Well ... there were these two.
If either of them ever felt compelled by God to hire ... er, I mean "call" ... me, I'd take it in a heartbeat.
And I'll be damn if both of them didn't call ... er, I mean try to hire ... me a few short months later.
Metro Baptist Church in New York City called first ... meaning they actually call on the phone to tell me that God is telling them to tell me that I'm the one they want to hire as their Pastor.
I love Metro having been several times ... to Church ... serving soup to the homeless in a city park ... delivering the Gospel to Soup Opera stars ... and it's openness to all people of all orientations ... left me wanting them.
But ... I never answered the call ... meaning the phone ... because I was at the Beach ... so they moved on to whoever God told them was next in line.
Then Decatur Baptist Church in Atlanta calls and I don't answer the phone either.
Dr. Glenn Hinson, my beloved Seminary Professor calls next and, of course, I take it, to hear him yell, "Why in the Hell didn't you take their call? They're trying to call you to be their minister! It's impolite to not answer."
So I call them back but by now they've rescinded their call and don't answer.
I hadn't thought of these things until we're riding the buss pass Metro Baptist in New York City and the calls come back so I tell Sarah the stories.
Decades later, I'm technically not in a Church but do attend and occasionally am leader at worship in a Bar on Tybee Island.
Nobody called or anything.
I was sort of talked into it by people with broken hearts who I completely understand because I've got a soft one.
Looking at the majesty of a broken Sanctuary on West 40th Street as our bus bounces us around, I wonder now what it would be like now had I answered the call.
Sarah lays her head on my shoulder and squeezes my arm through the heavy coat.
Answering the Church calls may have been nice but ... it could have never been better than this.
