Walking Together
by Lutheranon1483
Chapter One
The crisp October breeze drifted through the trees in the church parking lot, almost purposively. Here and there a dead leaf was torn off and forced into an unpredictable spiral—blowing, as they do, wherever the wind listeth.
Much more purposive was the gait of Pastor Frank Mueller, stumping firmly across the parking lot, listing to one side as he adjusted the position of his large black bag against his CPH drawstring bag and the large phone clipped to his belt like a sidearm.
“It’s like my field work supervisor always said: a pastor is never off duty.”
Mueller picked a leaf from his beard and threw it away, annoyed. He was breathing more heavily now, but he continued his determined progress across the parking lot.
He was going to be late for the conference. Well, not the conference itself, but the pre-conference meeting, where the real fellowship would happen.
It’s not that this was a particularly important conference. It was more of a circuit meeting. And there were no great scandals to discuss. In fact, this circuit had been free from online charges of unionism for a good five years now. Of course, there were always one or two meddlesome people on Facebook who were just looking for trouble, putting the worst construction on everything. You know the type. “Their pastors failed them,” his vicarage supervisor used to say. “You just have to forgive their slander and be the bigger man.”
Well, not to put too fine a point on it, but that’s exactly what Mueller was. Part of it was his congregation’s fault, for giving him an Advent calendar full of beer last Christmas. He didn’t really like beer, all things considered, but he appreciated the gesture, so he tried to force down a pint or two. The beer did a number on his heart, but he wasn’t going to spit in the face of his people’s generosity.
Pastor Mueller finally made it inside, huffing.
“Good morning, Father Frank!” A slender man in an Almy collarette shook his hand.
There were two things Pastor Mueller really hated: being called “Father,” and that feeling you get when someone shakes your hand with two of his. Mueller’s mind was racing through a million possible responses, but in a split second he decided to bear William’s offense with grace. “Morning, Pastor Ashburn,” he huffed, stumping through the sleepy, wood-paneled fellowship hall.
He finally reached a folding white table around which was seated such a vibrant menagerie of clergy that, but for the clerical collars on most of their necks, they might easily have been mistaken for a D&D club.
Mueller deposited all his bags at once in the general vicinity of the chair he seemed to have chosen, huffing his way into a seated position. “Morning brothers.”
“Morning Frank. Ted was just telling us about his visits.”
Teddy Baker was the only man in the circuit who didn’t wear clericals. He was an even bigger man than Mueller. Today Ted was swimming in an enormous blue polo shirt and some cargo shorts. Mueller frowned. Of course, wearing a clerical is adiaphora, but as Mueller’s seminary professor used to say, “Adiaphora doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want.” Best construction, maybe they just don’t make clericals that big, but it wasn’t just Teddy’s outfit. Everything about him made Mueller sick. In his mind, besides their shared penchant for Code Red Mountain Dew, the two had nothing in common. Baker was the incarnation of everything wrong with the LCMS.
“So basically,” Baker concluded, wiping the Cheeto dust from his fingers, “My laymen don’t respect the Office. They’re always talking behind my back.”
Mueller could smell the Cheeto breath. He scowled and glanced over at Ashburn. How could he sit there with his thin hands so calmly folded, unperturbed?
“Remember, Father Teddy,” Ashburn offered, “‘lex orandi, lex credendi.’ If you’re feeding your flock with a different service every week, how can they respect you? They’re just going to be confused. Kids aren’t looking for that happy-clappy nonsense anymore.”
“Yeah,” Teddy seemed unbothered by Ashburn’s slight. “I don’t think it’s that.”
He reached for his Cheetos bag. “They just don’t listen, you know? I feel like they just don’t respect me.”
Mueller kept scowling. Teddy may have been too dense to discern Ashburn’s insult, but he knew what he was after. Ashburn wanted high church. Mueller had decided a long time ago that he agreed with another seminary professor: “not high church, not low church, but just church.” Of course, that meant LSB Divine Service Settings 1 and 3, but what laymen don’t know won’t hurt them.
“It’s not just about the liturgy,” Ashburn said pointedly, looking right at Mueller. “It’s about the sacraments. Let me explain.”
The other pastors fell silent. The only sound was the leaves tapping the outside windows. Ashburn’s parish was in the inner city, so it was really hard work. Yet he somehow managed to do high church. “Not that high church is necessary, of course,” Ashburn would say. Ashburn had a way of saying things where you’d agree with him, but you’d still get the sense that somehow he was looking down his nose at you.
“What’s necessary are the sacraments,” Ashburn said.
Ted nodded in agreement, munching thoughtfully on his new Cheeto. “Right, Word and Sacrament. But…” crunch “I feel like they just don’t respect me.”
