TOMBROWNONARGA [W,2-10-21]

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter

TOMBROWNONARGA  [W,2-10-21]

 

I’m afraid I’m becoming Tom Brownonarga. That’s what Helen thought his name was, for years, because he was the pastor in Onarga through most of the years she went to annual conference with me, and he loved to speak on the floor of annual conference, [1] on any and every subject.

When you stood at one of the floor microphones at annual conference to speak, first you stated your name and the name of your church. It was only after Tom was moved from Onarga that Helen realized Onarga was not part of his name. He was so eager to start talking that he just ran it all together.

Tom was a good and sincere Christian preacher, but he did not understand boundaries of any kind, or how he was seen by others. And, apparently, he loved the sound of his own voice. Nothing at all came before the conference, from the smallest matter of rules of order to the largest concern of mission outreach, that Tom felt could go by without his input. And he was always on the wrong side, not because he was a bad person, but because he did not understand rules of order or the results and ramifications of mission activity.

It reminds me of the story of the preacher who had never gotten to say anything at all at a conference, until one day they asked him to make an announcement. As he did so, seeing all those faces out there, he got carried away and just kept talking. On and on and on. The presiding bishop kept trying to get his attention, to bring him to halt, even pounding the table with his gavel, all to no avail. Finally in frustration the bishop threw her gavel at the man. But she missed, and hit a guy sitting in the front row. He gasped out, “Hit me again; I can still hear him.”

That was the way people reacted when they heard “Tombrownornaga…”

Tom had a brother who was also a clergy member of conference. He never spoke at conference. He kept a low-profile. He loved his brother, Tom, but he was also a little embarrassed by him, and for him.

Our daughters were both youth members of annual conference, one after the other. As a high schooler, Katie was new and did not understand that you did not argue with Tom Brownonarga on the floor of conference. You just let him speak and then everything went on. So she and Tom got into a spirited debate on the floor of conference about some long-forgotten subject just before lunch time. They were not about to let lunch slow them down, so they continued their discussion on the way to the cafeteria. Jack Newsome and I were walking down the hall behind them and Jack said, “What in the world are they doing?”

Well, the answer was that they were circling each other as they walked, a strange kind of debate dance, so intent on their argument they didn’t see what they were doing, for Katie was deaf in her left ear and needed to get Tom on her right side, and Tom was blind in his left eye, and needed to get Katie on his right side. Round and round they went.

The church, especially the conference, was Tom’s world. He loved it. It meant everything to him. I think the only time he had a problem with words at annual conference was when he gave his retirement speech. You’re allowed only two minutes, and that was not enough for Tom. He stumbled around, trying to tell how much the conference meant to him, never getting it right.

He didn’t live long after retirement. He didn’t have anything to live for.

As he lay dying, he was mumbling things others could not understand, until his brother said, “Oh…he’s doing his retirement speech at annual conference. He felt like he didn’t get it right, and he’s been redoing it, over and over, ever since he retired, trying to say how much he loved it.”

I can’t even remember what I said at my retirement. Two minutes wasn’t enough for me, either. But there are other speeches, other moments, other statements, that I want to redo, get right. Not for others. Most of those who heard me back then are dead now anyway. But I’d like finally to get it right for my own sake.

If you do that sort of thing… well, for heaven’s sake, stop it. That’s like being Tom Brownonarga.

Or maybe that’s okay.

John Robert McFarland

1] In Methodist terms, a conference is a geographical area. All the churches, pastors, institutions, etc. in that area are part of the conference. The annual conference is the annual meeting of all the pastors and lay members from each of the congregations meeting together for doing business [ordinations, mission budgets, etc] and mutual encouragement.