A Steeple Chase

By Philip Formo

The shifting parade of birth, death and every event in between is the experience of most clergy persons as it winds through the life of any congregation. Whether it is a wedding no one attends, a funeral where the deceased wished to be buried naked or a baptism where more liquid came from the undiapered baby than what was contained in the font,

• Language: English
• Publisher: pecan pie press
• Release date: Feb 22, 2019
• ISBN: 9781732197343

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Copyright

© Copyright 2019 by Philip J. Formo

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review. Scanning, uploading and electronic distribution of this book or the facilitation of such without the permission of the publisher is prohibited.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are based on experiences of the author or his imagination.

Any member of educational institutions wishing to photocopy part or all of the work for classroom use, or anthology, should send inquiries to Philip Formo, [e-mail]

Printed in the United States of America

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data​

Formo, Philip 1946-​

A Steeple Chase

ISBN: 978-1-7321973-3-6​

eBook: 978-1-7321973-4-3

Novel

Authors

Christian Fiction

Clergy, Lutheran

I.    A Steeple Chase

Other books by Philip Formo:​

Papa—A Life Remembered​

Writing My Life

Cover Design by Jean Formo

Pecan Pie Press​

6616 Chadwick Drive​

Savage, MN 55378-4037

Dedication

Heartfelt thanks to mentor Reverend Reuben Groehler, dear friend Reverend Tom Hunstad and pastors with whom I have shared ministry. Special gratitude to church members who have been some of my best teachers.

Chapter 1

In the beginning, as Richard Hanson recalls, at the inauguration of the rocky road of adolescence, the mysterious message was received. Amongst all kinds of changes, one missive was repeatedly delivered. It arrived first in the form of a fever that attacked Richard while obediently reading his daily Psalm. Psalm 1 to be precise.

Blessed is the man who walks not in the counsel of the wicked, nor stands in the way of sinners, nor sits in the seat of scoffers: but his delight is in the Law of the Lord.

Richard, failing to understand the all-encompassing power of sin, would delight in the final verse.

For the Lord knows the way of the righteous, but the way of the wicked will perish.

Once the most pious of aunts was told of the fever filled incident, there was no question Almighty God had called Richard Hanson to the holiest of offices, the ordained ministry. Followed by the encouragement of the local pastor, and the realization that most every aunt or uncle on both sides of the family were either clergy, missionaries or religious professors, it felt like the die had been cast to this twelve-year-old seventh-grader. But as time went on the metal failed to harden. Remaining liquid, its pungent odor continued to drive him away from the expectations of family and friends. And yet, after six years as a personal banker in the very neighborhood in which he was raised, four years of struggling as a full-time seminary student and part-time banker, the metal had hardened. The biting odor had evaporated and the day of ordination had arrived.

It was on a sunny Memorial Day weekend when the soon to be ordained pastor, his wife and a few dear friends packed the U-Haul truck with all of their worldly possessions. Anxious to leave the status of student and enjoy full employment again, Richard had excitedly accepted his first pastoral position two months earlier. Along with the opportunity to lead the small-town parish came an unfurnished parsonage and an annual income of $6,000, certainly far less than his former banker’s salary.

On Sunday of the same weekend friends, family and clergy gathered to celebrate Richard’s ordination. To the triumphant hymn, Lift High the Cross, the stole-less seminary graduate walked down the aisle with his immediate family surrounding him, followed by pastoral friends wearing their regal red vestments. Sitting in the front pew along with Richard were his wife, Diane, their two small kids and his parents, Robert and Helen, who had returned for the celebration from the foreign mission field where they had lived since Richard’s graduation from a Minneapolis high school. Seated in the next pew were Richard’s closest childhood friend, John Boyle, wife Sara and their two young children, with the rest of the sanctuary filled with family and friends. With the hymns sung, the sermon preached, the prayers prayed, the words ringing in Richard’s ears were those of the officiating pastor who proclaimed, According to apostolic tradition, you are now to be set apart to the office of Word and Sacrament in the one holy catholic church by the laying on of hands and by prayer.

His mother, father, wife and children carefully placed on his shoulders a red stole. This was followed by a standing ovation from the crowd who had come to celebrate the long-awaited event.

If there was one thing he fought during his time of discernment, it was leaving an occupation to obey a call to ministry. That struggle was wrapped up in the two words the presenter had just uttered, the phrase set apart. Richard’s intent was not to be set apart but rather to become more fully connected and involved in the lives of others. Once ordained, as he stood behind the altar and spoke the words of institution for the very first time, he was troubled that the few words spoken had empowered him to accomplish something that was not permitted to the general public. It was as if hocus pocus took place in a holy space called a sanctuary. While instructed in the proper rudiments and now approved to consecrate the physical elements of bread and wine, Richard feared an endless chasm was now separating him from those called to any other profession. As he continued to stand at the altar he smiled while remembering the times as a very young child he had run around the very same altar playing hide and seek while his dad, a lay leader of the church, endlessly talked church business with the pastor.

