Old Cowboy in Church
A chaplain pal told me about an understudy of his who had just graduated from his seminary, and had received his first assignment, to a dirt-poor rural Southern farming community. Nevertheless, he looked forward to it, and welcomed the bus ticket that went with his ordination paperwork. He caught the local Greyhound, and off to his new flock he went.
The town he arrived at was only a block long on Main Street, with no church in sight. The single cross street was a graveled road, with farmland on either side. His best guess was that his new flock would be found on that gravel road, but had no idea about which way to proceed. He prayed for guidance, and a Sign. And then, on that sunny Sunday morning, he heard the bells. He set off in that direction.
He had not gone terribly far, up a hill and across a bridged stream, when he saw it: a picturesque little white clapboard church, set in a grove of woods, with a fence separating an adjoining church cemetery. There were a few wagons, and even a couple of pickup trucks, but mostly, there were a couple of dozen saddled horses hitched to the rails of the fence, contentedly keeping the grass cropped and sipping from a ditch that wandered that way. He went up to the front doors, and opened them.
Everyone, Everyone in the church turned to look at him, except for one man: the pastor, a large man standing behind the pulpit, and dressed, as were his parishioners, in a blue unifoirm coat with gold braid. And the leader of that flock had on a wide leather belt, with a revolver on it, and, like Saul and Peter, with a sword. He looked down at the well-meaning interloper, and asked him his business, and thew newly-minted pastor tried to explain:
He was just out of his divinity school, and this would be his first step on a long journey in service to his Lord. He was new to this place, but would come to know and understand and love it, but he had bveen given to understand that the church's leadership had called for a young new pastor to take the place of one old and feeble who deserved his retirement in his final days. And, he had his orders from his Bishop, and held them high.
So then, you are of the Baptist faith, thundered the man be hind the pulpit? I am he squeaked, replying in the affirmative. And are you then to lead the First Baptist Church, was the second query put to him. Yes, he answered, with all the enthusiasm he could manage.
And the man behind the pulpit stood tall, placed hisa plumed hat on his head, and drew his sword. And that is where you are mistaken, sir! And he pointed with his sword down the road where the younger man had come: This is the Cavalry Baptist Church!
