Dear Jimmy,
Last night after I went to bed I was a-lyin’ there thinkin’ about all the things I’ve been puttin’ off, and right at the top of the list was writin’ you. So, here goes. I don’t have much new to tell you since Uncle Orley and I are pretty much like we’ve always been except a mite longer in the tooth as they say. Your uncle has it in his mind that we’re almost a month behind gettin’ the garden out and is just itchin’ to bust out.
Jim White
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We had a warm spell about a week back that he couldn’t waste so he got the garden all tilled up. Since then the weather has turned right uncooperative, but he still managed to plant some cabbage and put out onion sets. But he just can’t wait to get out there and play in the dirt. The only difference between him and a five-year-old boy is that your uncle is right eager to come in when I call him at noontime for dinner.
There is one thing that has been circlin’ the inside of my head like those NASCAR boys and their flashy cars. That big insurance business up there in New York that’s givin’ all that money to their top people has just set my blood to boilin’ for some reason or other. I can’t remember what the name is but they only use letters — P.I.G. or A.I.G. somethin’ like that.
Anyhow, if you think I’m riled, you ought to hear what’s bein’ said around these parts. No, on second thought, you bein’ ordained and all, maybe it’s just as well that you don’t. Uncle Orley took me to town the other day and when it got to be dinner time we were sittin’ in the Fill-A-Belly Deli. He takes me to such nice places to eat.
The fellers sittin’ at the counter — one of them was Mr. John Grayson, the president of the bank who is Episcopalian but his wife is Catholic and they’ve got seven kids — were just a-goin’ on and on about it. Mr. John Grayson said, “Why, think what you could do with that kind of money and think about how many people are unemployed! With 165 million dollars you could give every man, woman and child in our whole county $6,000! You could give 33,000 families that have lost their jobs $5,000 to get them through.”
“And not only that,” chimed in Mr. Henry Dodge the Chevrolet dealer in town which I hear is hangin’ by a thread, “but aren’t bonuses supposed to be given on the basis of good performance? Why, they ought to be fired instead of rewarded!” I always wondered if it would be hard to be a Chevy dealer named Henry Dodge.
Anyhow, another man sittin’ at the counter I didn’t know piped up, “Well they did a mighty fine job of running their dagnabbed company into the firm ground. You can say that for them. Liddy said he had to give them bonuses or they might leave and go to another mighty fine company. ” He’s the one who’s language I cleaned up for you.
Well, all that talk got me to thinkin’ which Orley says is dangerous. Well, first I was thinkin’ what kind of good could come of that kind of money. Why, that’s enough for ever Virginia Baptist church to get about $118,000. My gracious. No church would have an excuse for not puttin’ the Religious Herald in the budget after that, right Jimmy?
Or think of what else that money could do. That would run the BGAV for 10 years. Think of the orphanages and schools we could start in mission fields overseas or even here. Well … I just couldn’t stop thinkin’ about it once I commenced.
But all the deli talk got me thinkin’ in another direction, too. All that money was to keep those folks from wantin’ to leave and go to work for some other company. They claim there is a shortage of folks who will work there. But, could there really be a shortage of people willin’ to work for a million dollars a year? If I thought that could be true I’d put down this pen right this instant and get your uncle’s bags packed for his trip to New York — if I could drag him in out of the dirt, that is.
Now, here is where I’m goin’ with this. I don’t know about a shortage of New York City fat cats, but I know we just can’t keep good preachers. Just lookin’ in our association and figurin’ across the state there must be at least 185 churches that don’t have pastors right this minute. Now, that’s a shortage that can cause us a problem.
And I was talkin’ to Brother Bobby, our preacher here at Bluebell Baptist, and he says that most of the students at the seminaries feel called into all kinds of ministry except only a few hear God calling them to be pastors. It makes me think maybe we need to come up with some kind of a bonus plan to keep preachers.
Now, I know that preachers go where God calls and churches only call as pastor, preachers they believe God is leadin’ them to. But, I can’t help but notice that it happens more than seems right that soon after a church says, “We believe this is the one God is leadin’ us to” they then decide they can’t stand the preachin’ and send the pastor packin’. Or, sometimes preachers feel God leadin’ them to one congregation and all the while they’re lookin’ for a church with a taller steeple.”
Makes me think somethin’s not quite right in a lot of cases. But aside from that, I have to believe most pastors love their churches and churches love their pastors. If we had a bonus plan, we could encourage longer stays. Preachers wouldn’t be lookin’ to leave so they can buy clothes and such and churches wouldn’t have to keep goin’ through the hard times of not havin’ a pastor. If there are such things as lazy pastors, bonuses might incite industry. Bonuses could be paid based on how many visits they made or some such thing.
The trouble is, in addition to there bein’ a preacher shortage, there often seems to be a cash shortage as well. But bonuses wouldn’t have to be in cash money. They could be paid in kindness. In pats on the back and in encouragin’ words. Why, a lot of preachers would consider it a bonus if the deacons all stayed awake durin’ the sermon.
Or bonuses could be paid in vegetables from the garden. Well, if that doesn’t shine a new light on your Uncle’s plans for the day. Let me bring this to a close, dear nephew. I’ve got to join Uncle Orley in the pea patch to work on Brother Bobby’s bonus.
Come see us or at least call once in a while.
Love, Aunt Ida