Page 22 of Of Literature and Lattes
“That’s Aunt Georgie. A few decades late and always up for a good chat.” Mike laughed, and Jeremy visibly relaxed.
Their little group broke up with no more words as the new pastor called them to a circle of chairs.
Seth noted that Pastor Zachary Lennox, only three months at Winsome Presbyterian Church, in whose basement they sat, looked to Father Luke McCullough from St. Francis de Sales Catholic Church for confirmation as he waved the men to order. Once seated, Father Luke gave a tiny confirming nod, and Pastor Zach bowed his head.
“Lord, thank you that so many of us could make it here today. Bless our brothers who couldn’t join us and be in our conversations this morning. Also stay close as we leave and travel into the day. Help each man to follow you in every aspect of his life. Amen.” He looked up and smiled across the group. “I’m so glad you all are here today. This week I sent out Luke 6:42, and I’ll read it quickly to start off our discussion. ‘How can you say to your brother, “Brother, let me take the speck out of your eye,” when you yourself fail to see the plank in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye.’ Any thoughts about that big old plank and the tiny speck?”
“Some reading, Pastor,” Mike offered with a laugh. “Sure brought home that I don’t see things clearly.”
Seth, usually reluctant to chime in, found himself joining Mike. “It was a hard passage for me, actually. Self-reliance fooled me for years. I thought it was a virtue, but I—” He looked around the room and conceded that every man knew him, and his story. “You all know I blamed Janet for”—he shrugged—“a speck—a sharp, painful speck, but still a speck—compared to my own plank.”
Pastor Zach nodded. He, of course, didn’t know what everyone else did, but by the nods, murmurs, and soft chuffs, he could tell the other men had walked closely with Seth. This group continually surprised him like that. He’d been at four churches in his short decade as a pastor, and never had he witnessed a group of men who shared so openly and spoke with such honesty—and met with such regularity. One hour each and every Thursday morning, without fail.
“Just don’t get in our way,” one of the members had told him early on. “We want you there to guide us, but don’t tell us what to think or how to meet each other where we need to be met.”
Zach had swallowed, nodded, and heeded the warning. But it had left him on edge too. He didn’t want to detract from their meetings in any way, but wasn’t he also supposed to guide and shepherd them? But rather than get the job done, it always left him looking to Father Luke from the Catholic church down the street, the other clergyman who attended the Thursday morning gatherings.
A prolonged silence snagged Zach’s attention. Everyone stared at him. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry... Could you repeat that?”
Zach grimaced as a man with “Pete’s Plumbing” embroidered on his shirt—what was his name?—repeated his words.
“I said planks also hold things up. A good plank provides support... And it got me thinking about stuff I rely on, not unlike what you said, Seth. Stuff that I shouldn’t rely on. I can’t help anybody if I’m hanging tight to something.”
“Good point.” Zach leaned forward. “That’s a really good point.”
He doubled his efforts to engage with enthusiasm, until he noted a couple men glancing at their watches. He lifted his wrist. “Oh... Hey... We’ve run over. I’m sorry, gentlemen. I should set a timer. Any prayer concerns before we go?”
Mike Stowell raised his hand. “I’m sure you all notice George isn’t here today. Margery isn’t doing well.”
Quiet concern filled the room. Zach didn’t remember George. He needed to remember their names, their faces, and their concerns. How could he guide them if he didn’t even know them? He took a quick silent survey as the men asked Mike about George and Margery, and realized he only knew the names of half of those present.
It didn’t matter that he was new. It didn’t matter that this was his first assignment as head pastor, of over one thousand congregants, and that his head spun with all the input and the suggestions, the names and the faces. His wife said it would all come together, but he suspected she was just being kind. She knew far more names than he did, and had integrated much better into the life of their church, the schools their kids would attend, and their community. Last week he’d started to have nightmares about the whole thing.
As the questions and conversation faded, all looked to him again to close the morning. He, of course, looked to Father Luke, who smiled back at him, then bowed his head. “Let’s close in a quick prayer.”
As the men left, Zach busied himself with replacing the chairs. He needed to stop looking to the other man for advice. Grabbing another chair, he almost bumped into him.
“It’s not easy, is it? At least you don’t rotate like we do.”
“Thank God,” Zach exclaimed. “It is truly an answered prayer for me.” He looked around the basement room. “If I don’t screw this up, I could be here till I retire.”
Father Luke chuckled. “I get it. In my twenty-five years, I’ve had nothing longer than seven years in one parish. Most have been three to four years.”
“And St. Francis?”
“I’ve been here four years. I suspect they’ll keep me a full seven, if not a little longer. I’m not getting any younger, but more importantly, the parish is growing and thriving right now—another ‘Thank God.’”
Zach laughed. “This one too, if I don’t get in God’s way... I like this town, and my eldest will start school in the fall here.” Zach took a deep breath. He needed to address another issue that was causing nightmares. “What would you think of our congregations joining for a Labor Day potluck? They’ve had one here every year for the past twenty as far as I can tell, but the woman in charge moved away and I’m not sure whom to ask on such short notice.”
Father Luke chuckled. “I’m not a fan of potlucks. I got food poisoning from a quiche sitting too long in the sun. What do you say to a real barbecue? I’ve got a parishioner who is magic on a smoker. Best ribs and brisket you’ll ever taste. How about St. Francis will host this year, and you all can be our guests?”
“Thank you.” Zach laughed for the first time in three months. “I’d really like that.”
Chapter 11
“When it rains, it pours.”
Jeremy picked up the Morton Salt with its girl in yellow and tapped it back onto the counter next to his cell phone.
