(A Turning Point Story)
If being a pastor is like living in a fishbowl, then being a pastor in Abbeville was like swimming in a churning aquarium.
Beneath a florescent light.
That never goes out.
Now this is no mystery to the folks there; fact is, I think some of them are pretty proud of it. We’d laugh about it when we weren’t crying about it or stamping out the latest edition of “I heard from a reliable source.”
I knew this wouldn’t be a typical assignment when I went for an interview weekend and Bobby Joe Espy opened the Q & A session by asking, “Preacher, how thick is your hide?” I don’t remember what I said – something lame about leading with my heart. But I remember that this was the first time I’d ever had a chill in my chest.
Now every small town presumes to know everybody else’s business, but here it was elevated to an art form. Here people knew what you were doing and told you about it. After they told somebody else about it first, of course. They told me when my lights were on too late at night, or too early in the morning. They told me when the grass behind the, uh, privacy fence was too tall. And they told me every single time anybody had something to say that was of a critical nature. In Abbeville they called it like they saw it. And sometimes if they didn’t see it, they made it up.
Don’t guess my hide was very thick.
David Peterson was a great friend, which was helpful, since he chaired the committee that brought me and my very young family to the Wiregrass region of southeast Alabama. A yellow-dog Democrat and very wise in managing relationships and organizations, David was helpful in letting me know if there was something he thought actually merited my attention. He had a wonderful sense of humor and a calming demeanor, and this was important because the church had been through some painful tensions. And when I showed up, I was a new source of tension.
I was young and stupid and sensitive. More than once David helped me keep my sanity or my religion. My job, too, unless I miss my guess.
Like the time he pulled into my driveway in his Alabama Power truck and wanted to chat a minute. Seems there’s a rumor going all over town, says he, that I’ve been using the church phone to make personal long distance calls. (Memo to Millennials: Not so very long ago, telephones were attached to the wall with a cord, and people used them to actually talk to one another. And they charged you more for calling somebody out of town.)
Anyway, this time (there were times before that), this time I hit the ceiling. Well, I was outside, so I guess I just jumped up and hit hot air or something.
I was dumbfounded. Shocked. Angry. But just nervous enough to want to double check. I went to the church office and pulled the phone bills for the past three months (my tenure at the time). Three calls, just after I arrived, before our home phone was hooked up. That was it.
Armed for bear with three phone bills, I hit the street. I checked in with Judge McSwean, our finance committee chairman.
“Have you heard this?”
“Yes.”
“It isn’t true. Here are the bills.”
“Preacher, you don’t owe me anything.”
I followed that up with wise old Jack Espy – half preacher, half store accountant.
“Have you heard this?”
“Yes.”
“It’s wrong, Jack, and I’m sick of it and…” oh, there was more.
I started playing detective. I was going to get to the bottom of this. I’d had it. My character was being attacked and it was time to defend my honor! Good thing I didn’t own any dueling pistols. I’d have paced off and drawn a bead on a couple of ladies in a bridge club.
Yes, I said bridge club. Somehow my sleuthing led me to dear, sweet Mrs. Clark and the other three ladies she played cards with. I went to see her and gently asked if she had heard this terrible thing.
“Yes,” she said gingerly, sheepishly.
“Mrs. Clark, it’s just not true, and I wanted you to be assured of that. Would you mind telling me where you heard it?”
“I heard it from Bea Benton.”
It just got interesting.
Bea was a hoot. Funny, gregarious, always one to make me smile. When I’d see Bea on Sundays and ask how she was doing, she’d always say with deep breath and a big smile, “I’m drunk!”
She was kidding… I think.
I made a beeline for Bea’s. Today was serious business. I felt sure I was close to the headwaters of the evil gossip stream, and Bea would be my guide to take me there.
“I need your help,” I said.
“All right,” said she, her lips curled in a wry smile.
“Did you hear a rumor at the bridge club about me using the church phone for personal long distance calls?”
Bea turned serious and sensitive. “Yes sir.”
I’d ranted enough about all of this to others, and I never was good at keeping a straight face around Bea. But I was still serious enough to say it wasn’t true and I asked her where she’d heard it.
“I can’t tell you.”
“Come on, Bea! I need to know.”
I should probably acknowledge here that I was asking Bea to violate the most revered tradition in the Gossip Code: “If you hear it in town, pass it around; if you hear it in church, protect your informant.” She wasn’t budging.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t say.”
“But it’s wrong!” I said.
“Let me tell you something,” Bea said, with an expression at once serious and Bea-like. “Nobody ever solved a problem by getting to the bottom of it.”
“Huh?”
That was more than twenty years ago and I still don’t know if it was deep truth or knee-deep hooey. What I do know is that then and there, I gave up the quest – not knowing what I wanted to know, but strangely satisfied.
Oh, that home phone number to the Fishbowl? Someone thought it would be helpful to reverse the last two digits of the church’s phone number and make that the pastor’s phone number. Someone else heard my wife in the beauty salon call back to our former town to get the name of the hair color she was using and charge it to our home number. That someone else thought it sounded a lot like the church phone number. And she called it like she saw it.
Yes, I eventually got to the bottom of it. Truth be told, Robin did. And yes, Bea was right. It didn’t solve a thing. Except maybe to thicken my hide.
I miss Bea.
{ 2 comments… read them below or add one }
Why can’t you ever say somthing like, you found the responsible party and the problem is buried in the basement now? Just kidding. I’m glad you’re willing to take the high road buddy. I’ve never been able to get to the high ground quite so rapidly.
What about the holy of holies?? But that is another subject altogether.