Chapter 3: Mechanicsburg
A novel about life behind the scenes for an evangelical pastor's family: in the church, the parsonage, the community.
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The
rhythmic beep-beep, beep-beep of his wrist alarm woke Jim at six A.M. He found
the stop button, padded over to the window, and parted the draperies to peek out
and see what kind of day it was going to be. The orange and green neon of the
Holiday Inn sign still glowed brightly in the dawn's early dark. Not enough light
to predict the day's weather on the basis of the sky.
After
a brisk shower slightly on the cold side, Jim got his New International Version
out of his briefcase and settled at a round table under a hanging lamp for his
morning routine of Bible reading and prayer. Later, he took a legal pad and outlined
the weekend's activities. At ten, Miles Abbott, chair of the search committee,
and Grace Carson, chair of the church board, would be picking him up for the at
Shoney's all-you-can eat breakfast bar down Route 11 about a mile. At that time,
the salary and benefits package which the board was willing to offer would be
discussed. At 11:30, Jim would be introduced to the church's professional and
support staff with an opportunity for questions and answers on both sides. This
would be a critical meeting. If Jim was called to this pastorate and decided to
accept the call, one of his first official duties would be to review all job descriptions
and make decisions on the division of work.
The
big meeting of the day would be held at one-thirty in Fellowship Hall and this
was being billed as "The Interview". According to the plans of the search
committee, The Interview would provide each person who attended the church an
opportunity to meet the pastoral candidate informally during a buffet lunch. As
he jotted notes on the yellow pad, Jim smiled at the pattern of eating and working
and fellowshipping which had been planned. The early Christian church as described
in Acts made a practice of combining food and worship. Mechanicsburg was surely
in step with the Bible on that point.
The
primary element of The Interview would be an open question-and-answer session
following the buffet. Jim had been told that everyone attending The Interview
would be given an opportunity to ask questions from the floor, and that he would
be expected to answer on the spot--and off the cuff. Jim winced a little as he
thought about the Pandora's box of controversial issues a session like that could
open.
James
Alan Hogan was a competent and experienced pastor who was at home in the pulpit,
in business meetings, in the living rooms of his parishioners, and in the counseling
chamber. But he was not at home with this business of being a candidate for the
job of pastoring a new church. He had gone straight to the Ashtabula Community
Church fresh out of seminary and had not had so much as a letter of inquiry from
another church until he had been contacted by the Mechanicsburg search committee
back in September. He was definitely navigating uncharted waters and he and Debra
had talked about this very thing yesterday morning before starting his trip.
"Maybe
this was how the slaves felt when they were put up on the auction block,"
quipped Jim. " I hate this business of being put on display so people can
poke me and prod me and check my teeth."
"Just
be yourself, Jim," Debra had said simply. "I know that sounds trite
but if you present yourself as something you're not, you may get a job you'll
always regret.
"I
especially dislike this interview thing. They expect me to stand up in front of
everyone and let them take potshots at me for over an hour!"
"Come
on, Jim," Debra said with a sly smile. "There isn't a theological or
social issue on which you don't have a carefully-thought-out position right this
minute. Believe me, after twenty-six years of marriage, I should know. If somebody
pushes your abortion, or alcohol, or tobacco, or illicit sex, or homosexuality
button, just let 'em have it right between the eyes."
Jim
had decided right then that he would do exactly that, and let the votes fall where
they may. Now he knelt at his chair and spent over an hour in prayer with a heavy
concentration on how he would handle the interview questions that afternoon.
At nine forty-five
the phone rang. "Jim Hogan."
"Good
morning, Pastor," Miles Abbott boomed over the house phone out in the lobby.
"Ready to see if Shoney's will be able to give three hungry people all they
can eat for breakfast?"
Jim
took his London Fog off the hanger, picked up his brief case, and walked down
the hall to begin what might turn out to be his first day on the job at the Wesley
Evangelical Church.
The
prospective pastor had gotten to know Miles Abbott during his first visit to Mechanicsburg,
and through many phone conversations since September. He was meeting Grace Carson
for the first time.
"Morning
again, Pastor," Miles boomed almost as loudly as he had on the phone a moment
ago. Like you to meet the chairperson of our church board, Dr. Grace Carson. Grace,
here's the man you've heard me talk about many times since I first heard him preach
last September in Ashtabula."
Jim
knew instantly that neither he nor any other pastor would be pushing this lady
around. He judged her to be sixty-five and she was at least six feet tall. She
had steel gray hair pulled back in a rather severe bun and she was wearing a matching
steel gray business suit, softened a little by a light blue blouse with lace at
the throat and cuffs. He felt a little like he had just been called into the principal's
office.
He
extended his hand and said in his best pastoral voice, "Happy to meet you,
Dr. Carson."
