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Bud Grossmann’s
Words of the Week
for the Week of
June 29, 2008
Published as Family History
in a Gramma Letter dated
September 20, 1994.
© 1994 by Bud Grossmann.
All Rights Reserved.
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Stained Glass, 1982
© 1982 by Bud Grossmann
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AN UNORTHODOX HOSPITALITY
Tuesday, September 20, 1994
Dear Gramma,
Do you remember Vicar Kevin Cortez, your “student pastor” last year at St. John’s Evangelical Lutheran Church in Pardeeville? I suppose Kevin went back to seminary at the end of the summer of 1993, and I hope he is about ready now to be ordained as a pastor in your denomination.
That same summer, do you recall going over to Pardeeville one sunny afternoon after many days of rains and high water? Your granddaughter Janie drove you and me and my son David. We stopped first at the Cummings Family burial plot in Wyocena Cemetery and paid our respects to those of your branch of our family who are laid to rest there. Then Jane drove us to Pardeeville just to take a look at the flood waters—some of the streets of the town were still impassable—and you thought maybe you’d like to go inside your church building. You hadn’t been to a Sunday service at St. John’s in some months. “But it won’t be open on a weekday, will it?” you asked. “Well, Granny, we shall see,” I said.
You were right, the door was locked. But we found Vicar Cortez at home, next door. He was busy making phone calls arranging a funeral for a parishioner, and he was alone with his baby daughter who was napping, but he grabbed the church keys and sprinted over to open the sanctuary. “You are always welcome here,” the vicar told us. We went inside and sat down to pray and enjoy the silence and majesty of the place.
When we thanked the vicar, I decided to impose upon him for one more favor: I asked if he would stand with you for what I call a “tourist picture,” a look-at-the-camera-and-smile snapshot. I took one, as I recall, with my 35mm camera, but I had my dad’s video camcorder with me, too. So I quickly turned on the “movie” camera—a camcorder makes moving pictures and sound, you know—and without thinking at all, I began narrating: “Here is Vicar Kevin Cortez, the finest Wisconsin Synod Lutheran I ever met....”
The man looked horrified. “Oh, no!” he cried. “What about, well, what about your grandmother here?”
“Oh, yes,” I replied, “my grandmother is a saint, but I never heard a Wisconsin Synod clergyperson say ‘You’re always welcome here’ to some other brand of Christian before. Kevin, you’re the finest, friendliest Wisconsin Synod person I ever...”
At that point I began to realize that I was paying this poor fellow a terrible back-handed compliment. I was praising him for his warmth but castigating the church that had called him to service for the Lord. But, so it goes. I didn’t feel too bad about it.
This past Sunday, Gramma, I “preached” a children’s sermon during Sunday worship at my church here in Hawaii. I’m enclosing a printed version of what I said. Lest you worry that I lack humility, I’ll explain to you that the title, “A Great Story,” is a joke.
In the scriptural text for my remarks, Jesus urged his followers to welcome and serve children and other “lowly” and powerless persons. When I read that gospel lesson, Gramma, I thought fondly of you and all the hospitality and acceptance you have shown to people of all kinds. And I thought especially fondly of Pastor Kevin Cortez; I gave thanks to God for men and women like your vicar, and I wished Kevin a long and joy-filled career in the church.
Gram, I’ve gone a long while without a letter from you. Crack your secretaries on the knuckles with your cane, won't you, please? I want some news from Wyocena.
Love,
Buddy
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