In case you two haven't figured, you are the spark plugs for Men Of the Cloth. But, what you don't know is that I set up a blog this morning. It makes the email easier to read. The blog will only go to you two. Donn prefers to wait until my books are in print before he reads them, and I really don't believe I need to give anyone else free reads.
Now, if anything in the book gives you pause, makes you uncomfortable, or any manner challenges your psyche, speak to me. I will listen with great compassion and interest and nod at the appropriate times. Now, where we left off yesterday:
“It has, Danny, it has. It’s about time for supper. Mrs. Peele gets real testy when you’re late. I’ll let you get ready then come on down.”
“That sounds like a winner. I’ll be right down.”
Little was said during supper. Mrs. Peele introduced the new minister to the other residents and since their seats were at opposite ends of the massive table, the best they could do was an occasional nod. After supper, Father Daniel motioned for Davie to join him on the front porch.
The two went out on the huge front porch that covered the entire front of the rooming house. They sat in two of the twelve white oak rocking chairs that formed a line across the porch. As they came outside, the smell of honeysuckle enveloped them.
“It’s nice out here,” said Davie. “Any of the rest come out?”
“Every now and then, Mr. Perkins, the thin man with the big ears comes out, but not often. Most of the time, I think they prefer the air conditioning inside.”
“How long have you been back?”
“Going on two months. You remember when we left?”
“Yea, I remember. I thought I had lost my best friend.”
Danny smiled. “You had. Dad found a job at some textile plant, but that didn’t last long. And, from then on we were like migrant laborers. Dad went from job to job and we tagged along. When I graduated from high school, they kept going, but I stayed.”
“I tried to write you, but the letters came back.”
“I would imagine, I guess we moved six or seven times in that five years. There was no way a letter could find me. I wish one had. I missed my old friend.”
“And, you became an Episcopal priest.”
“Yep, my parents carried the church and the Pope to every new place we moved. God was going to do this, and God was going to do that, and good Catholics do this and good Catholics don’t do that. I couldn’t see where God was doing anything. And, I damn sure didn’t see where being a good Catholic was getting my father or my mother anywhere. Long before I was on my own, I was fed up with being a Catholic and for a while I dated an Episcopal girl. She took me to her church and that was it. There it was, all that ritual and hoopla I had grown up with. . . and loved, and not one shred of the ‘this is a sin’ crap and you know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Oh yes, I know exactly what you’re talking about, but I also know you wanted to be a priest. I figured. . .”
“What? I’d become a Jesuit or something? No way. Like I said, I found girls. But, I did still want to be a priest. I met with the priest at my girlfriend’s church and he was a really nice guy. We became friends. We talked about religion, politics, things we might not should have talked about, but not once, I mean not once did he say ‘God wants us to” or ‘the Bible tells us that we should’. Not once. All that stuff I hated was gone. Long story short, I got involved in the church, met the Bishop, became a deacon, which for us is sort of like an assistant priest, applied for a scholarship to the seminary, and here I am. Father Daniel West. Roman collar without the Roman hang-ups.”
“In other words, you found what you wanted.”
“I guess so.”
“Is it perfect?”
“Absolutely not, most Episcopalians suffer from a bad superiority complex.”
“You mean inferiority complex.”
“Oh no, superiority. . . they think they’re better than anyone else. No, let me take that back. They think they’re better than everyone else.”
“I hate to bust your bubble, buddy, but Episcopalians don’t have a corner on that. Most Baptists believe their way is the only way. They believe that if you’re not a foot washing Baptist, you’re bound for Hell.”
“That is funny. Don’t you remember how they used to tell us straight out that if you weren’t Catholic, You were going to Hell.”
“Oh yes, Hell must be one crowded place.”
They looked at each other and laughed like they had done fifteen years before. Mrs. Peele heard the laughter and stepped out onto the porch. “You two seem to be getting along well.”
Davie answered, “Yes, we were just discussing. . .”
“Theology,” chimed in Danny.
“Yes, theology.”
“I don’t understand,” she said as she shook her head and slipped back inside.
Another round of laughter began.
“And you, a Baptist of all things.”
“I told you I was going to do that years ago.”
“You did, but you didn’t ever say you were going to be a Baptist preacher.”
“No, and I had no intentions of becoming one, but I was different than you. You loved all the ritual, I didn’t. I thought it was just so much hoopla. I couldn’t see where it had one thing to do with God. Somehow, I couldn’t see Jesus giving less of a damn how many candles there were on the altar or if I genuflected the correct way. You remember how they used to yell at the altar boys if we missed a word or took a wrong step?”
“Oh yes, I remember it well, too well.”
“I just didn’t see where that stuff was important. Anyway, you know my parents broke up.”
“Oh yes.”
“Well, of all people, my mom fell in love and married a Baptist minister.”
“If I remember correctly, your mom was Miss Super Catholic.”
“Oh yes, that was my mother.”
“I’ll bet there were some heated discussions in that house.”
“Oh, there were, but you know something? No matter how much they disagreed, there was never the hate that there was between my mom and dad. The guy loved my mother and the guy loved me. The man was wonderful.”
“Really? A Baptist preacher?”
“I never saw anyone like him before. He was there whenever a member of his congregation needed him and the amazing part, he was there whenever I needed him. I used to slip into the church when he was preparing his sermon. The man’s voice was magic. It was almost magnetic. You could watch the people in the congregation almost move toward him when he was preaching. And, it wasn’t that old Pentecostal stuff. Every word that came out of that man’s mouth was love and I wanted to be just like him.”
“Did you make it?”
“Did I make what?”
“Are you like him?”
“I’m still trying.”
“Let’s see, how do I ask this? Where are you working? Where are you preaching? What’s the right way?”
“Probably where am I preaching. I don’t know, I never had to ask anyone the question. But, to answer your question, I deliver my first sermon at the Meredith Baptist Church this Sunday and I am nervous.”
“Why? Haven’t you delivered sermons before?”
“Oh yes, in the Marne Corps. I was a chaplain for years, but it’s not the same. These people can walk out.”
“I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
“I wish I was as sure as you are.”
“You could try praying.”
“I had rather have a written guarantee.”
“I don’t believe that’s available. You want to slip down to Saint Titus and see if Father Crane is still around? He can give you a blessing.”
“I’m not that worried.”
The following Sunday, Pastor David Tate delivered his first sermon at Meredith Baptist Church to a standing room only assembly. Davie wasn’t naive. He knew the majority of those who filled the seats were there out of curiosity to see how a former Catholic delivered the word, and he did his best. At one point during the sermon he thought he saw the congregation move slightly forward. It was inspiring.
A long line waited to shake the new minister’s hand as they left the church and toward the end of the line a firmer grip than usual wrapped his hand and a man pulled him into a hug. “You did good, Fella,” said the man. As he pulled back he could see it was Danny.
“What, no collar?”
“Today was your show, Davie, and you did great. I believe your stepfather would be proud of you.” A tear fell down the young pastor’s cheek.
“Thank you for saying that and thank you for being here.”
“What? You think I would miss the opportunity to see you fall on your ass?” Danny realized what he had said and cut a quick, but embarrassed, smile to the lady beside him. As he did, Davie pulled him into another hug.
“You know that magnetic thing you wanted. You’ve got it.”
“You really believe that?”
“Believe it, I saw it. How many of these people have you seen trying to slip by you without shaking hands? Look over at that side door. How many are using that door to avoid speaking to the preacher man? Last I counted it was none. Not that it matters, but I am proud of you.”
Davie squeezed Danny’s hand. “It matters.”
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