I had just been called to serve my first Church.
It was a small rural church in deeply rural South Carolina. Jane and I used to say that we had moved to a land that time had forgotten. It was like the area was enchanted with the permanent things not only remembered but continuing to thrive. I used to have to drive to Columbia to work at the Airport and even Columbia, which is hardly a trend setting city, seemed like a jump forward in time.
Of course, when I say it was the land time forgot that is intended as a compliment.
However, that is not to say it was perfect. I could not have been there more than a month when I was called to help with a domestic dispute.
One of the chief families in the congregation had adult sons who owned land that was contiguous with one another and were thus neighbors. One day some kind of disagreement arose and I was called by one of the wife’s of these brothers to referee the dispute. She told me on the phone that “Everett and Delmar are fixin’ to quarrel and it looks to be blowin’ up a storm.”
I was pretty sure that meant there was tension in the air.
“Surely,” her reasoning was, “this is one reason why we have a minister. Ministers help out with these kinds of problems.”
“No problem,” I thought. This shouldn’t take to long.
I arrived and the two brothers were out on their property line yelling at each other. I don’t even remember what the dispute was about. After about an hour of the passage of time I was still trying to interject and call for calm when Delmar just pivots and leaves. I naturally thought that Delmar had finally just had enough of Everett and had given up in frustration. Turned out that I was wrong about that. I remained trying to talk calm into Everette by giving sound pastoral counsel;
“A soft answer turneth away wrath.”
“The wrath of man worketh not the righteousness of God.”
“Do not let the sun go down on your wrath.”
I was just beginning to launch on our duties according to the sixth commandment per the Westminster larger catechism when suddenly, I hear the front door open loudly at Delmar’s place and Delmar, with a determined look on his face, is returning boldly to our position.
Carrying his deer-hunting rifle in his hands.
Not to be outdone Everett instantly skedaddles to his house and quickly returns with his own deer-hunting rifle firmly in tow. Now, they are arguing vociferously once again, only this time as equipped with state-of-the-art deer rifles.
My abilities to defuse a hostile situation was working perfectly.
By this time the coon hounds had suspected that something was afoot with their masters and they were baying intermittently as I pled with both Delmar and Everett to calm down and take their rifles back home.
Johnny Cash lyrics suddenly swept through my head,
“Don’t take your guns to town son
Leave your guns at home Bill
Don’t take your guns to town.”
I was pretty sure that I had not skipped class the day in my Pastoral theology class from Seminary wherein we young wannabe ministers were instructed on how to handle such a situation where two brothers were vehemently and irrationally arguing nose to nose while holding their loaded firearms.
Now keep in mind that I was not stranger to domestic disputes. I had seen more than a few ugly ones of my own in the home I grew up in. But what I was witnessing now with the dueling loaded deer rifles was taking domestic dispute to a whole new level for me.
Also keep in mind that I couldn’t have been more than 5-7 years older than these arms wielding siblings. It’s not like I was some kind of generational font of wisdom that they would naturally respect. I was just the new “what does he know” minister in town.
And they were right … I didn’t know nothing. At least nothing about how to bring calm between a Hatfield and McCoy type family feud. In retrospect I knew nothing about a lot of things that ministers should know. I was a true green-horn rookie.
I was sure this was going to end badly. You would’ve had to have been there to understand why I felt that bloodshed was imminent. Let’s just say sturm und drang does not do justice to what I was witnessing. I was confident that my first ministerial attempt at resolving a domestic dispute was going to end up with me in some witness stand for a future murder charge against either Delmar or Everett.
I honestly don’t remember what finally found Everett and Delmar returning to their respective corners. I do remember saying something to the Father of the sons some time later. His laconic reply was first a hearty, “I declare,” followed by a “Yes, they do get ginned up that way from time to time.” That was it. The boys were just ginned up a bit.
I’m pretty confident that when my head hit the pillow that night I was more restless about the incident than either Delmar and Everett who very likely slept the sleep of the innocent that night. In retrospect, for them it was just another incident of sibling rivalry. For me it was, “I could’ve been killed.”
I also remember thinking … “Umm, nobody prepared me for this kind of thing.” And of course the charm of the our new environs was tarnished for awhile.
And naturally enough there were many more future surprises — good and not so good — that were in store for the Michigan Hillbilly in Rural Carolina.
I do declare!!
RuthAnn Holley