by Don Childers
“Well,” said Mr. Scott finally, “I imagine you are here looking for a placement. Well, you really won’t need one until the semester begins next week.” He shuffled through some papers before finally holding one up. “Now, you don’t have much experience.” Pausing and looking at a list of possible congregations, he continued. “Here’s a nice little congregation. We’ve been supplying them with a weekend preacher for decades. I don’t really think they have ever had a full-time minister. It is small, but with the stipend the income is not too bad. It’s a three-hour drive north. Here, take a look at it.” Scott handed the paper to Bill.
Bill looked at the paper that gave a profile of the congregation. “Mur-ray,” he said slowly, pronouncing it Mur-ree. “Is that right?”
“Yes, Murray, Texas. But it’s pronounced ‘mur-Ray’. There is a little church up there that has been a very good training ground for pastors. Murray is located north of Denton.”
Bill thought for a moment and then said reflectively, “I was really hoping for something a little—well, a little larger.”
“Well, maybe in time. Everyone has to start somewhere. Why don’t you go up there next Sunday? I will call Sam, he’s the head elder of the church, and tell him we’re sending you up there. Now, you will have to preach, but I am sure they will handle the rest of the service until you get your feet on the ground.”
“Preach?” Bill said. “I have not done much preaching. Oh, I did a little while in college, but not like this.”
Mr. Scott rose from his seat, thrust out his hand and grasped Bill’s. “I’m confident you will do just fine. Now I have some other appointments waiting. You know, you have to sometimes just jump in to learn to swim.”
“Or drown,” Bill said under his breath as he thanked Mr. Scott and left.
That evening, Bill again went over to Paul and Lynn’s for dinner. He told them his experience with Mr. Scott.
“Were you assigned someplace?” Bill inquired.
“No, in fact I didn’t even get over there. I’m not worried. Today I hit the streets and have an interview at the Safeway down the street. I’m not sure I will even take a church for a time. I need to really decide if this is for me,” Paul said between bites of pie.
“You’re probably smart. Me, I’m the stupid one. Just jumped right in without checking the water. They even want me to preach on Sunday,” Bill said with a wistful tone to his voice. He added, “Guess I better get a haircut, shave, and get my suit cleaned.”
Bill returned to his apartment. Opening the door, he did not see Dave anywhere around. Chris was sitting on the sofa sipping a soda and watching the one television in the place. It was Chris’s television so he determined what would be watched, most of the time.
“Hi, HO,” Chris said lifting up his Coke. Chris was short and somewhat overweight. His face was pock-marked, the result of a childhood sickness. He was neatly dressed in pajamas, silk-like robe, slippers, and had placed a coaster on the table for his drink. “How did your day go,” he said between sips.
Bill again went through his day and asked Chris if he had received a placement, forgetting that Chris was a second-year student. “Oh, I’m an associate pastor, one of the associates, down at First Methodist downtown. It’s a great position and a real learning experience. The minister is fantastic and the church, well, it is one of the largest Methodist churches around.” From the dress, new car, and even attitude Bill figured that Chris had always had it good.
“Say, I want to ask you about your roommate,” Bill said. “Dave, is it?”
“Oh, yes,” Chris said rolling his eyes. “He is a strange one. He’s so messy I cannot stand it. He’s always working on his radios, always hauling in more junk. We have an understanding: I stay out of his way and he stays out of mine. I would have moved into your room but they have assigned you and another student to that room already.”
“A roommate?” Bill inquired with disappointment. “I guess I thought I would be alone. The semester starts Monday.”
“Your roommate is named Ernie or something. He is from Taiwan and is over here studying for the ministry. I don’t like all these foreigners coming over here taking advantage of us, especially all the students from over there.” As Chris said this, he made an assuming look Bill’s way. “We Americans have to stick together, if you know what I mean.”
Bill hesitated and then remarked, “Well, I really don’t have any prejudices one way or the other. My best friend is part Native American and in college I dated a girl from Japan for a while. I think Ernie and I will get along fine.”
