personal experience that we're all better when we're nurtured and inspired by strong, liberated women.

I got a hint that the strong woman will continue in the next generation of our family the other day. I asked my granddaughter if her boyfriend was going to be at a family function. “That won't happen,” she told me. I asked her why. “Look,” she said, “I'm a fourteen year-old woman; harmones are raging in my body; I have enough dealing with my moods. I don't have the energy to deal with some male's moodiness.”

So here's the end of this rambling remembrance of strong women and my affirmation that we'll be better still as humans when women are finally treated as equals in every aspect of life.

Thanks Mother; thanks Mama; thanks Aunt Virginia. And watch out world, my granddaughters are headed your way!

 

Watch live streaming video from womenintheworld at livestream.com

Watch live streaming video from womenintheworld at livestream.com

Watch live streaming video from womenintheworld at livestream.com

Watch live streaming video from womenintheworld at livestream.com

A Brief Reflection on Church and State

One can't get away from the news of the First Amendment controversy over women's health coverage in reproductive areas. So, here's my take on it:

I'd planned to write an essay on this down the road. I hesitate to write this short reaction to the week's news. Somewhere down the road I might still assemble my words in a more coherent and in-depth manner. But the issue has me stirred so I write now.

First, once again I have been proved to be of far greater intelligence certain members of the United States House of Representatives. As a consequence I will not here be speaking about reproductive health issues without having a large volume of women's writings from which I can quote. I really don't know much about the dynamics of giving birth. I've been in the room when it happen several times, but it remains a mystery to me.

Now, having disqualified myself on the giving birth or not giving birth choices of women, let me speak to something of which I know.

Does it strike anyone as a bit convoluted that the very politicians who are yelling the loudest that the federal government is threatening the separation of church and state are the very ones who seem to be advocating a Christian theocracy?
The first amendment addresses the problem of establishing a state religion. Hmm, would that be a theocracy?

It would do the Christians sounding off about this separation of church and state a bit of good to realize the separation of church and state is an illusion. It is an illusion because the federal government already gives the church preferential treatment over other organizations. For instance:

My church collects a bit of money each Sunday, and occasionally we get some via mail. We do not pay one cent of tax on the money we take in. Special treatment by the government?

Because I am a retired ordained pastor the federal government allows me to designate an obscene percentage of my salary as “housing allowance” which is exempt from income tax. Special treatment by the government?

There is a flip side to this. Whenever I perform a marriage the couple bring me a license issued by the state. When I sign that document following the ceremony I am acting as an agent of the state. If we had real separation of church and state, the couple would get married at the courthouse and then come to the church for their union to be blessed.

Okay, that's enough. You get the point. I'm not going to turn this into a rant. Grandkids are on the way and I don't have much time. I just wanted to tell all the protectors of the church to knock it off. If you really want to separate the church and state stop passing laws that make the church more special than other groups. And here's some information for you. If you ever get your theocratic way I'm moving to Canada.

How Do You Know

The parson was taking advantage of Mother's Day. The evening activities at the church had been canceled as everyone was planning to be at “Mom's.” He headed to nearby outlet mall, where there was an establishment which had dozens of decadent flavors of cholesterol laden ice cream. He carried his Kindle with him.

Sitting at a small table near the window the parson was feasting on the double dip ice cream in the sugar cone with an obvious relish while reading his Kindle edition of Adam Goodheart's 1861, The Civil War Awakening. It was a glorious afternoon. It was until George Vanderhoff Clegborne, III entered.

“Well, Parson,” called out George, “what a surprise to find a preacher of the gospel at the mall on a Sunday afternoon. My goodness is the day sacred no more?”

“Hello, George,” said the parson with less than enthusiasm. The parson was in no mood for his escape from the pastorate, if only for a few moments, to be interrupted by the likes of George.

“Parson,” said George in a voice that intoned an overstated seriousness, “I hear you're stirring up trouble about the county opening a place for women to live.”

“I'm talking about an emergency shelter for battered women with children to stay, George,” said the parson. “We need one desperately.”

“Seems to me that's a waste of time, Parson. Obviously, these women wouldn't be in the shape they are in if they'd simply taken care of themselves from the get go. I mean, the county is supposed to pay for the bad decisions of others?”

“Yeah, George,” said the parson, putting his Kindle down and licking the dripping of the ice cream from the edges of his cone. “That's exactly what I'm saying.”

“Well, obviously, you don't understand the dynamics at work here, Parson. These women could best be served if we made it clear to them that there's going to be no help from the government.”

“You're sure about that?” asked the parson.

“I sure as hell am,” said George.

“You know, George,” said the parson, “I remember a story once about a little boy who was sitting at the table eating lunch with his mother. The table was in one of those bay widow type eating areas off the kitchen. So the birds were flitting about the feeder outside the window and the mother began telling the boy all about the life of the birds, what they liked, what they didn't like, where they got their food, what they did and did not eat, and on and on.

Finally, the boy, when his mother paused to take a breath, said, “How do you know? Were you a bird once?”

Michelle Goldberg on Women's Global Reproductive Health