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Tag Archives: A License to Preach

The Call and the Calls

23 Friday Sep 2016

Posted by chaplines2014 in Church, Faith, Growing up, Innocence, Prayer

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A License to Preach, life experiences, Memories

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Methodist Bishop Edwin Voight sponsored a Convocation on the Ministry at First Methodist Church in Springfield, Illinois, in 1961. The aim was to inform and recruit young men for the ministry; no women attended. My pastor, Glen Sims, aware that I had completed the God and Country Award in Scouting and was serving as a de facto chaplain for the local Boy Scout troop on our monthly outings, thought that I might be interested and shared the invitation to attend. Families of the Springfield churches generously provided accommodations and hospitality.

Fifteen years old, I was the youngest in attendance. Most were older high school or college students. I knew I was out of my league. The program consisted of young adults and older ministers recounting their calls to ministry and their formative years in ministry, as well as prayers and worship around the theme of vocation. Their stories were impressive and elaborate, though fifty-five years later I cannot remember a single one of them.

What I do remember was my inadequacy and youth in the face of the experiences shared. The personal experience that I had to share, when in small groups we were asked to share our own stories, was the fact that I walked regularly four blocks to my home church, after school when I had to stay for some extra-curricular activity, in order to use the church telephone to call home. Then, while waiting for my mother or father to pick me up, I would stand in front of the impressive stained glass window or the great Last Supper carving and pray, while I waited twenty to thirty minutes for a ride (Our home was five miles away.). During those times I came to think of the church as my second home. I prayed about my future and how I could use the talents that people around me told me that I had, though I wasn’t at all sure.

When I had finished recounting ‘my calling’ in this way, the group leader noted appropriately that not everyone had a call to the ministry, which I took as a direct response to my story. That stung a little. Later in the gathering, the call of Moses, who was not an effective speaker at the time, and Jeremiah, who was just a boy at the time, gave me a little courage to think that I might yet be in the right place. I was not convinced, but the thought was effectively planted.

To Be Called a Muslim

14 Wednesday Sep 2016

Posted by chaplines2014 in Faith, People, Racial Prejudice, Words

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A License to Preach, Names and Titles

 

Circledance

65% of Republicans think President Obama is a Muslim, according to a recent headline. Since I first met President Obama (when he was State Representative Obama, and he was regularly attending the same church I was attending that day) at Trinity United Church of Christ, the same denomination that ordained me as a minister, I knew at the outset that he was officially and formally a Christian, even though his name had a Muslim heritage. ‘Barak’ was the great steed that carried Mohammed into heaven in his vision at Jerusalem, and ‘Hussein’ has many associations, for better and worse. ‘Obama’ suggests Africa, and could be Muslim or Christian in Kenya. (My name on the other hand suggests a peddler of trifles or cheap books, or a barbarian tribal warrior. Neither seems to have handicapped me or determined my destiny.)

The other part of calling someone a Muslim is the significant meaning of the words ‘Muslim’ and ‘Islam,’ which derive from the definition of “one who submits to Allah” with Allah being the name for the One God. The God referred to is the God of the “people of the Book,” that is, the Bible, before it came to include the Koran. The title is therefore an honorific title as well as an aspiration for those who accept it. If someone were to call me a Muslim, I would consider that an honor, knowing what I have studied about Islam and the faithful Muslim people that I have known.