"Just
Grace, thank you," she said with a smile. "I left that doctor business
behind when I retired from teaching last June."
Miles
chuckled. "The Mechanicsburg Area Senior High won't be the same without her.
She was principal there for, what was it Grace, twenty years?"
"Miles,
you make me sound positively ancient. Stop it this instant!" She stood with
her left fist on her hip and pointed a long finger directly at the man's nose,
holding that pose for at least five seconds. Miles froze and his face got very
red-- and then they both doubled over laughing.
"I
get him every time," Grace chortled, her clear blue eyes dancing merrily.
Abbott mopped
his brow in almost-real relief. "You sure do, but I never thought you'd pull
that in front of our brand new preacher."
"You
see, Jim, Miles and I spent a lot of time together in high school. In my office,
that is. Every once in a while, just for old times' sake, I pull my angry principal
act and he still jerks his knee without fail."
"We
can all ride in The Chief," Jim offered as they stepped outside.
"The
Chief?" Grace said with raised eyebrows.
"My
car," Jim explained quickly. "Jeep Grand Cherokee. Debra and I have
twins but they couldn't quite manage Grand Cherokee so we called the car The chief.
"I'd like
to meet The Chief some time but why don't we give the old boy a rest and let Mr.
President take a turn today? Here, Miles, you drive," and she flipped a set
of car keys to Abbott who turned and walked across the parking lot to a brand
new Lincoln Town Car, shining like a new penny in the bright January sun.
Jim soon decided
that Miles and Grace had been appointed a committee of two to put Shoney's out
of business. Miles borrowed a line from Arby's and really piled it on. Grace had
a special liking for biscuits smothered with gravy and lots of those mini sausage
links on the side. Jim understood why the Shoney's Breakfast Bar had been the
restaurant of choice.
Jim
ate lightly but slowly, having a couple bran muffins with fruit and decaffeinated
coffee.
After
the final round of dirty plates had been cleared away, Grace laid out the basic
salary and benefits package the Board was offering. The salary was very generous,
equal to what Grace had been making her final year as principal, "And that
was with a doctorate and--" she looked pointedly at Miles "twenty years'
experience." Besides the salary, there was a full parsonage benefit which
included a modern twelve-room home with all utilities. The health coverage applied
to all family members living in the parsonage who were less than 19 years of age:
HMO, major medical, dental, vision, and prescriptions.
"If
the church votes to call me to this church and I don't come, it sure won't be
because of salary and benefits," Jim said sincerely.
"Good,"
Grace nodded briskly, "and there's one more thing. Each year you'll get a
five percent cost-of-living salary increase. If things are going well in the church
at the end of each year, the board can vote to add a five percent merit raise
to the cost-of-living raise. Anything else?" she asked looking at both men.
"One more
thing," Jim said. "Could we talk a little about this interview which
is coming up this afternoon. Is there a hidden agenda I need to know about before
everybody starts firing questions at me?"
Grace
and Miles looked at one another, each waiting for the other to speak. Finally
Grace said, "There is a skeleton in our closet, Jim. I'm not sure how many
of the people who will be attending the interview this afternoon actually know
this first hand but we did have a bad experience with our pastor ten years ago."
Here it comes,
Jim thought. I knew this whole thing was too good to be true. "Define 'bad
experience'."
"Bad
as it gets as far as preachers are concerned. He had an affair with a high school
senior, from my school no less, and they ran away together. Heard they're married
now and living in Mesa, Arizona. Very sad for everyone concerned. Pastor Carr
had four children and a lovely wife. Two of the kids went to high school with
the girl involved. One was a sophomore and, get this, the boy was a senior who
had been going steady with this girl before she ran away with his Dad!"
"And here's
the worst part of all," Miles said, totally serious for a change. "The
media people had a field day with this thing. If you think the televangelists
had it hot in the late eighties, this was worse. And I mean TV, radio, papers,
everybody. Got so bad the girl's mother cracked and killed herself. The autopsy
said over 50 Digoxin tablets stopped her heart cold."
"Then
the media got really serious and it was networks and press people from throughout
the mid-Atlantic states. Very sad, indeed," Grace said softly.
"I
remember reading about the mother's suicide but hadn't made the connection with
this church until right now. Any idea on how this might effect the kinds of questions
people will be asking this afternoon?"
Grace
answered. "My guess is you'll be getting some pretty close questions about
your private life, including your personal relationship with your wife."
"I have
absolutely nothing to hide and I'll answer every question I'm asked," Jim
said calmly.
"Good!"
Grace said briskly. "Power breakfast adjourned." She strode to the cashier
and had two twenties on the counter before Jim could get his wallet out of his
pocket.
Miles
winked and said briefly, "On us."
