Will you tell us, again and again, about “the love that will not let us go,” not ever?Will you believe with us—and for us—that the kingdom is truer than we know—and that there are no shortcuts? Then, one by one, they took the pen and signed their names.Their mailboxes shared a weathered post at the end of the gravel lane.
Though a thankless job, their assignment did mean that every Thursday night they’d sit in the church’s empty manse, drink Folgers, and enjoy a few minutes shooting the bull.
Will you tell us the truth—that the huckster promise of a quick fix or some glitzy church dream is 100 percent BS? Jonas Mc Ann’s nightstand held a pile of correspondence from church committees, questionnaires and profiles bulging from a manila folder.
On top of the folder sat his disheveled pile of current reads: Mark Spragg’s , published by inmates from the county jail.
The silence stretched on, and no one had the energy to break it. Dear Potential Pastor, Thank you for your interest in Granby Presbyterian Church.
“I’m bone-tired of interviews,” Amy finally said, as she set her frost-blue mug on the table and reached into her purse. We’re a pretty vanilla congregation, though we do have enough ornery characters to keep a pastor hopping.