On the other hand, ordinarily, to be a Muslim is to accept the Muslim creed, that there is only One God and Mohammed is a prophet of that One God, although that One God has many names according to God’s many attributes. To use the title of prophet for Mohammed puts him in the company of an impressive historical, and from my perspective, some ahistorical characters, but they include Abraham, Moses, Elijah, Isaiah, Mary, and Jesus, among other lesser figures like Jonah and Job. Does Mohammed deserve the recognition that places him in that company? Traditionally many Christians have said no, but that is without assessing what Mohammed accomplished. Mohammed converted scores of Arabian tribes from paganism and idolatry to monotheism with all of the moral dimensions that traditional monotheism entails, not a small or unimpressive accomplishment. When he finally had the opportunity to utterly destroy his opposition, who had so often attempted to kill him, he offered mercy and forgiveness. Unlike most of the prophets who spoke to power, but had little of their own, at least in earthly terms, Mohammed was able in the last years of his life to exercise a great amount of political power, and he did so with some admirable accomplishments as well as some judgments that were more problematic, not unlike some of the wisest leaders the world has known. The title ‘prophet’ seems to apply to him at least as well as to most of the others.

I grew up in a Methodist Church, recognizing that the title ‘Methodist’ was first used of John Wesley as a pejorative, ridiculing the disciplined and ordered life that he espoused. I never lived up to that name, nor would I confidently describe myself as a Muslim, in the tradition of those who have fully lived out the meaning of that name, but I sure would like to be.

Called to Account

07 Wednesday Sep 2016

Posted by chaplines2014 in Caring, Church, Faith, Growing up

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A License to Preach, life experiences, Memories

 

Pentecostal bannerEarly in 1974 I sent my paperwork to the Central Association “Church and Ministry Committee” requesting consideration as a candidate for ordination in the United Church of Christ. By doing this I bypassed the usual procedure of becoming “In Care” of an Association for at least a year before being considered for ordination. I had served the United Church of Tilton full-time since receiving a Doctor of Ministry degree a year earlier, and I “voluntarily located” at that Methodist-UCC merged congregation, instead of entering the United Methodist itinerant ministry and be subject to appointment by the bishop. For that year I had been living between denominations. Toward the end of it I surrendered my credentials as a United Methodist deacon.

I was grateful that the area UCC committee was willing to give me a hearing; they were not obligated to do so. Although I had studied the UCC for the five years of graduate education, and organized the Chicago Theological Seminary archives, which required a growing familiarity with UCC polity, I did not know what to expect when facing that committee. My essays on personal experience, theology, Christology, ecclesiology, ministry, and church history and polity were rooted in biblical study but far from traditional. If I were to be rejected by the committee, I had no back-up plan. I expected that at best they would delay my request while I developed longer relationships and more trust with UCC people in the area.

The committee, equally divided between clergy and laypeople, heard my presentation and asked perceptive questions that revealed that they had read my papers. They also explored the particular needs and background of the ministry at Tilton. Most of the time the group seemed to be interested and agreeable, and I sensed no areas of disagreement or serious challenge, until one of the members, a senior minister at one of the leading area congregations, wanted to know more about my Christology. It appeared to be “low” in comparison to his “high Christology.” I had already spoken at some length about the mediating and representational character of Jesus’ ministry. He pursued the weakness of my positions relentlessly. Finally, I admitted that he was probably right. I was closer to being a Modalist than an Athanasian Trinitarian. I did not have a philosophical position that enabled me to know the internal being of the divine. That did not please him. I retired to another room while the committee deliberated for the next hour.

The new minister of the Association, Robert Sandman, came out for a minute to reassure me that they were dealing with each other’s different positions as much as dealing with my case. That did not encourage me at the time, but I realized that they were giving more attention to serious matters of Christian life and belief than any church-related group I had faced before.

At the end, they called me back into the room, congratulated me for my ministry, and asked that I proceed with preparations for ordination as soon as practical with the aid and advice of a couple members of the committee.

I had passed their scrutiny, and they were willing to approve my ordination. They had seriously considered many concerns that I thought were important, including some of the social issues of the day, but, equally important to them and me, theological questions in depth. I was impressed. They were living up to their reputation of considering creeds as “testimonies but not tests of faith.” They were willing to suspend their own rules in order to recognize the validity of a ministry that they valued. It was a high point in my journey into ministry, and it would be followed by many more.