Chris said nothing. He changed his gaze back to the TV and began sipping his soda. Bill figured the conversation was over. As he walked down the hall toward his bedroom he saw Dave walking from the bathroom to his bedroom.
“Heard what you said,” Dave said giving Bill a thumbs up. “He is a real asshole.” With that he went into his room and closed the door. Bill did the same but could not sleep worrying about what in the world he would preach about on Sunday.
-23-
Sunday came all too soon. If Bill could have something to do about it, he would have preferred several weeks before his first test. The way the system worked, the local congregation had the final say. In truth, all they had to do was convey to Mr. Scott that they did not like a particular student and Mr. Scott would just inform the student that he or she was not going back. This could happen at any time and gave an air of uncertainty to the process. The church evaluated the student-preacher and this evaluation along with the course in practical ministry determined one’s grade. The actual course lasted two semesters but most students remained in their student parishes or moved up to another situation during their seminary time. The experience was invaluable.
Bill left early in order to allow ample time to become lost. He traveled up I-35 to Denton, turned east, then north until he finally arrived at the small town of Murray. Murray was a community of about three hundred. There were two full-time ministers in the community. One minister was at the Assembly of God Church and the other at the Baptist Church. Mrs. Tyndale, a member of Bill’s church, would later say that in the early 1900’s, a tornado came through town. With her dry wit she would tell the story. “Yep, that tornado came down the street and took out the Methodist Church, hopped over the Baptist Church, and then took out the Christian Church.” Then after a pause she would reflect, “After that the Baptist Church just seemed to grow and grow!”
As Bill pulled up to the small brick church he saw a group of people waiting for him. As he got out of his car, Sam, an elder at the church, greeted him. Standing by Sam was Juanita his wife, Mrs. Tyndale, Sam’s brother Wilber and his wife Mary Lou, Bobby and Mary Ellen, Emily and Daniel known as “Buddy”, Mabel Simmons and Mary Pond. As they greeted Bill and showed him into the sanctuary, Sam warned him about the hole in the entrance floor. “Have to fix that one day,” Sam said as all the members stepped over the foot-and-a-half-wide hole in the floor.
The sanctuary had the smell of old. The wooden pews were in a semi-circular patter with a centered pulpit and an old piano that had seen better days off to one side. What Bill noticed was the beautiful stained glass windows. What he also noticed was that the pews were dusty except for fourteen round clean spots where people sat, week after week.
Emily was the pianist and she dutifully told Bill the hymns for Sunday. Everyone sat down. Bill walked to the front and thus began his first Sunday at the little church in Murray. He was dressed in his blue suit, white shirt, and tie, and he was quite a contrast to the rest of the congregation. Some were dressed in bib-overalls and others dressed in sports jackets that were from another era. His sermon that day was on the love of God, based on John 3:16.
Emily banged out the hymns, all of which, Bill noticed, had something about blood and death in them. He and Emily would later go to war about the choice of hymns. It would be the first of many battles during his ministry.
Sam and Juanita were obviously the leaders of the congre
gation. Sam worked for the county and Juanita was a homemaker. They had one strapping son, Bobby, who played tackle for Denton High School. Sam was sixty, medium height, but always carried a cheerful Texas grin. Bill would discover that Sam was a model of what an elder should be. He looked after the many widows in the congregation, fixing their plumbing, repairing their appliances, and taking them to the doctor in Denton. Sam was wise, gentle, and had a laid-back humor that Bill would come to love. His wife Juanita was still beautiful, even though she was only a little younger than Sam. She had a genuine Texas accent that just made her all the more lovely.
Emily was average height, a little overweight, and yet had strength born from years on a farm before she and Buddy moved into town. Buddy was tall and carried his better-than-six-foot height with grace. He always had a Stetson hat perched on his head or held in his hand.