Mueller finally spoke. He may have been from a small town, but he knew something about Word and Sacrament. “Yes, the sacraments are important. In fact, I was doing a visit to a beloved elderly parishioner named Jamaal. A wonderful old man.”
Ashburn nodded understandingly. “Did you say mass?”
Mueller scowled. “After divine service, Jamaal grabbed my arm. Then he said”—Mueller cleared his throat—“‘Father, I just gotta confess, I done some bad… S-H-I…’ Well, I won’t say it, but you get what I mean.” The other pastors murmured in agreement. “Then Jamaal told me what he had done. It was pretty bad.” Mueller adjusted his belt. If the room could have gotten any quieter, it did. “I won’t say what it was he did, of course. Confessional seal.” He glanced at Ashburn, who nodded again, hands still folded.
“Anyway, I put out both my hands on his head—and you know, I didn’t care what culture he was, or what race he was, or what his hair was like. I just put both my hands on his head and said ‘Jamaal, in the stead and by the command…’ you get the idea. And yeah, this tough old gangster type man was just crying.” He was excited now. Finally, the brothers could sympathize with him.
“Lord have mercy,” Ashburn exclaimed. “Such a beloved old man. Why is it that every other culture seems so grateful for the Gospel, and ours is so calloused?” The other pastors murmured in agreement.
Ted unscrewed his Mountain Dew cap. “Can’t be grateful for the gospel if you don’t respect your pastor,” he remarked.
Ignoring him, Mueller adjusted his belt again. He was starting to feel better about himself. Maybe even on a roll. He reached into his CPH string bag. “And then I pulled out my Book of Concord.” He let the book thump on the plastic tabletop, rattling the array of soda bottles and coffee mugs it had been supporting. “I asked him ‘Jamaal, have you ever heard of the Book of Concord?’ He said no. So I opened it up to the Small Catechism, and I read him the Office of the Keys.” He paused. “And then I said, ‘Jamaal, I want you to have this. It’s the copy I got at my confirmation, but I want you to have it.”
“Was it Tappert?” asked Ashburn.
“No, it was the burgundy one. It looks nicer on the shelf. And it’s the one I had with me.” He tapped the volume on the table. “This is a new one I got afterwards. I figured I’d always keep an extra one in my bag, just in case.”
Ted swallowed. “Bag looks heavy. I don’t carry a bag.”
Mueller understood. “I got this string bag from the last conference. It was a big one. These circuit conferences are pretty small.” He glanced at Ashburn, hoping he hadn’t crossed a line. He knew Ashburn worked hard on these conferences. “So, who’s our speaker and topic for today?”
“Well, I asked three different Preuses, and they were all busy. But it’s understandable, when you have a big family.”
The pastors nodded.
Teddy was the only one of the three who was married. “I don’t have a big family, and I’m not usually too busy.”
“What about someone from the seminary?” Mueller suggested.
“Which seminary?” Ted leaned back, his meal over.
“Which seminary!” Mueller chortled. “Is that even a question?”
Ashburn gave him a thin smile. “You know, not all the Preuses went to Fort Wayne.”
“That’s right,” Mueller cut in. “Back in the 1970s, J. A. O. Preus was at St. Louis. That was right before the Seminex years.”
“Anyway,” Ashburn said, “I decided to volunteer as speaker, since we couldn’t find anyone else. I thought I would speak on the relevance of Seminex for today.”
“What about unionism?” Mueller objected.
“There haven’t been accusations of unionism in this circuit for years now.”
“Well, yes, but maybe we could do outreach to other circuits where that’s more of a problem.”
Ashburn thought for a moment. “Well, I could present on Seminex at the conference, and I could preach about unionism in my sermon.”
Mueller nodded. “That sounds good. You could talk about Yankee Stadium.”
“Oh yeah,” Ted agreed. “Yankee Stadium. What a mess.”
“Coffee’s ready!” A female voice came from the church kitchen.
“Or we could do women in the church,” Mueller added. “Maybe women’s ordination.”
“That would be part of unionism, I think,” Ashburn countered. “It’s all the same error. The same with our loss of the reverent liturgy. If you lose the liturgy, you lose everything.”
Mueller kicked himself. Of course. His field work supervisor used to quote Robert Preus all the time: “Doctrine is one.” He should have remembered that. Still, he felt that Ashburn was playing a trick on him, and he felt like snapping back. But Ashburn was the circuit visitor, so Mueller held his tongue. He also couldn’t think of a good comeback.
“Okay, I’ll go make sure the coffee is good to go.” Mueller put his hands on his knees and stood up. “I’ll see you guys at Matins upstairs.”
To be continued . . .
100% of tips from this post go to Lutheranon1483, a Lutheran fiction-writer for our times and our guys. If you wish to leave a tip through TipTopJar, please make a memo indicating your intent.