They
drove North on U.S. 11 to the Camp Hill junction and then South on U.S. 15 to
the Wesley Drive exit, a ride of about twenty minutes. The Wesley Evangelical
Church complex of sanctuary, gym, softball field, parking lots, and parsonage
spread across fifteen acres of good land East of Route 15 and close to the Wesley
Drive exit.
"Was
the church named after the Drive or was the Drive named after the church."
"Neither,"
Grace smiled. "Before we even knew this land was for sale, the church was
incorporated as Wesley Evangelical Church. Wesley Drive was here before we were.
Actually, the church is named after John Wesley, who happens to be my favorite
hero in church history."
The
Wesley Evangelical Church complex faced Route 15 but since the highway was limited
access, the facility was reached by taking the Wesley Drive exit and then using
an access road which entered the property from the northwest corner.
The
church itself was built of colonial brick with a columned portico and large wings
spreading out on both sides. The North wing housed administrative offices and
classrooms for younger children, including the nursery. The second and ground
floors supplied classroom space for older children and adults. The ground floor
under the sanctuary housed Fellowship Hall with banquet seating for one thousand
and a fully-equipped restaurant kitchen. The South wing contained the gym and
some classroom space for teens and young adults.
Since
the land sloped down from the front of the church, all the ground-floor rooms
had some natural light and those toward the back of the building had full-size
windows. The gym was on the first floor of its wing but there was no second floor
in order to provide the head room needed for basketball and volley ball.
Although
the main church building was rectangular in shape, the platform area of the sanctuary
was along a long wall, the North, wall, with the choir loft on the left of the
pulpit and the orchestra pit on the right. The piano and organ were on a dais
directly behind the pulpit and faced each other at a forty-five degree angle.
In front of the piano and organ were a semicircle of short pews to accommodate
the pastoral staff and others who would be participating in a service.
"How's
that for a whirlwind tour?" Grace's long strides had just circumnavigated
the major areas of the church and she was barely out of breath. Whirlwind was
the right word, Jim mused, who seemed to have less breath left than did his guide.
"Check
out that pulpit for size," Miles suggested.
The
pulpit was done in natural walnut enameled ivory insets, as was the case for all
platform furniture and the pews as well. Jim assumed the classic pastoral stance
with arms spread to grasp the outside corners of the pulpit. Speaking in his best
platform baritone, he said, "The ushers will now come forward to receive
the Lord's tithes and your offerings."
"Hired
on the spot," Miles chortled and snapped his fingers. "You're our kind
of man."
All
laughed and Grace said with her blue-eyed twinkle, "Careful, boys. Some guy
from the "Patriot-News" might be hiding up there in the balcony and
writing all this down.
Jim
turned to face the pews again and his mood turned quickly serious. The platform
spots were on but the rest of the sanctuary was in semidarkness. The empty pews
stretched in a semicircular panorama before him on the floor and above him in
the balcony which swept around three sides of the sanctuary. How many souls were
represented by these pews? Which ones already knew Jesus Christ as a personal
Savior and were filled with the Holy Spirit? Where would the Sunday Christians
be sitting who lived the other six days of the week as though the Bible didn't
exist. Which specific spots would be occupied by those prayer warriors so essential
to the success of any church program.
In
answer to Jim's unasked question, Grace spoke softly. "An average of 3500
people every Sunday morning counting both the 8:30 and the 11:00 services, plus
the kids in the nursery and junior churches. Twenty-five hundred every Sunday
night. At least 1500 Wednesday nights for Bible study, Christian service training,
membership classes, and various activities for kids and teens. And every one of
them with a never-dying soul. Pretty awesome responsibility, isn't it."
Jim nodded
in silent agreement while lifting an unvoiced prayer in the words of Bill Gaither's
song, "Come, Holy Spirit, I need you."
Suddenly
Miles looked at his watch. "Hey, it's almost 11:30. Time to meet the staff."
With that, he led the way off the platform through a door located between the
choir loft and the organ. Fishing a single key out of his wallet, he walked across
a broad corridor which ran behind the platform area of the sanctuary and stopped
at an unmarked door directly across from the hall from the choir loft.
"Pretty
neat, huh?" he asked Jim with a grin.
"Miles,
this is more than neat, this is down-right convenient. The pastor can walk right
out of his private office, cross one hall, and be on the platform in less than
ten seconds. This your idea?"
"This
whole complex is his idea, including the parsonage," Grace stated flatly.
He's just too shy to admit it so he drags me along to toot his horn for him."
"You're
an architect?" Jim asked.
"Sure
is," the former principal answered. "Tell him, Miles, and stop confusing
your shyness with humility."