As he looked out at those assembled, Richard prayed a silent thank you God for his wife Diane, his two kids, parents and friends. Unlike the rest of the crowd, John Boyle, his childhood buddy and fellow banker, had a look communicating the perceived mistake John thought Richard was making by changing careers. Unlike John, his wife Sara and kids, Katy, age three, and Peter, age five, looked enchanted as they witnessed the spectacle.

With communion completed, the benediction spoken, Richard was relieved to hear the magnificent sound of the fifty-rank organ and the glorious beginning chords of the popular hymn, Lead On, O King Eternal! While the postlude was played, the crowd made their way back down the center aisle where they congratulated the newly ordained pastor. John Boyle shook his head as if to continue his ongoing argument for Richard to remain in the field he had enjoyed for some years now. But then he affectionately pulled on Richard’s red stole in a gesture of congratulations. Richard recognized his own mixed feelings that could accompany him the rest of his life.

Once the crowd had gathered in the reception hall, Richard walked back down the aisle, looked up at the organist and mouthed a word of thanks. In the packed fellowship hall, between bites of wheat buns graced with ham, potato salad, pickle spears and a frosting laden cake in the shape of an open Bible, Richard was constantly tapped on the shoulder for one congratulatory message after another. Diane was busy giving stern looks to both three-year-old Rachel and five-year-old Eric as they ran between the tables busy playing tag with John and Sara’s kids, Katy and Peter.

A few hours later, with all the sandwiches, cake, punch and coffee consumed, the newly ordained and his family arrived at John and Sara’s home for their last overnight before driving to their first congregation in Nebraska. That evening was filled with a late-night conversation, or better defined as a continuous debate with his childhood friend. More than one glass of wine fueled their words regarding Richard’s second-career choice and its wisdom. While John argued the foolishness from a financial standpoint, Richard told him it was something he had to do. And by the way, John, I’m not going into this blindly. My boss has told me I could return to banking if I ever chose to do so.

Yeah, but! John emphatically answered.

Richard held up his hand and said, Let’s leave it at that and I hold you to your promise that very soon you will visit us in Bradley.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, John agreed. With wine bottles emptied, the two retired for the night.

Early the next morning, the smell of bacon and eggs wafted up from the kitchen below. Awfully early, especially for a holiday morning, Sara had quickly fixed her famous cheesy scrambled eggs, crisp bacon and, the rage of the day, fresh blueberry-scones. While the four kids grabbed something from the table and ran off to play, John said nothing about the prior night’s debate and acted as if he were as happy as the others regarding the move. Following a typical Minnesota good-bye that begins with hugs, then thanks for the overnight stay and breakfast, followed by more hugs, Richard boarded the U-Haul truck and Diane belted their two kids in the back seat and got into the vinyl light blue driver’s seat of their aging Plymouth. The Boyle family yelled, Have a safe trip! Call us when you arrive! After more waving and honking of both horns, Richard and his wife drove south on the tree lined city street toward the 35W interstate entrance.

Richard’s seat mates in the truck were the variety of house plants Diane refused to give up for the move. As they drove south to Interstate 80 Richard was both excited about his new challenge as well as fearful of making a life altering mistake, as John had warned. In the six years prior to seminary, he remembered how thrilled he was just two years into his work at the 34th Avenue branch when his life-long friend John had joined him there. Following his first four-year degree, filled with classes in business administration, economics, finance and communication, and his last years studying theology, Bible and a variety of other classes, Richard was thrilled to be finally done with his formal education.

With limited traffic, except for the passing semi-trucks, Richard reminisced about his and John’s childhood experiences. They had met in third grade when John moved into their south Minneapolis neighborhood. Becoming fast friends from day one, Richard remembered the two of them as nine-year-old’s becoming blood brothers behind the wood pile in Richard’s backyard. They had attended their third-grade teacher’s wedding at a big downtown church, followed by a fancy reception where the forty kids enjoyed their own banquet room resplendent with circus balloons, animal shaped ice-cream and clowns from the annual city-wide festival, the Aquatennial.

Richard continued to adjust to the truck’s bench-seat, while Diane and kids followed in their well-worn Plymouth. An older model sedan, lacking any decorative chrome, seemed an appropriate symbol of servanthood and humility. Two hours into the laborious freeway journey, the first bathroom stop was necessary. While dad and son went their separate way, Diane ran after Rachel pleading for her to slow up and watch for cars. As Rachel quickly locked the bathroom door, Diane frantically begged her to open up. Rachel was busily discovering the napkin vending machine, soap dispenser and rapid-fire-flushing of the old-fashioned toilet with its wooden seat. Unsuccessful in getting Rachel to obey, Diane had to ask the owner to find the key and release her daughter from the self-imposed prison or funhouse.

Three hours later, with Rachel’s hand firmly in her mother’s, the family stopped at the kids’ favorite and budget pleasing McDonalds for their lunch. To the strange looks of a few women, this time the bathroom watch included Diane standing in the same stall as her daughter with the stall door fully open. With a child firmly in the hand of each parent, the half-eaten kid’s meals with the surprise toy were carried to the sedan.