‘Give Us This Day Our Daily Bread’

02 Friday Sep 2016

Posted by chaplines2014 in Faith, Growing up, Learning from mistakes, Prayer

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A License to Preach, life experiences, Serendipity, Synchronicity

Chicago Old Town

I spent much of that May evening in 1971 walking in a park and praying about my wife and baby daughter and my future. My year as an intern pastor was coming to a close, and finding a job to support us and a place to live and enough money to return to seminary in Chicago were on my mind. So far I had no idea how these issues could be resolved. We had spent all of our savings, meager as they were, during the intern year, replacing a failing vehicle, and paying daily expenses. There was nothing left, even to pay for a small U-Haul truck to move our stuff. Every option I had investigated during the previous three months had gone nowhere. We would soon be out of time as well as money, as the internship ended in two weeks. My mood was bleak.

In the next afternoon, a knock on the door opened to a man who was active in one of the churches I had served. He said his wife and he had been praying together the evening before, and they thought of us, and they wanted to help. He handed me a check for $100. On the evening of the next day I met with a study group I had organized during the year. They wanted to thank me for the many evenings we had spent together; they had collected $150. The next day I finally got word that a small apartment would be available to us, and I had been awarded a fellowship that would pay for our housing, tuition, and living expenses at seminary; the seminary had received an unexpected donation to organize its archives, and the fellowship supported me to do that, with my experience working in the seminary library and prior graduate history studies. In the next few days more gifts came from several co-workers in the churches.

We had enough, just enough, within a week of my night of despair. It was a lesson that would be repeated in many circumstances in the following years, but none more dramatically for us.

Gender and Job-Seeking

23 Thursday Jun 2016

Posted by chaplines2014 in Caring, Church, Growing up

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A License to Preach, Life in the City

Chicago skyline 1970

In 1970, while Jan, my wife, was serving as an interviewer for the Illinois State Employment Service in Woodlawn on Chicago’s south side, a couple of transvestite job-seekers came into her office. They were obviously enjoying the day, with make-up applied and dressed more extravagantly than anyone in the office. Jan prepared their forms, leaving the male or female box for the next referral counselor to fill in. She regretted that the next available counselor was Mr. Z, who tended to be abrupt and careless, instead of Mr. P, who saw the best in everyone. It wasn’t long before the two clients emerged from Mr. Z’s office, acting as though they had never been so insulted in their whole lives. Jan and I again had something new to think about at supper that evening.

When did we cease to play the game of dress-up, playing with the discarded dresses, purses, and high heels that my grandmother provided to her 30 plus grandchildren? Probably around the age of five or six; after that it became either a cause of ridicule or a rare source of fun, although one of my cousins made a career out of it, serving in the costuming and entertainment industry. Why did people make such an issue of the clothes that people wore or the gender roles that they identified with?

Some of our high school, college, and seminary friends had wrestled with sexual identity issues personally, finding little acceptance when they “came out” to others, but they remained our friends, and we found them just as faithful, and socially and morally appropriate as we were.

We studied sexual identity issues in bible classes in seminary, finding that a close reading of scripture gave no support for the kinds of discrimination and cultural exclusion that had dominated our society. The very words that were sometimes translated “homosexual” did not refer to the same behaviors that they did in our contemporary society, and the censure of transgender behaviors was, at best, part of a rigid culture long gone.

In 1982 we happened upon the movie Victor, Victoria, while we were taking a rare three-day trip without the children. A charming commentary upon gender identity, sexual orientation, culture, and poverty, the movie represented issues that were always present but often suppressed. Birdcage came in 1996, and Connie and Carla in 2004; otherwise our transvestite cultural contacts have tended to be rare. Along with other media, these movies made their points effectively with good humor.

In 1983 I was a delegate at the United Church of Christ 14th General Synod, meeting at Ames, Iowa. I gladly voted in favor of the “’Resolution Calling on United Church of Christ Congregations to Declare Themselves Open and Affirming.’ This resolution encouraged a policy on nondiscrimination in employment, volunteer service and membership policies with regard to sexual orientation; encouraged the congregations of the United Church of Christ to adopt a nondiscrimination policy and a Covenant of Openness and Affirmation of persons of lesbian, gay and bisexual orientation within the community of faith.” It felt like a small step in the right direction.

