What Got Us Past Culture Shock

Fourth Monday of Easter

This is the final episode of Culture Shock, and as you may be relieved to find out, the last Faith Journey Narrative until next Monday. 

Eventually a congregation gets used to a pastor, and a pastor gets used to a congregation. Often there are little surprises that help that process. In the late spring of 1975 a young and middle aged couples Sunday School class at Triune United Methodist was having a picnic at a nearby park. We had reserved the largest space there, the pavilion. When I arrived everyone was standing around, talking, down the hill from the pavilion. All the food was there too. I asked why we weren't up at the pavilion. A class member pointed and said, we're waiting for them to leave.  Them was a motorcycle gang occupying the pavilion, obviously without a reservation and without an intention to leave.

I'm not a courageous person in the slightest, but I'm also not a very fearful person. I looked at my watch and said, our reservation started almost half an hour ago, I'll go ask them to leave. A couple of class members gasped. I gathered that they expected some kind of danger. I walked up to the pavilion, told the motorcycle people that we were a Sunday School class and had the pavilion reserved. I politely asked them to leave. They said ok, picked up their food and belongings and left. Somehow the Sunday School class seemed to think what I did was heroic. We brought our stuff up to the pavilion and had a good picnic. I felt like I had a good deal more respect from the congregation after that.

One other event, some months later, earned me the respect of one family. Robert and Cheryl had been taking care of Robert's younger brother, Donnie, who was 23, I think. Donnie had been a homeless heroine addict in Nashville. Robert and Cheryl took him in and were helping him in recovery. Robert and Cheryl also had three small children. Donnie had been there for close to three months drug free. Robert had helped him get a job. Donnie had showed up regularly for work and was doing well, hoping to be able to move to an apartment soon. 

One night I got a panicked phone call from Cheryl, "Preacher, Donnie's run away and they found him on heroin on ____ Street [It was an infamous drug street in Nashville. I can't remember its name]. Robert's got a gun and says he's going to kill Donnie. Come! now! You've got to stop him!" I went. On the way there I thought about how Robert didn't particularly like me anyway. The thought did cross my mind that Robert might shoot me, when I tried to stop him. I got to the house. Sheryl said, "He's in there. He's got a gun," and pointed to a room with the door closed 15 feet away. I knew that I had no option but to go in. I was the pastor. I didn't have time to think or to pray. I didn't have time to do anything but walk in that door. I knocked twice and said, Robert, I'm coming in. I opened the door, not knowing what to expect, nor having time to think about what to expect.

Robert was sitting in a chair. His gun was on the couch next to the chair. Robert took one look at me, then he broke down and began to cry. What followed was a long night talking. Robert did not leave the house. Robert did not kill Donnie.

I reflected as I tried to sleep later that night on what had happened. I realized that when I had opened that door and Robert saw me, he wasn't just seeing me--Christian Wilson. He was seeing God's representative. I didn't have to say anything. Robert knew when he saw me that God did not want him to kill his brother. 

Welcome to parish ministry. 

Faithfully,

Christian