As the youngsters remained quiet for the next few miles, Diane’s attention wandered from the straight ribbon of road to imagining what was ahead for their family and especially her own life in a farm community filled with strangers. Her attention quickly returned to the road when Richard’s U-Haul, immediately in front of her, encountered a narrow bridge and a wide semi-truck coming from the opposite direction. The narrow space between the two passing vehicles was not only terrifying but Diane’s scream created havoc in the back seat where both the kids burst into tears. Once beyond the overpass, Diane took a deep breath, told Eric and Rachel everything was ok and refocused only on the stretch of highway ahead.

By this time, driving straight west with the sun often in his eyes, Richard not only thought about his old friend’s concerns but the long conversations he and Diane had had regarding such a change for their family. With Diane’s temporary departure from teaching school to remaining home with two small children, she was concerned about the family’s financial stability. All during his seminary training, although Richard had worked part-time, their savings had dwindled due to tuition and health insurance costs.

More than once Diane would ask the haunting question, Are you sure we can afford this change? Are we putting our family and even our future at risk? During the darker moments as Richard struggled with the massive amount of reading expected for seminary classes and still working part-time, Diane quietly wondered if it would ever be worth all the effort?

Now looking ahead at the straight and flat concrete, Richard’s doubts and fears reverberated in his mind like the early warning signals of a midwestern tornado. He was always the organized and careful one in their marriage. This felt more like chaos, as if a storm had arrived with no warning. Facing one question after another, Richard tried to submerge the self-doubt that whizzed by like the on-coming traffic:

Sunday is only six days away!

What am I going to preach about?

What if someone dies? Will I know what to say to a widow or child?

What if I can’t relate to farmers? I’ve never lived on a farm, let alone any rural community?

What could I say that the congregation would even listen to?

Do I know what I believe, let alone what those at Trinity Evangelical Lutheran Church have been taught?

Just then, as another semi sped by shaking the U-Haul, Richard returned to the present and told himself, I’ve got to give the future to someone else. ‘Trust and believe,’ his mother had repeatedly told him while growing up. ‘Trust and believe.’ He knew in whom his mother had taught him to trust. What lingered in his mind, after years of theological lectures and talks with his classmates, was simply ‘But what do I believe? Do I believe what I have been taught to believe? What I was taught in Sunday School certainly didn’t jive with what professors said in their lectures. So, what’s the truth?’

It was three more oncoming semis and the wind gusts that accompanied them that quickly brought Richard back to his present concern for survival rather than theological theory. As his mind settled down, he had the comforting thought that throughout his banking career, he had been told that he was the one who could calm a nervous investor or disgruntled customer. As he looked west, without another semi in sight, he said to himself, ‘I guess I better just play it by ear. That’s all I know.’

Following two more-bathroom breaks and a midafternoon ice cream stop, the caravan of truck and car arrived in the sparsely populated town of 600 souls and Trinity Evangelical Lutheran Church, one of three Lutheran churches in the area. Awaiting them at the parsonage were four burley men ready and willing to unload their truck while Richard and Diane, fatigued from the journey, were given the task of guiding the furniture and belongings into the correct rooms. The two-story wooden house built during the first years of twentieth century, had a kitchen, dining room, living room, bath, office and master bedroom on the first floor. Climbing the stairway, the family discovered two more bedrooms and a large play area. On the floor was a large brown grate through which heat hopefully arose during the winter months. All the rooms were painted a universal light tan, and the ceiling lamps appeared to be original with the eighty-year old house. Just outside the front door was a large porch facing the gravel road and acres of crops breaking their way through the soil. Long before the truck was empty, a lady arrived to announce that supper was ready to be served in the nearby church basement. As the family walked down the creaky steps, they noticed both the dampness and the cool wind from a variety of floor fans.

Once Richard introduced each member of his family, they went through the potluck line and sat at a well-worn eight-foot Sunday school table surrounded by noisy and well used metal folding chairs. It seemed between each bite someone would touch the new pastor’s shoulder and introduce themselves. Fatigued from the drive, Richard realized the parishioners’ names were flying in one ear and out the other with very few of them sticking.

Stomachs full, Richard and his family excused themselves and, along with a few willing movers, helped to empty the truck of their furniture and endless boxes. Staying out of the way, Eric and Rachel, now with new friends their age, took advantage of the brand-new swing set that had been installed in the parsonage’s backyard. The congregation was excited to host the first young family to arrive in decades.

Once the kid’s beds were made with their favorite Winnie the Pooh sheets and pillowcases, weary Diane called them in from the backyard and led them to their bedrooms. For the next hour Richard and Diane searched through boxes labeled dishes for kitchen use and books to be placed on the office shelves. Opening the refrigerator, Diane was delighted to find fresh milk, bread, eggs, orange juice, bacon and two jars of homemade jam. In the small freezer