Dick Piscatelli was a
“heart of my heart” sort of man. “We were rough and ready guys, but oh, how we
could harmonize.” Dick liked to sing, but he was definitely rough and ready. A
third generation Portuguese man in Boston, a construction worker.
When he met Carol at the
shop where she worked, he was impressed. She was classy. She had graduated high
school. She didn’t cuss. She wore skirts.
He asked her for a date,
for Sunday night. She said, “No, I go to church on Sunday nights because I have
to work on Sunday mornings.”
“Then I’ll go with you,”
Dick said.
He was sort of Catholic,
and assumed it was a Catholic church, not knowing enough about his “own”
church, where he went only on special occasions, that they didn’t have Sunday
night services.
It was a Methodist church.
On the way home, Dick said to Carol, “I think God just called me to be a
preacher.”
So they married, and went
to college and seminary, and somehow from Boston got into the Central IL
Conference of the United Methodist Church. [New England Methodism is very
limited in number of congregations and many ordinands from there have to go
elsewhere.] {1}
He was a good friend and
fellow pastor. Even though I’m retired, Dick is still at it, pastoring in
Williamsville, IL. Because of his pastoral concerns, he was a great supporter
of my cancer book. I’m glad that the Lord work in mysterious ways, and that the
Lord equips those he calls.
No point. I just think it’s
a fascinating story. Oh, piscatelli means “little fish.” Dick Piscatelli may
have done his work in small ponds [towns], but his is a big story, to live and
to tell.
JRMcF
1} Sphelczhek doesn’t deal
with ecclesiastical words very well at all. It always changes pastor to pasture
and doesn’t even have a clue about words like ordinands.
I tweet occasionally as
yooper1721.
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