Join Here
What's NewOne of the books of the Episcopal Church series Transformations that challenges us to reconsider our methods of evangelism. More...
Recent Posts
RevGalPals
Ms. Parson and the parson stood at the rail embedded in the rock to protect tourists from falling headlong into Thunder Hole. The place was Acadia National Park. Thunder Hole, located on Desert Island, is a big attraction for visitors to the park. The park interpretive sign says anyone standing where the Parson and Ms. Parson stood witnessed “an ageless battle – the power of the ocean vs. the steadfastness of rock.”It was low tide as the two stood looking down. There were not waves crashing into the crevice which concentrated the power of the surf in such a way the water on contacting the rear wall would leap sometimes forty feet. Without any danger of being soaked they stared into the crevice created by hundreds of thousands of years of constant pounding by the surf. The smooth walls of the crevice bore witness to majesty of the movement of nature. Below, nestled in the back end of the crevice was a boulder recently tumbled from the upper walls. Soon, in geological terms, it would be small rounded pebble battered about by the sloshing and gurgling of the water’s movement.
The moment was mesmerizing. The rough, hard, seemingly impenetrable granite stone and the tidal movement of the liquid danced for eons to shape what lay below. It was humbling; it made one seem so small in the wonder of God’s creation. Somehow, with the low tide and absence of the crashing waves, what they saw grabbed with greater awe.
After a long time the Parson and Ms. Parson turned and quietly walked up the steps leading from the overlook. One third of the way up they extended polite greeting to a man coming down, and then near the top they spoke to the other five people in his group. The Parson turned to look back down the path to the wonder of nature. As he did, the man yelled up to his companions, “Don’t bother. It’s a dud!”
Credits: This post was made before the parson returned and his pictures of the Thunder Hole were uploaded. This picture comes from Google Images and specifically THIS SITE
This Sunday in the Christian church is The Day of Pentecost. You remember the story: It was Monday; we don’t know the time of day; we’re not told if it was raining. We’re not sure of the exact location. But we do know the disciples were scared out of their gourd, They had locked the doors, which leads one to think they had pulled curtains over the windows. It’s not a particularly flattering picture of the future founders of the faith.
There they gathered in fear, and suddenly, the story goes, a mighty wind blew through the place. Suddenly fire appeared and divided itself into tongues that danced above the heads of each. It caused quite a commotion it seems. Can you imagine those disciples dancing about in panic as these flames chased them about the room?
There’s more to the story than that. The disciples begin speaking in languages that everyone from a variety of countries could understand, and Peter begins preaching. But for today we’ll hold our place at the tongues of fire dancing about.
This year we pastors have a particular problem. The Day of Pentecost is also Mother’s Day. It’s a conundrum. Pentecost is an important day in the church calendar. We liturgical types feel a tremendous sense of obligation to preach on Pentecost. But, then again, usually the majority of the people in the pews are mothers, and one cannot ignore the mothers. I’ve talked with several pastors who are perplexed as to what to do.
It’s not a problem for me.
I have no difficulty relating the tongues of fire that came down upon the disciples at Pentecost with Mother’s Day. I have no problem relating because if you were birthed by my mother you grew up well acquainted with a tongue of fire. The apostles have nothing on me. I spent all my formative years beneath a tongue of fire.
“Hey, you do that again and I’ll snatch a knot on you head. Do you understand me?”
“I brought you into this world and I can take you out. Don’t you ever think I owe you anything, young man!”
“Where in the hell did you get the idea you could use foul language in this house?”
“You don’t know what trouble is; but I’ll show you what trouble is. You have no idea how much trouble I can make for you.”
“You’re going to regret the day you were born if you do that again.”
“Do you have any idea the pain I bore to bring your ungrateful soul into this world?”
“You take this knife outside and you cut a switch from that hedge, and you had better not bring back some little twig because I intend for you to feel the pain of the punishment you’re about to get. Now hurry up.”
“I don’t give a flip what other mothers let their children do. You are not the child of other mothers. You are my child and you’d better learn to deal with it.”
“Give me a break? A break? I am the best break you will ever have!”
There’s another parallel to those tongues of fire and my mother. Those tongues of fire had been promised the disciples as something that would give them strength and be with them always. So it was with my mother.
“Someday, when I’m gone you’ll feel my spirit with you and you will remember how much I love you.”
Graphic by subscription with Church Art Pro
“I’m fine, parson,” she replied. “Do you have any idea where the custodian put the electric griddle? I can’t find it anywhere and we need it for the pancake supper we’re having Saturday.”
“I think I might be able to help you there,” the parson said. He directed Iris to follow him into the kitchen. Once there he retrieved a step stool from the pantry and used it to get to the countertop. Once he was standing there he reached to the top of the cabinets and pulled an electric griddle down. “Well, goodness gracious, what a crazy place to put a cooking appliance. What is in the mind of that woman?”
“I think,” the parson said rising to the defense of the best custodian the church had ever had, “she put the items we seldom use up high.”
“Well, she sure did that, really high.”
The parson climbed down and put the step ladder back in the pantry. He turned to Iris, “I hope you have a successful evening Saturday, Iris. I’ll be thinking about you.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Iris said, “you’re going on vacation.”
“I am, Iris. I’m looking forward to it.”
“So, I hear you’re going to Maine. Why would anyone want to go to Maine?”
“Because it’s there,” the parson smiled. “I’m going there for a lot of reasons, Iris. Mainly I’m going to get away for a while.”
“And there it is,” Iris said. “You kind of let the cat out of the bag, parson. Going to Maine to get away, well, I remember the time when preachers were happy to stay nearby. I mean what’s going to happen if we need you?”
“You know Reverend Smith is standing by to help,” the parson said. “He’ll be more than happy to take care of anything until I get back.”
“And he’ll be more than happy to preach for you on Sunday, no doubt.”
The parson responded, “No doubt.”
“When I was younger,” she said with an edge to her voice, “pastors didn’t go gallivanting all over hell and half of Georgia. When I was younger the pastor stayed close by even if he was on vacation.”
“You know, Iris, you keep this up and I’m going to ask you how long ago it was when you were younger. I might even make an observation that the reason the pastor didn’t go too far is his horse was too old.”
Iris cocked her head to one side, “Very funny, parson. Maine, what’s the point in going to Maine?”
“Well, as far as I know none of my church members will be in Maine next week. That’s sounds like a powerful reason to me.”
“Times do change, parson. You go to Maine. You and Ms. Parson have fun. But tell me something, just between you and me.” She pointed her finger at the parson. “Sunday morning are you going to church seeing as how none of your church members are in Maine?”
“I am, Iris. I am. I go to hear a really special pastor preach.”
“This is an old pastor like you or a younger one?” Iris asked.
“Much younger, Iris,” said the parson. “She’s much younger.”
“Ah,” Iris exclaimed, “you’re going to hear a woman preacher?”
“I am,” the parson said. “I am.”
Iris turned to leave. As she walked out of the kitchen she called back, “Well, take notes. Maybe it will help.”
Graphic by subscription with Clip Art Dot Com
