Davison's Doodle

Much Obliged

I’m sitting in “The Dean’s Course,” shorthand for “The Minister’s Vocation” course at Brite Divinity School.  Rev. Dr. M. Jack Suggs and Rev. Dr. Kenneth Teegarden are the professors.  The lecture was something about developing a schedule or routine or pattern for the tasks that a minister performs during a week and taking time for your spiritual life.  A student raises a hand.  “Dean Suggs, it feels like funerals, especially for children or youth, are the hardest thing to do as a minister.  Is there anything harder?”  The Dean paused a moment, not more than thirty-seconds, and responded.

I heard this story that might help you with that question. 

While shaking hands after worship on Sunday, a couple in the congregation paused mid-shake and asked the minister if they could come see him on Monday morning.  “Sure, how about ten o’clock?” he responded.  They nodded and went on their way.

On Monday morning the couple arrived five minutes early and chatted up the church secretary while the minister finished a call.  “Hi, come on in.  Sorry to keep you waiting,” echoed from the minister’s office.  The couple entered to handshakes and questions about their Sunday afternoon activities.  The husband asked if he could shut the door of the minister’s office.  He did. Moving back to his chair to sit next to his wife he began:  “Preacher, we’ve been members here a long time.  Our grandparents helped start this church.  You know we’ve done every job, from volunteer in the nursery to chair the board, twice.  You’ve been here a long time and know us and this congregation.  We like you and your preaching, but cannot understand why you’ve welcomed the colored family that has visited the church.  They’ve got their own places for worship, and we think they should go there.  We don’t want to cause trouble for you or this church, but we cannot continue to be members here, if you are going to welcome negroes into the church and membership.  We want you to stay at this church, but cannot accept these people here.  So, we wanted to talk to you first, before talking to our Sunday school class and the elders to see what you were going to do about it.”

The minister moved forward in his chair and thought for a moment.  He removed his glasses, cleaned them, and when he returned them to his face, responded.  “Steve and Phyllis, thank you for coming to see me this morning.  I’m glad you trust me with this information and your concern.  I’ve been the minister here eleven years.  We’ve known each other all that time.  Remember when I baptized your grandchild?  That was a good day for all of us.  I remember praying with Phyllis and you, when she was in the hospital fighting cancer.  And, when you told me we needed to open a clothing closet to help the less fortunate, we convinced a couple of elders to put up the seed money that the board matched.  That really helps a lot of people in this town of all colors.

So, this morning I must apologize to you.  I’ve failed you. All these years I thought I was doing a faithful job of teaching and preaching the Gospel.  Apparently, I’ve done a poor job, or you’ve not been listening.   God’s love extends to everyone.  Confessing faith in Christ and discipleship doesn’t depend on your color, and I know you know that.  And, I know you know that the church doesn’t belong to me, or you, or anyone specific.  Steve, I’ve heard you say that to the elders, when that family from the trailer park started worshiping here and some of the members were unhappy.  Though poorer than many in this church, they were welcomed.

I understand that this is an important issue for you, and I want you to know that I will miss you if you choose to leave.  If you choose to stir up trouble for the church over this, well I can’t stop you from doing that.  I guess we will see if others have been listening to my teaching and preaching all these years.  I will always pray for you and Phyllis.  I want you to stay at this church we share.  I think there is important ministry we can do together for our community, but it is important for you to know that the church, our church, welcomes everyone that comes through the doors seeking God and Jesus, no matter their color, because that is what Jesus calls us to do.  I don’t know why this new family visited us, but after worship yesterday, they asked me to stop by their home for coffee this evening.  I’m going there to extend Christian fellowship on behalf of our church and on behalf of God.  Would you like to come with me?

Dean Suggs took a sip of his coffee.  “Are there other questions before we move on?”

As far back as I can remember, October has been the month that my denomination, the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), has encouraged local congregations to say “thank you” in some formal way to their minister.  What is now referred to as “Pastor Appreciation” began as “Minister Appreciation.”  This is how I knew it, and experienced it, growing up, throughout my preparation for ordained ministry, and during my first decade of Christian ministry.  It was normative until some point in the recent past, when the language changed.  I’m not sure when it changed or how, but many clergy, ordained into Christian ministry or commissioned (formerly licensed) for Christian ministry in a specific place, have taken to referring to themselves as “pastor” rather than “minister.”  Though not as dramatic as Luther’s ninety-five objections, this language change has had a significant effect on ministerial identity in congregational life, in culture, and for the minister.  The intention, it seems to me, is meant to equalize, decentralize, and encourage all members of a congregation to see their participation in the kindom of God as ministry.  That ecclesiology may help persons stay engaged in congregational life, but that marketing concept has diluted the image of what a minister is and has made it harder for a minister to carry out the often divergent roles of being a minister: preacher, teacher, prophet, priest, and pastor.  I don’t know if that image of minister is taught in mainline seminaries (now known as graduate theological education) anymore, but it was foundational for a time and helped candidates determine what ministerial authority meant and how one gains such authority.  I am not a pastor, but being pastoral is one of the roles (hats) I wear every day that I serve and work as an ordained minister of the Gospel.

“Americans have trouble facing the truth.  So they invent a kind of a soft language to protect themselves from it” (George Carlin, Parental Advisory, 1990).  Read more about George Carlin’s riff on “Soft Language” or watch Carlin do his bit onstage (caution to those easily offended).

“Much obliged.”  That’s an old phrase that I first heard while watching Gunsmoke and Bonanza with my paternal grandmother; and in old Westerns (my two favorites: The Shootist and The Cowboys).  “Much obliged” best describes my understanding of gratitude and obligation owed to the many ministers that invested themselves in my development as a human being, past and present.

Since we live in a time of rampant identity theft, I won’t use full names nor titles in this space or on social media.  I don’t want to make it easier for those whose moral compass seeks the payoff of transactional systemic greed at the expense of the unseen “other.”  This list is by no means exhaustive, and there is not one person for every day of October.  It represents persons for whom “thank you” doesn’t represent the depth of gratitude and obligation I experience, when I think of them, these ministers who blessed me and held, hold me, accountable.

Dean Suggs barked at me one day during class, “Mr. Davison, do you know the Gospel is one generation away from extinction?  What are you prepared to do about it?”

Much obliged . . .

John, Tommy, Margaret, David, Nancy, the Bear, Don, Will, Mary Beth, Ambrose, Charlotte, Terry, Wally, Steve, BSD, Randy, Bob, LBP, Joey, Bill, JR, Jerry, Rick, Guy, Michael, Lisa, Toni, Lon, SJB.