The Next Shoe Drops

“Phil, you’re the special guest at a church meeting this evening.  Can you be upstairs at 7 p.m.?”  The pastor was wiping his mouth after a second helping of a rich, creamy and savory omelet—created with nothing more than a mixing bowl, an ancient cast iron skillet and a moderately reliable hotplate.  This Phil guy was full of hidden talents and surprises.

He was, however, not very quick on the uptake when it came to human relations.  “Special guest!  Wow, thanks, Pastor.  I will certainly be there.  Could I bring some food?  How many people will there be?  I think I could make up some really nice crab puffs in won ton wrappers.  Of course, I would need the church to reimburse me for the cost of the materials.  But I’d love to cook up a little nosh for everyone…say, do you suppose that Lil could come as well?”

The pastor smiled ruefully and shook his head.  “No, Phil, you don’t understand.  It’s not that kind of meeting.  And you won’t be that kind of guest.  There are folks in the congregation who have real problems with you taking up temporary residence here.  They want you gone immediately, and they would like to hang my butt from the processional cross in the process.  They also think that Lil is not only a convicted felon but that she’s on the run and we’re hiding her from the law.  And I think that some of them believe you and Lil are having sex behind the boiler.”

Phil was rinsing off the old skillet.  He stopped in mid-wipe.  “Pastor, I’m really sorry I’m causing you all this trouble.  I didn’t have any intention to do that.  Bill told me that this would all be just fine—that he would fix it with the church council and with you.”

“Well, Phil, he fixed it with the council, at least with part of the council.  But I think that maybe his goal wasn’t to fix it with me.  It might be that he intended to put me in a fix instead.”

Phil pondered that last one for a while.  “And Pastor, as far as Lil and I…well, doing anything together…that probably isn’t going to happen.  We’re friends, but I…I…I’m not really interested in girls.  Never have been.”

The pastor nearly suffered psychic whiplash on this one.  On the one hand, he was relieved that there would be no exchange of bodily fluids behind the basement boiler.  On the other hand the congregation had suffered enough of a civil war over the gay/lesbian issues in the church.  This was going to hit the fan in a big way at some point.

“I assume that your brother is aware of your orientation?” the pastor prodded gently.

“Of course, he knows, Pastor!  He’s my brother.”  A slow dawn of recognition crossed his face.  “Oh, no—you’ve had all sorts of trouble in the church because of…us…haven’t you?  That, that…stinker!  He knew that this would make things bad for you, didn’t he!  My brother has always been a bully.  He made my life miserable for a lot of years, you know.”

“I can’t imagine, Phil, but I do believe you.  We need to spend some time talking about this meeting that is going to happen.  It won’t be very nice, I don’t think.  Are you up to it?  Or do we need to find you a motel for a few weeks.”

“Pastor, I may not be the smartest guy in the world, but I don’t walk away from a fight.  Especially when someone else is getting hurt because of me.”

The pastor found respect and affection for his erstwhile tenant that he felt for few others on the planet.

What is the role of courage in healthy communities?

            What is the best way to deal with a bully?

                        Do you have any advice for the pastor going into that meeting?