In 2003, I was a synod delegate assigned to the study committee on transgender issues at the Minneapolis Synod. Along with a group of dozens of UCC members who represented different forms of transgender identity, we elected belatedly to add “transgender” to the list of people for whom “open and affirming” should apply. The joy expressed in that room when the vote was almost unanimous contrasted with the stories of risk and rejection that many had shared.

Again in 2005, I was a delegate voting in favor when the “Equal Marriage Rights for All” resolution passed the 25th General Synod of the UCC in Atlanta, Georgia. We knew that a statement by seven hundred was just a little step, when so many people in our country had expressed outrage against it.

In my life these have been small and relatively easy matters, but they are still a part of some substantial and significant changes for people’s acceptance of themselves and others.

The Garage at 708 1/2 North Sherman

22 Friday Apr 2016

Posted by chaplines2014 in Church, Faith, Gullibility, House, Learning from mistakes, People, Volunteering

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A License to Preach, Memories, Serendipity

3 Owls

I had sought a year-long pastoral internship in the middle of my seminary education, and in part to restore a relationship with the Methodist Church that had disappeared since I had been studying at a non-Methodist seminary. My prospective supervisor had flown to Chicago to interview me, and in that process he had offered two housing options for my little family of soon-to-be three. One option was a small house two doors from the church which was now occupied by a young family who would have to be given notice to vacate. The second option was a one bedroom cottage with a small kitchen a few blocks away from the church. The cottage was already vacant. Since we were already living in a furnished efficiency apartment and would return to similar circumstances after the internship, the latter option made the most sense to me, not making someone else move for our benefit. (This was forty years before the advent of the tiny house movement, although nomadic furniture was in style.)

When the owner, Don Freeman, showed me the “cottage,” I thought I had made a big mistake. It was a two-car garage that had been converted into an apartment many years before, situated on an alley with no yard of its own. Covered with gray faux-brick asphalt roll shingles, an oil tank was the other conspicuous feature on the outside. Entering the small living room, I smelled the oil heater that occupied a corner of the room. The kitchenette sat to the left with the only closet (or pantry) next to it, and the bedroom and a small bathroom occupied the second stall of the original garage. It was about the same size as our Chicago apartment, with just enough room for a crib and baby’s dressing table next to a double bed. In such a small confined space it could be a difficult year for Jan and our baby. I asked Don to provide a full closet in the bedroom and to make arrangements as soon as possible to replace the oil heater with a fully vented gas wall furnace. Don had already paneled and recarpeted the interior, but he took my suggestions in stride. Since he was donating the space for a year, and he had a wife and five young children living in the four-square house at the front half of the lot, he had already committed about as much as anyone could expect. I had to make plans for air-conditioning—a small window unit would work—and the needed furniture.

Living in trust that God would provide had been our mode for several years. How else could we explain getting married with no money in the bank, moving to Chicago, starting graduate studies with no jobs lined up, Jan taking a job in the heart of the south-side slums, and then having our first child? This would surely be a test of that resolve and our marriage.

What I had not taken into account was the character of the family we inherited with the cottage. As full of trials and challenges as any family, the Freemans—Don and Sonja and their children, Donnie, Kathy, Carol, David, and Alice—accommodated and taught us as much or more, living in close proximity and grace, as the internship would teach me. Their laundry, workshop, and lives opened to us, and their experiences, Don as a trusted banker and active layman, Sonja as an extraordinarily loving mother and talented church secretary, the children with their enthusiasms and growing pains, became a part of our extended family experience of love and self-giving.

We probably would have not have chosen to live in that house if we had seen it before making our decision. That would have been the mistake. We were blessed.

