Take... no bag for your journey" (Matt. 10:9,10, RSV).
After letters, a videotape, a conference call, came the invitation. The vestry of St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Lebanon, Oregon, had chosen me as a finalist for the position of rector. The appointment was some weeks away, and plans were made.
The week before, I made a courtesy phone call to the Episcopal bishop of Oregon, telling him of my plans. He said that he wanted to meet me at the airport for lunch before I was met by the church warden for the drive to Lebanon.
I had never met the bishop before and did not know whom to look for, but there he was. He was taller than average, and there weren't that many purple shirts in the airport. Initial greeting concluded, he suggested an airport restaurant. My wife, Sandy, and I agreed, but first we had to claim our luggage.
When the bag appeared on the conveyor, I thought to myself, I sure don't want the bishop to pick up that bag. It weighs a ton.
I mentally rehearsed the conversation between Sandy and me when packing for this trip. Will I really need all this? It's only a two-day visit.
Of course you'll need this, and more besides. You are going for a position interview.
She won. I brought it all, and the more besides.
The bishop had the advantage. The bags moved on the carousel toward him first. I tried to grab, but he was quicker. Anyway, he's the bishop. Who am I to cut him off?
He strained and struggled and paid no attention to my unconvincing plea to "Let me carry that, bishop." Up the escalator and to the restaurant, we were shown to a table where the load was finally deposited beside my chair.
All the way upstairs, what I construed were the bishop's thoughts, kept running through my head. "Don't call this guy. He can't carry his own weight." Or, "Who are you calling, a priest or a weightlifter?" Or, "Better check this one out. Judging by his luggage, he is pretty desperate to move in."
We had a delightful lunch, with the bishop saying that he wanted me in the diocese if there appeared to be a match between priest and congregation.
Thank you, bishop. Apparently you have forgotten about the bag.
He hadn't. A few weeks later, at the Celebration of New Ministry, the bishop in his sermon made reference to how much weight the church expects its clergy to carry. As an illustration, he pointed out that the new rector apparently thinks he has to carry an anvil with him on an interview.
There was no anvil. Just extra shirts, pants, shoes. Enough stuff to feel like an anvil.
Would the vestry have called me to be their rector had I shown up for the interview in the same jeans, T-shirt, and running shoes that I wore when telephoned? Who is to know?
But could we not all lighten up? Could we take less for the journey? If I'm ever granted another interview, if my luggage can't be carried on and "stowed under the seat or in the overhead compartment," it won't get taken. Or maybe I'll take care to stand to the bishop's other side at the luggage carousel.