Despite
the good-natured banter, Miles did look a little embarrassed. As they were hanging
up their coats, he explained that his role in designing the church had begun while
he was a freshman in high school. He had enrolled in Mechanicsburg High School's
four-year art program with a heavy emphasis on commercial art and drafting. The
church complex was an on-going project all through high school and on into his
baccalaureate program at Penn State. By the time he graduated summa cum laude,
all of the views and elevations were complete. The church board had been keeping
tabs on Miles' project for the past eight years and they adopted it without hesitation.
The general contractor liked the work so much, he paid Miles a fee which wiped
out his college indebtedness in one stroke.
"Enough
about me," Miles said as he swung open the door on the other side of the
room from which they had entered. "Let's meet the staff, and here's the keystone
which holds this whole operation together. Say 'hello' to Sandy Simpson, administrative
assistant."
"Hello,
Sandy Simpson, administrative assistant," Jim said with a twinkle.
"Good
morning, Rev. Hogan," she said as they shook hands.
Each
person took rapid inventory of the other. Jim saw an attractive young women in
her early thirties with a riot of red curls reminiscent of Annie. She was slim,
about five-five, wearing a little softer version of Grace's gray business suit,
only in light brown. A quick sweep of her work alcove located right outside the
pastor's door told him she was neat and organized.
Sandy
liked Jim instantly. His handshake was firm but not lingering, and he didn't cover
her right hand with his left as Dr. Clark had done. His gaze was direct and never
left her face to travel down the rest of her body.. Although she sensed he was
checking her out just as she was checking him, the interpersonal dynamics were
totally professional.
At
that moment, Miles leaned between Jim and Sandy to kiss her firmly on the mouth.
"Miles,
honestly!" Grace groused without venom. "When are you going to grow
up?"
"I
have a license for it," Miles pouted with mock offense.
"What
Miles is trying to say in his own unique way is that he and Sandy are married,"
explained Grace with a smile.
"Yep,
five years this June," Miles boasted with his thumbs pushing out red suspenders
from under his suit jacket. "And there's only one thing that mars my happiness.
My thoroughly modern Sandy insists on continuing to use her maiden name!"
"If you
don't pipe down, your thoroughly modern Sandy is going to mar your head with a
tape dispenser," Sandy said lightly as she pinned a name badge to her husband's
lapel. "Now put this on Rev. Hogan and I'll take care of Grace. Got to get
everyone in uniform," she said pertly.
Jim
glanced down at what Miles was ready to pin on his lapel.
Rev.
James A. Hogan
Pastoral Candidate
The
card inserted in the plastic pin-on badge was beautifully done on what Jim guessed
was a printing press. The type was bold sans serif with black ink on light blue
card stock. A photo-reduced version of the church logo appeared in the lower left
corner. Unfortunately, it wasn't quite right.
"Sandy,
I hate to make waves about something minor but would you mind making up another
name card for me? I know it's time to meet the rest of the staff but maybe you
can just turn this card over and write this, and he leaned over her desk and wrote
on a scratch pad:
Pastor
Jim Hogan
Ashtabula, Ohio
"Didn't
I get your name right?" Sandy asked with concern as Jim was scribbling on
the pad.
"What
you did was completely accurate," Jim said with a smile, "but this is
correct," and he handed her the sheet from the scratch pad. "My name
is Jim Hogan, my signature is James A. Hogan, and I never use reverend. If a title
is needed, 'pastor' is fine."
Sandy
looked at Jim scribbling on her scratch pad and smiled broadly. "Finally!
A preacher who knows what he wants and knows how to ask for it. But I won't turn
this card over and write on the back, I'll make a new one. Just take a sec. Want
to watch?" The office in the Ashtabula church still used IBM Selectric typewriters
equipped with a correcting tape feature. He sure did want to watch.
Without
waiting for an answer, Sandy zipped around her desk and sat down at what Jim discovered
was an Power Macintosh computer with a screen the size of an aircraft carrier's
flight deck.
"Couple
clicks of the mouse here and there and bam! you'll have a correct name card."
In less than a minute, Sandy's flying fingers and nimble mouse had the corrected
card on the screen. Holding down the OPEN-APPLE command key, she pressed the letter
P and the laser printer behind Jim came to life and began to hum softly. He turned
and watched a sheet of blue card stock roll out with his correct name card in
the upper left corner of an eight-card grid.
Sandy
disappeared in a utility alcove where Jim could hear quick rasps of a paper cutter.
In a maximum of two minutes from the point of his original request, he was wearing
a name card identical in style to the others which read:
Pastor
Jim Hogan
Ashtabula, Ohio
"I'm
impressed," Jim said sincerely as he looked down at his new badge.
"You
better be," Miles said with a grin. "That was ten thousand dollars worth
of the Lord's money you just saw at work.
"And
worth every penny of it," Grace said matter of factly, as she led the way
out of the reception area and into the main conference room.
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