Playing with Dynamite

13 Wednesday Apr 2016

Posted by chaplines2014 in Caring, Church, Death, Disabilities, Events, Growing up, Learning from mistakes, People, Small town life

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A License to Preach, events, Memories

Monkeys see, hear, speak no evil, Bangra.com

Marty (not-his-real name) was one of my parishioners many years ago—memorable nonetheless. His life would have been a case study in oppositional defiance if anyone had chosen to examine it. His parents and siblings were “good church members”—steady, reliable, active in volunteering and supporting as well as anyone else, but Marty was a no-show in the church and in the community as long as I was acquainted with him.

His father was a World War II veteran and his brother had served in the army, but Marty first showed up looking for me when he learned that I had been a draft counselor, and Marty wanted to avoid the draft at all costs, not on any principled grounds, as this was during the Vietnam war, but just because he didn’t want to serve his country under any circumstances. His timing was right and he managed to slip between the cracks when the draft lottery was instituted.

Next came his girlfriend, seeking help in dealing with his bad moods and abuse, which, predictably when co-dependence is strong, escalated steadily. He lived with his under-age girlfriend in her mother’s home, which I naively assumed should make it easy for her and her mother to kick him out. No child was involved. Neither she nor her mother could carry out a resolution to make Marty behave or leave. It appeared that her mother was as emotionally tied to Marty as his girlfriend was. We talked about all of their options, legally and behaviorally and in seeking help, but they did not change anything. Marty continued to abuse them within their own house.

Marty had trouble keeping a job, mostly because he could not take orders or follow directions. He always knew better than anyone else how any job should be done, or he simply did not want to do the job in anyone’s time other than his own. In his favor, Marty was intelligent and curious enough to figure out many things, and well-meaning employers saw his potential, especially when they knew the rest of his family and attempted with their enabling persuasion to give Marty another chance. Marty went from job to job at a time when many young adults were having trouble finding a first job.

Marty’s record included any misdemeanor you can name—tickets for speeding, parking, noise, shoplifting, drunkenness, disorderly conduct. Someone was always bailing him out in one way or another, although I could not persuade people that this was not helping Marty accept responsibility. I tried to find him, to talk with him about the direction of his life, but he was more adept at avoiding me than I was in catching him. For a while I lost track of him and the newspaper carried no more news of his infractions. I had hope that he might be growing up. He and his girlfriend had a son. She had stopped calling me to ask for advice. Things might be working out, I thought. Certainly I knew that there were many people praying that they would.

The end came in an unusual way. Marty had worked for a man who cleared trees and prepared land for development, and he knew where the dynamite was stored. Marty broke into the building and stole some dynamite and decided to have some fun with it, blowing things up. He was successful. One of the first things he blew up was himself.

I officiated at Marty’s funeral. I said in passing that there were many ways that Marty played with dynamite. My words were not appreciated.

He Said ‘Yes’

27 Saturday Feb 2016

Posted by chaplines2014 in Caring, Church, Death, People

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A License to Preach, Memories, Serendipity

When I asked him to continue working with the children in a puppet theater project, he said yes.

When I asked him to use some of his precious vacation time to accompany the youth on a canoeing and service week to Shannondale Community Center, he said yes, and I said, of course, his wife Jeri could accompany us. This happened several years in a row.

When I asked him to help raise funds for the youth trips with carwashes, suppers, and garage sales, he said yes.

When I asked him to help clean up, paint, and refurbish the old stage at Zion (that hadn’t been used for many years), and help direct stage plays for dinner theaters, with the youth as actors and servers, to again raise funds for youth activities, he said yes.

When I asked him to work on preparations for peace-themed worship services at Zion he said yes.

When I asked him to dress in a Roman toga and serve as the master of ceremonies at a “Latin Banquet” addressing the theme of Zion’s participation in programs and projects of civic responsibility in the community, he said yes.

