“Let me feel the weight of your decisions.”

A couple week ago I was standing in a shopping area of Portland waiting for the bus.  Two women and a man walked by.  They were so close I had to move to keep our bodies from touching.  It was okay.  Portlanders don’t demand personal space in the same way people do in other parts of the country, say in…Southern California.  The man walked a little ahead to make room for the two women on the sidewalk.  One of the women carried a bag in her right hand and talked about how she really went all out with her shopping.  The women to her side partially took the bag from her friend’s hand saying, “Let me feel the weight of your decisions.” 

coffee at the Presbyterian men’s club

            When the Reverend Charles Kreisthammer had attended his nephew’s ordination as Bishop, he had never seen so much gold and colors in a church before, never heard so many bells, or smelled so much incense.  It had made him a little uncomfortable.

 Bishop Aristotle had been Bishop of the Orthodox Church in America’s east-coast diocese for one year when he received the call from his Uncle offering to return the favor.  Bishop Aristotle was invited to the Presbyterian mens Wednesday morning bible study and discussion group. 

Even though they both lived in Boston, there paths seldom crossed and Bishop Aristotle welcomed this opportunity of spending time with his Uncle Kreisthammer. 

It was with no little apprehension, though, that he made his way to the church, a magnificent one hundred year old edifice in stone and ferns growing around the sides, and prepared himself to endure the stairs of the secretary and whatever other people were about.  He had just returned from Russia where his position had insured him free-rides on buses.  He was still getting used to people asking him what all his robes and crosses were for.  Yesterday a little girl had come up to him and asked, to the profound embarrassment of her mother, “Are you Santa Clause?” 

He looked on these people in a paternal way.  He had been raised Baptist and was by no means unfamiliar with that world.  In many ways he viewed people like those he was about to meet as one might the younger cousin when growing up. 

This particular church was a self-governing Presbyterian church.  They had broken away from the main Presbyterian body because of what they perceived as the seeping in of theological liberalism. 

“Thank you for coming,” his Uncle said when the Bishop walked into the room, offering him coffee.  

All the men gathered around the table stood briefly and then sat down again.  They did their best to conceal their shock, but many of them had never seen a bishop before, certainly not one in uniform. 

“Well, now that we’re all here, we can begin,” said the Reverend Kreisthammer.

“Let’s open in prayer.”  After so many years of preaching hell-fire, a fierceness had settled over the whole physiognomy of the Reverend Kreisthammer and his voice had become gravelly.

            Bishop Aristotle’s eyes shifted about nervously.  He crossed himself, wondering what he was doing here since, by their name Presbyterian, these men obviously didn’t believe in the need for Bishops. 

            “My nephew is a Bishop in the Eastern Orthodox Church,” said Kreisthammer.  “I attended his ordination last year so I am very pleased that he has been able to join us.”

            “Do you believe in total depravity?” asked a man, abruptly, almost interrupting Kreisthammer.

            “Nope,” replied the Bishop.

 Some murmurings could be heard.

            “Do you believe in original sin?” asked another.

            “Nope,” replied the Bishop again. 

            More murmurings this time, followed by concerned glances at each other.

            “Well do you believe in the bible?” asked yet another, a little louder.

            “Yep.”

            “Well why didn’t you say that in the first place,” said Reverend Kreisthammer, intervening. 

Sighs of relief could be heard, as if everyone were wiping the sweat from their brows and a danger had been averted. 

            After a tense pause, the Reverend Kreisthammer spoke again.  “Why don’t you tell us now just what it is you people do believe,” he said, looking down.

            “Yes yes, please do,” some of the men said, nodding their heads.

            “Are you gentleman familiar with the Nicean creed?”

            “We say the Nicean creed,” answered his Uncle, nodding.

            “Then it appears we are in agreement,” replied the Bishop.  And then, quieter, “Or at least superficially.”

            “Oh I am glad,” replied the very Reverend Charles Kreisthammer.  “I don’t want you phoning our family and telling them about your mad adventures at the Presbyterian men’s club.