Mrs. Tyndale was related to Sam but Bill never figured out how. Mrs. Tyndale’s brother lived with her and was over one hundred years old. Bill would discover that her brother, Wyatt, had settled in North Texas shortly after the Oklahoma land rush. He loved to tell the story of how he and his brother were on his way to the rush when their wagon broke down. By the time they arrived at the starting point all the good land had been taken. “So we turned around and went to Texas, where we have been ever since,” he would say.
Mary Pond was just a little over five feet tall. Her grey hair set off her bright blue eyes. She was quiet, but it was obvious that life had treated her harshly. Bill would later find out from Mary’s friends that Mary’s husband had run off with a younger woman many years before. Mary never remarried, and did seamstress work around the town to support herself. She resided in the old family home two blocks south of the church. It was a two-story, early 1900’s home that was badly in need of new paint. Mary lived in two rooms downstairs in order to cut down utility costs. In her living-bedroom she had cut out magazine pictures from all over the world, mostly from National Geographic. She would say, “Someday, I am going to travel to these places,” and she would then go on to talk about Italy, Germany, or Hawaii as though she had really been there. All the widows would talk about Mary and shake their heads in disbelief.
“We don’t really understand her,” they would say. “Some time back her ex-husband got Parkinson’s or something. Well, he didn’t recognize anyone or anything. That other woman had died some time back and so Mary found out he was alone in a nursing home. So she went EVERY DAY and took care of the louse, every day, mind you. She would feed him, sit by him, take care of him and he did not even know who she was.”
The widows would pause and then add, “Now I could understand her doin’ it if he knew who she was. That would have been sweet revenge. But we don’t understand how she could go there and keep him when he never knew she was even there.”
“What does Mary say?” Bill would ask.
“Oh, she just shrugs her shoulders and says something like, ‘the Lord always forgave and hepped even those who were rascals,’ or somethin’ like that.”
They would shake their heads and talk about what they would do to any man who ever jilted them.
Bill got through his first sermon, somehow. After the service, he went over to Sam and Juanita’s for a wonderful dinner of fried chicken, green beans from the garden, fresh tomatoes, something called “fried okra”, mashed potatoes with cream gravy, homemade biscuits, ice tea, and apple pie for dessert. Bill would discover that one of the great perks at the church was the wonderful cooking.
As Bill made his way home that evening he thanked God for such a wonderful day. Nature seemed to cooperate as he looked out across the expanse of open fields and saw the beautiful sun dipping down into the west. Bill knew that he was where he should be and was doing what God had called him to do.
-24-
As the first semester began, Bill relished most of his classes. The income from the small church had proven inadequate so Bill had taken a job at a local grocery store. He worked as a clerk most evenings, except weekends. One advantage of the grocery store was that the meat department’s manager allowed him to select a cut of meat that the manager was going to pull from the display case. The meat was still good, but the lighting had discolored it, making it impossible to sell.
Bill and Dave had by this time struck up a friendship, especially because Bill would bring home a nice cut of steak or something every night after work. Chris had decided not to participate in the evening feast, since he was not convinced it would be profitable for him. So Bill and Dave split expenses on eggs, milk, bread and other such things, keeping them in a section of the refrigerator with a label for Chris to keep his hands off of this stuff. Most evenings, Bill and Dave would cook up a meal, then hit the books, and finally crash by two in the morning. Down the road, there was an all-night restaurant that served great spaghetti and chili. Sometimes Dave and Bill would make that journey and partake of food that would generally keep them both up even later. Bill with his short hair, clean shaven face, slacks and shirt made quite a contrast to Dave with his old, worn jeans, full bearded face, old army shirt, and worn-out sandals. Yet, the pair was becoming fast friends. Actually, it soon became a threesome with Bill’s roommate Ernie joining in, although Ernie always kept a polite distance.