When I asked him to serve as the chair of audio-visual service at Zion, working with and replacing our equipment, videotaping services and weddings, and training others to serve in that way also, he said yes.

When I asked him to serve as chair of the social action committee for Southeastern Association of the United Church of Christ, he said yes, and he continued thereafter to say yes, serving in many other leadership roles in the association.

When I asked him to substitute for me in preaching and leading worship at Zion, he said yes.

When I asked him to engage in dialogue sermons, interrupting my sermon-in-progress with key questions and observations, or in other ways providing an unexpected and interesting sermon event, he said yes.

When I asked him to help teach a nine month confirmation class he said yes.

When St John UCC north of Burlington had a pastoral vacancy and asked him to serve them he said yes.

When a new program for training lay ministers, CENTER/LEARN, became available, and he had a chance to deepen his understanding of ministry, even though he was working full time for the railroad and serving a church “on the side,” and hundreds more hours would be required over a three year period, he said yes.

When his ministry at St John came to an end and he was seeking another way to serve the church and use his talents, I asked him to lead a third worship service at Zion aimed primarily at young couples with children attending concurrent church school classes, with a minimal honorarium for his services, and he said yes.

When I asked him to renew his license to minister, signing a contract with the association, even though he no longer had a call to one church but was willing to serve any church in pulpit supply or other needs, and even though he faced opposition from some of the ministers who did not think that request was appropriate, he said yes.

When there was a pastoral vacancy at St Paul Church, West Burlington, and I proposed that he, Jim Ritters, and I form a team to serve as their interim ministry for a year, he said yes.

When West Burlington St Paul invited him to return to their ministry part-time when their pulpit was again vacant he said yes, and when St Paul UCC in Donnellson invited him to serve there he said yes.

And when Dean Moberg said yes, he followed through and did what he said he would do, and did not only what was expected, but much more and as well if not better than just about anyone could do it.

So, when asked a few days ago if he would continue to serve as a messenger, and whisper in people’s ears that need encouragement that every day is a gift from God, and every person you meet is a potential friend, and patience is indeed a virtue, and a sense of humor is a requirement not an option, and other essential truths, he said yes, and when asked to appear in people’s dreams and talk about nearly everything up to and including the steadfast loving-kindness of our God, he said yes, of course. He would and he did, and he will keep doing it.

The Tale of the Peddlin’ Parson

21 Monday Dec 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in Caring, Faith, People, Seasons, Small town life, Vehicles

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A License to Preach, Serendipity

cropped-3-trees-lighted-in-different-colors2.jpg

It’s not much of a tale, but it’s about one Christmas that stood out for this preacher. I had lived in Tilton only a few months, serving my first “called’’ and full-time pastorate at the United Church of Tilton. The start of work was not auspicious. The new church building had been completed the year before, with a lot of volunteer work from the congregation. There were only thirty-some members, and the Sunday School participation continued to be much larger than the worship attendance, as it had been for years, for worship began at 8 A.M., when families wanted to sleep in, and the people were accustomed to having a part-time pastor who served a larger church somewhere else, so the early hour was the only time that their pastor had been available. The new parsonage had finally been finished so my family—my wife and two small children—could move in. Our second car, “Sam,” had burned up with an engine fire, so we were back to having one car to share between my wife and myself. The youth group, built around the sports enthusiasms of the previous part-time youth worker, had fallen apart.

The leaders of the congregation were eager to encourage me, and they somehow had faith that we could make this new organization self-sustaining with a truly community-serving and Christ-centered purpose. There were few traditions, although we built on some that had begun in each of the fore-runner congregations that merged and began anew with their thirty combined members. We observed Advent with the lighting of Advent candles, collected gifts for the Delmo Community Organization, went caroling at nursing facilities and the homes of shut-ins, and prepared a children’s musical program for the Sunday School. In worship, the Sunday before Christmas, when all the singing, preaching, and praying was over, the congregation presented me with a gift.

