An Adventure
15/06/13 04:09
I am not one to talk about my clergy colleagues very much, but there is a pastor who is an acquaintance of mine who lives in an unnamed state that happens to be directly north of the state where I live. This pastor has had what I think most might call an “unconventional career.” He grew up in Connecticut and somehow ended up in the Dakotas. He has served congregations in both of the Dakotas as well as a church in Montana. Along the way, he studied the Lakota language with some of the elders on the Rosebud and became fluent enough to have done some translation, including the Lakota words to “Amazing Grace” that appear in the New Century Hymnal. Not that I would want to drop any names, but his appears in the hymnal as the author of those lyrics.
He has established a bit of a reputation for his hobbies, which include hunting, fishing, motorcycle riding and the 27-foot Hunter sailboat that he keeps moored at the marina on Lake Sacajawea. The boat is large enough to sleep four and has a full galley. He has been known to take groups of kids out for their first introduction to sailing and he and his wife go on sailing/camping adventures around the lake.
Yesterday, after officiating at a memorial service, this pastor was eager to get out on the lake. There was a stiff breeze, a common condition in North Dakota, not that I would identify the location of this particular incident. He joined the congregation in the church basement for lunch and visited with a few of the people, but left the church in the care of the women who served the luncheon. They probably remembered to check things and blow out the candles in the sanctuary and tidy up after the funeral. It is a small town and it isn’t always necessary to have the church locked, so there was no big concern over who would handle those duties.
Meanwhile, the family of the deceased gathered at a lakeshore cabin, loaned to the family by a friend. It was a chance for some more conversation, sharing memories, looking at pictures and visiting before everyone had to head to their homes the next day. The cabin had a barbecue and the family had stopped by the grocery store for hamburger, bratwurst and a few containers of salad from the deli for supper. The burgers were on the grill when the sailboat appeared in the inlet. Soon the sail was struck and it gracefully motored up to the dock. Being interested in boats and not being occupied with the cooking, I thought about walking down to have a closer look at the boat, but thought I should probably wait because supper was nearly ready.
Now preachers have a well-honed sense of a meal about to be served. Over the years, those of us who practice the profession can sense an extra serving available from a long distance. This particular preacher, a colleague whom I won’t name, walked up to the cabin at precisely the right moment to be invited to dinner. He was eager to accept, but he also needed to get his sailboat back into its slip before darkness fell. Although there is plenty of evening this time of year in North Dakota, he suggested that he give some of the family a ride on his sailboat. They would just take a quick sail around the point and then he’d bring them back for supper in his car. I enjoy sailing, but declined the invitation because I felt it was more appropriate to spend time with the family, not that I would need to identify the family in order to tell this story. A couple of family members accepted the invitation. I walked them all down to the boat, took a quick look at it and watched as they motored away from the dock and hoisted sail.
An hour later, slightly irritated because the family super had been disrupted, I walked down to the shore to take a picture of the sunset over the lake. There was the sailboat, right where I had last seen it, tilted over a bit, obviously run aground on a sandbar. Knowing that I would have no chance of pulling a boat with a 1500-pound keel off of a sandbar with my rowboat, we found a neighbor with a 18-foot Lund fishing boat equipped with a 115-horsepower motor and headed out to attempt a rescue. The sailboat didn’t have much for a line and the wind made it difficult to get the pull angles just right. There was no way we were going to move that sailboat with that particular craft.
By the time we returned to shore, calls had gone out to various organizations. The fire department doesn’t really handle lake rescues. The search and rescue had the ability to take the people off of the boat, but no way to get the boat off of the sandbar. And, since there was no real risk of injury to anyone, they were reluctant to get involved in the incident. Finally the state department of fish and game agreed to make a trip out in their Boston Whaler with twin outboards. Once they arrived, it only took a few minutes to secure a towline and pull the boat out into deeper water.
As the sun set over the lake, more than three hours after the short sail began, we watched the sailboat disappear around the bend as we said our farewells to the family and headed back to our camper and made it to bed about an hour later than planned.
During the adventure while I sat with one of the members of the congregation on shore waiting for the fish and game people to arrive, the member of the church commented, “Well, there’s probably at least three good sermons in that adventure.” I responded, “At least five. If pastor Steve (whose name I won’t mention) gets three, I should get at least two.”
No one was injured. No harm was done to the boat. And there are several stories to be told. The local newspaper will probably include a bit of a report. And the pastor will endure quite a bit of ribbing around town for a few weeks. Not bad for a Friday afternoon. Not that I would tell stories on my colleagues.
Yesterday, after officiating at a memorial service, this pastor was eager to get out on the lake. There was a stiff breeze, a common condition in North Dakota, not that I would identify the location of this particular incident. He joined the congregation in the church basement for lunch and visited with a few of the people, but left the church in the care of the women who served the luncheon. They probably remembered to check things and blow out the candles in the sanctuary and tidy up after the funeral. It is a small town and it isn’t always necessary to have the church locked, so there was no big concern over who would handle those duties.
Now preachers have a well-honed sense of a meal about to be served. Over the years, those of us who practice the profession can sense an extra serving available from a long distance. This particular preacher, a colleague whom I won’t name, walked up to the cabin at precisely the right moment to be invited to dinner. He was eager to accept, but he also needed to get his sailboat back into its slip before darkness fell. Although there is plenty of evening this time of year in North Dakota, he suggested that he give some of the family a ride on his sailboat. They would just take a quick sail around the point and then he’d bring them back for supper in his car. I enjoy sailing, but declined the invitation because I felt it was more appropriate to spend time with the family, not that I would need to identify the family in order to tell this story. A couple of family members accepted the invitation. I walked them all down to the boat, took a quick look at it and watched as they motored away from the dock and hoisted sail.
An hour later, slightly irritated because the family super had been disrupted, I walked down to the shore to take a picture of the sunset over the lake. There was the sailboat, right where I had last seen it, tilted over a bit, obviously run aground on a sandbar. Knowing that I would have no chance of pulling a boat with a 1500-pound keel off of a sandbar with my rowboat, we found a neighbor with a 18-foot Lund fishing boat equipped with a 115-horsepower motor and headed out to attempt a rescue. The sailboat didn’t have much for a line and the wind made it difficult to get the pull angles just right. There was no way we were going to move that sailboat with that particular craft.
As the sun set over the lake, more than three hours after the short sail began, we watched the sailboat disappear around the bend as we said our farewells to the family and headed back to our camper and made it to bed about an hour later than planned.
No one was injured. No harm was done to the boat. And there are several stories to be told. The local newspaper will probably include a bit of a report. And the pastor will endure quite a bit of ribbing around town for a few weeks. Not bad for a Friday afternoon. Not that I would tell stories on my colleagues.