Every Sunday, Bill would put on his blue suit, white shirt, and striped tie, pick up his Bible and his notes and climb into his 1964 Dodge Dart. He actually enjoyed the three-hour trip to the church. He looked forward every Sunday to leading worship and then being hosted by one of the families. The little church had actually shown some growth. The most recent addition was a peanut farmer and his family: Peter, Suzie Q and their three children, Joey, Charlotte, and little Angie. It had been years since the little church had had children running around. Soon another family joined the little church; the Tucks were from the small sub-division that was growing up outside of Murray. No one had paid any attention to it because it was considered a subdivision of Denton. Bill, however, had taken one Saturday afternoon to walk the newly-paved streets and leave a brochure about the church. The effort had paid off with the Tucks and their two children.
Sam and some others had even gotten together and fixed the hole in the floor. One Sunday, they proudly showed off a concrete walkway that ran from the church down to the main road. Bill could not believe it. Now he would no longer have to slosh through the mud to get to the church entrance.
Perhaps everything was too good. It seemed to be like that. It all came to an end one November day. Bill had been taking a class on practical ministry. He decided that the worship service needed something to lift it up. So during the week, he designed a bulletin. Prior to that, Bill was just handed a list of the songs by Emily that she would be playing. Bill noted that the list was very, very short. The worship service followed the same pattern every Sunday. So on this Sunday, Bill produced a bulletin. He had inserted a “call to worship” that they would read together. He listed two scriptures to be read and included some new hymns out of the church hymnbook. He avoided any hymn with “blood” or “washed” in it. He was proud of his first effort to master the mimeograph machine that the seminary secretary had graciously allowed him to use.
It was cloudy and there was a little chill in the air as Bill pulled up to the church that November Sunday. Sam greeted him and Bill asked him if he would hand everyone a bulletin.
“A bulletin,” Sam exclaimed. “How nice!”
Looking at it, Sam quickly showed it to his wife, Juanita who said, “Real nice!” Juanita was too gracious to mention to Bill the misspellings and other errors. She had been an executive secretary at one time, before she and Sam had settled in Murray. That was the way of Sam and Juanita. They saw their role as encouraging and training young men and women for the ministry. Over the years they had done a great job.
It was Emily who harrumphed when handed the bulletin. She took one look at it and set it aside. “We don’t need a bulletin here at all,” she said, loud enough for others to hear. “And I do
n’t know these hymns. Young man, I gave you a list of the hymns I would play and there is not one of them on this list. I WILL NOT PLAY THESE!”
Bill could sense the tension rising. Sam came over to see what the problem was. He listened for a moment and then took Bill aside.
“I really understand your point. I get tired of singing the same old hymns again and again. But Emily has been playing the piano for a long time and even though she can be a real toot sometimes, she is a nice person. We sort of just put up with her. She is a self-taught piano player and gets real nervous about playing something she has not practiced and practiced. But you are the pastor; tell me what you want to do and I will back you up.”
Bill thought for a moment. Other members were arriving and wondering what the corner conversation was all about. They could see Emily perched on the piano bench, arms folded, glaring in the direction of Sam and Bill. Some strained to hear the conversation, but Sam was good and was speaking just loud enough for Bill to hear and no one else. Bill thought and thought. He had learned about compromise, and faith taught about forgiveness and grace. Yet, he was not wrong in wanting the congregation to sing new songs or to have a bulletin.
Then he answered, “I think we could work out a compromise. If you can get Emily to agree to us having a bulletin, I can agree to pick hymns she knows, from her list.”
Sam smiled. “You’re learning. You are going to be a fine minister, Bill,” Sam’s eyes twinkled as he spoke. “I think we can talk her into that.” Sam walked over to Emily, still perched on her piano seat, leaned close to her and began talking in a low tone. Bill could see that she did not like some of what she was hearing, but then a triumphant smile broke across her face and she looked in Bill’s direction. Without a moment hesitation she began to bang out an opening hymn, turned and announced to the congregation that they were beginning with “Washed in the Blood”, hymn number 210. With that the service began. Bill figured he had come out of his first church scrap pretty soundly.