Don Dunavan was one of the sturdy deacons, chief at the fire department, busy creating equipment at one of the local machine shops, raising four children, caring for his elderly mother, always available at church for  jobs that needed doing. He came riding down the aisle on a bright red Schwinn bicycle. “We understood that you needed some transportation to do your visiting around town, so we bought you this bicycle. From now on, you will be known in Tilton as the peddlin’ parson.”

Visiting with people in the town, finding needs and filling them, had become my primary occupation. The bicycle became my main mode of transportation. I did a lot of cold calling, getting to know people and what they were interested in, talking about the church’s new start and hopes to serve the needs of the community. For the most part people were receptive. When I heard of someone wanting to talk, or a problem that had arisen for anyone, I made a contact and arranged a visit.

One man, Albert Cox, lived by himself, had no family, and had never had a relationship with any church. He didn’t have any interest in taking part in any group either, but he did like the idea of a church that would respond to people’s needs and try to serve the town. He hadn’t known any preachers before, he said, but he welcomed me into his home, and we talked about ways things could be improved for people’s lives. He was concerned about the town cemetery, which had fallen into disuse and decay, without a supervisory board to take care of it, and about the youth not having Scouting or recreational organizations to channel their energies. He had a lot of good ideas, though he wasn’t ever comfortable joining with other people in trying to implement them. Still we were able to find ways to work on them.

Years later, when Albert died and I was long gone from the community, his will designated his estate (a half-million dollars) in equal parts to a historical museum for the town and to the United Church of Tilton to be used for a community fellowship hall and gym. When I returned to the church thirty-five years later, I learned that I was remembered for three things—being a peddlin’ parson who visited people in the community, running a school-outside -the-walls activity program for youth, and visiting Albert Cox.

Beginning work as a pastor at Wapella

14 Saturday Nov 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in Caring, Church, Learning from mistakes, Small town life

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A License to Preach, events, Memories

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During my senior year in college I served my first appointment as supply minister for the sixty members of the Wapella Methodist Church. It started out as a summer job, and extended month by month as the District Superintendent said that he could not find a permanent replacement. Wapella had been part of a five point “larger parish,” but they grew tired of sharing a minister with so many other congregations. They wanted a minister of their own. They welcomed me enthusiastically, at least until I stated why I opposed the war in Vietnam, and they even tolerated that as long as they could keep me. At the end of seven months I had to end my service to them, giving the superintendent and the congregation a month’s notice. I had college work to complete, and I had trouble keeping my car running the eighty mile round trip two or three times a week. The superintendent said he would find someone else to serve them temporarily, but he didn’t for several weeks. They continued to meet for worship anyway.

Three months later a tornado tore through the town one late afternoon, and several college friends joined me in returning to what was left of Wapella. A friend drove, since my car was not working. We arrived after dark, and learned that the first task was to locate people across the countryside. Since I knew where people lived, and telephone lines were down, we drove out to see whether people were safe and sheltered. Heavy rains continued, and at one point we found ourselves driving on seemingly flat land with water above the floor boards of the car, so we didn’t get to all of the people we wanted to check. By the end of the night, one way or another, everyone was accounted for, and few injuries were reported.

Daylight showed the carnage of the disaster. We returned to be part of the clean-up crew and the job appeared to be insurmountable with the remains of houses and buildings scattered over a wide area. I saw few of my former parishioners, as those who lost their homes had sought refuge elsewhere and had little left to salvage. We put in a day’s work, but many more would be required before the town would be ready to start rebuilding.

At one point in the day we looked at the church. The large stained glass windows were gone. The tornado had lifted and moved the structure a few feet, and it sat at a crazy angle on the foundation. It was a total loss. Later I learned that the congregation had used their insurance money to buy a house as a meeting place. They were determined to continue as long as they could in spite of all the difficulties they faced. Neither my poor service nor an “act of God” would close them down.

All in all it was a revealing but not an encouraging beginning to my service as a pastor.

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