Three Legends

For those whose origins are in the now defunct Northern New York Conference of the United Methodist Church, I present two "legends", both rooted in reality, and which were native to Northern New York State. I present these as true incidents in the lives of two pastors of that Conference that speak volumes about their integrities, a matter that continues to haunt all that we do in these days of unremitting government pressure not to rock boats or do upsetting things with our lives. Both boats and upsetting things, however, are welcomed by our present government if they are in accord with government wishes.

Thus, we are challenged to ignore the poor, and ignore wars by the government, but praised when we agree with the government about hating gay people, or black people, or agreeing with the government concerning its denial of global warming, or ignoring the prices of gasoline and oil, and so on. The reader may make up his or her own lists.

The First Legend

Our first legend concerns the pastor of a country church. The area was all farmland in those days, the congregation being rather wealthy and prosperous.

But the pastor, a sensitive man, had other matters in mind. He knew all too well that there were many, many people in the area who were poor, starving, and without medical care, and decent housing and clothing.

From time to time, he would appeal from the pulpit, or in private with members of the congregation to recognize these shortcomings, and to try to help these folks do better with themselves.

But the congregation had ears of stone, and again and again, the pastor was left frustrated and helpless in his efforts to be of help.

Then one day, the pastor was driving along a road that went by the farm of one of the parishioners, and saw in the barnyard a collection of pickup trucks next to the ramp that led up to the barn. He recognized all of those trucks: they were owned by his parishioners.

So he drove into the barnyard quietly, parked the car without noise, and then walked up the ramp and into the barn. There he saw, to his astonishment, his group of farmers kneeling on a spread out old Army blanket, shooting craps. There were several thousands of dollars on that old blanket. In those days, that was a lot of money.

Without even saying hello to the men, he stepped onto the blanket, picked it up by the four corners, slung it over his back and said to the group that our poor people thank you for your contributions, and walked out to his car, got in and drove away.

The farmers involved never said a word to him, or tried to stop him, then or later.

The Second Legend 

This second legend concerns a pastor in a small church not far from Malone, New York. To raise moneys, the church had a small truck garden, tended by parishioners, who would sell their products in order to help mission programs, and the like. The effort was a continuing success, although modest in size.

Then the Vietnam War went on the front burner. For those who are by now disillusioned by the ease with which our government lies in order to justify whatever it is it wants to do, and the ease with which our government is eager to punish those who disagree with their excuses and actions, it may be that this little story will refresh their souls.

The pastor was deeply disturbed by the manner in which the Vietnam War was widened and deepened, so much so that he finally said so from the pulpit. He condemned the war. The most prosperous farmer in the congregation immediately stood up and excoriated the pastor for so presuming, and stormed out of the congregation, never to return.

But the pastor stood by his statement of concern in the name of Jesus Christ; in a relatively short while, he was moved away and eventually left the ministry altogether.

In the terms with which we are familiar concerning what happened to Jesus Christ in Israel, that minister was "crucified"; his resurrection happened when the Vietnam War was proven to be a lie from one end to the other.

I leave it to the reader to decide how far reaching that "resurrection" is in these times.

A Sample Of Pastoral Responsibility

I had a number of brushes with the Vietnam War years ago while I was the Methodist Chaplain at Syracuse University. For a sample of the kind of ethical bind in which a pastor can find oneself, consider this story: ever since WWI, the Methodist (now "United") Church had worked to have the Congress of the United States pass a law, and maintain that law, which allows for members of our church who are "conscientious objectors" to war to seek relief through their draft boards to avoid that service.

The Congress has respected that law ever since, and while at Syracuse University, I found myself involved in a number of such cases. The law is clear about how a pastor will go about being of service to such an objector.

A pastor cannot write out the statement of conscientious objection for the person involved. Nor can a pastor tell the objector what to write. Rather, the role of the pastor is to help the objector work his or her way through the ethics of the situation, at all times making sure that the findings of the person in question are in keeping with the way the law is spelled out, and making sure the decisions reached are within the framework of the United Methodist Church theologies on such matters.

One student came to me years ago just before graduation in June. He was a graduating senior, and an ROTC student as well; I had never seen him in the chapel for the four years he was on campus.

Nonetheless, my responsibility was to look to his needs as a member of our church. So we sat down, and I spelled out where I stood in the issue of his application, and shortly, we were working on his statement. In time, it was finished. I gave the letter to our secretary to type it up, and make a number of copies for my files, his files, and so on, and asked him to come back in the morning to pick up his copy.

He never showed up. We called the ROTC headquarters and left messages that were not answered; we sent mail to him that was not answered, and then it was graduation day and he was gone.

Two years later, a military officer stopped by my office. He had been a student who cherished the Chapel and its works. He told me of an incident that had happened at Fort Hood, Texas recently. There had been a lieutenant at the Officers' Club there who had had too much to drink, and was laughing and bragging about the time he had almost compromised the ministries of the United Methodist chaplain there by trying to get him to write out his application for conscientious objector status.

But the minister didn't fall for it. My soldier telling me the story broke into tears when I told him that I was that minister.

God bless the reader

Frank A. Halse, Jr
15 Kimberly Drive
Apt A2D
Mexico, New York 13114
fhalse@twcny.rr.com
1-315-963-8401