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From Magic City Morning Star J. Grant Swank
Jack White, District Superintendent, New York District, Church of the Nazarene, was a good man. One thing though: he promised us a refrigerator that worked in the Fishkill parsonage. He didn't produce. But on other counts, he was okay. He's dead now. Herman L. G. White, District Superintendent, Calgary West District, Church of the Nazarene, was the most sterling boss I ever had. He was compassionate, sincerely so. He was godlike. He was neither proud nor political, which is saying something for a District Superintendent in the Church of the Nazarene. He's dead now. Bill Taylor, District Superintendent, New England District, Church of the Nazarene, was one super friend. He was more than a DS. He was a mentor of the first class. He did not fit in either with the politically opportunistic. He was a real life pastor from the get-go. He's dead now. Now George Douglas, Assistant District Superintendent, New England District, Church of the Nazarene, was a little shot who wanted to be a big shot. He threw his weight around when serving in between superintendents. He called me into his office to tell me I was out of line with the denomination's Manual. I had put up "Wayside Chapel" for a lawn sign. Beneath it on a separate board were the words "Church of the Nazarene." But the time he drove by the church to spy me out, the smaller sign was lifted, being repainted. He called me on the carpet for placing "Wayside Chapel" on the larger sign and castigated me for having no mention of the Church of the Nazarene. He didn't bother to ask me about specifics; so I didn't tell him the smaller sign was being repainted and would soon be back in its place. I knew he played the party line. Therefore, I concluded he did not deserve my explanation. Later on, he kept in touch with me to congratulate me on my writings. I wondered if he had a change of heart about me. Anyhow, he's still alive somewhere, as far as I know. Dr. Eugene Snow, General Superintendent, Church of the Nazarene, wrote me a nasty letter, unfairly criticizing me for an article on religion I had published in CHRISTINAITY TODAY. I had spoken pastoring reality; he, a company man, did not like that. He championed masking negative realities about the vocation. I wrote him back my defense. He must have changed his attitude toward me. When the next annual district assembly rolled around, he informed the entire gathering about how much he appreciated my writings in various interdenominational periodicals. I could have fallen off the pew. He's alive somewhere, I think, but no longer General Superintendent. Just as well. Dr. Samuel Young, General Superintendent, Church of the Nazarene, phoned me to tell me it was God's will for me to assist Pastor Paul Moore at the Hackensack, New Jersey, Church. The short of it was that Paul was inefficient. He was a denominational player, all right. He was a glamour boy for the church and served well as a Pied Piper - charisma, charming. But he couldn't get his daily schedule together. I then was to be his waterboy. So I drove to New Jersey to check the place out. It was in a horrible mess as far as facility was concerned. Yet I was to oversee the crumbling facility. When I asked Jack White, DS, where I was to live, he admitted he had no idea. When I asked what my salary was to be, he really didn't know that either. Here was an older man, Jack White, and a GS, Dr. Young, telling me in no uncertain terms that it was the divine plan for me to move to New Jersey, but in my logic head I concluded they didn't know what they were talking about. I learned over time that some "men of God" spoke for God on too many occasions when God indeed had nothing to do with it. I was glad I never went to Jersey. The last I saw Paul Moore he owned a gift shop in a classy coastal village in Maine. Layman Jim Fisher undercut me in the Maine pastorate. He was once my friend. Then he betrayed me. He enjoyed his power over laity. He did everything he could to ruin my ministry. One morning his son found him dead in his bed. Mike Dion joined Jim in cutting me off at the knees in ministry. Mike was once my friend, too. But then he joined the coalition to play turncoat. He dropped dead soon after that. His wife, Jean, screamed at me across her front lawn. She poked the sky with her finger, shouting all sorts of madness in my ears so every neighbor could hear. She's now dead. Barbara and Fran Lund tried to undercut me by taping my sermons, thinking I was going to incriminate myself somehow. They hid the tape recorder in the pew; but I found out about it the first Sunday they planted it. Later Barbara dropped dead. Dave Webb claimed to be my friend in that pastorate. But I learned after some years that what I preached in the pulpit about tithing, keeping the Lord's Day holy, living the sanctified life and such was undercut by his compromising lessons to the young adults during Sunday school hour. He was a preacher-wannabe of sorts. At least he wanted to play pastor of the young adult church within the church, obviously making me the old man out. He's still alive, in body, somewhere. Linda Minott claimed I had demons. She was the church custodian. She avoided even my shadow, running from the church building to the fellowship hall so as not to come near my presence. She and her husband, Bernie, worked quite hard Sunday after Sunday to bring the damper down upon every service. Bob Shane played friend to me for many years. But then he joined Jim and Mike. I later learned that he was the one who had promised the DS that certain improvements would be made to the parsonage prior to our moving to Maine. And how that parsonage needed a lot of work! It was a wreck. But it was a few weeks before we were to move in when Bob had done absolutely nothing he had promised. Other laymen had to pitch in in literally the last hours to fix matters. Bob never let on to me that in fact he worked it so that he played no significant role in anything having to do with manual labor when it came to maintaining church and parsonage property. He's still alive in body, existing just up the road from me. May God have mercy on his soul. Clarence Hildreth, District Superintendent, Maine District, Church of the Nazarene, is the one who believed a lie told him by another pastor. The lie was that I had said that we had to get rid of Clarence. I never said that but he believed that I had said that. He held that against me for years till he could find a way to oust me. Just before he brought down the ax, he moved to another district. Then followed Roland Dunlop as District Superintendent. Roland had it in for me because I would not agree to him charging $400 for a young couple to rent his church facility for a wedding and reception. The couple was poor. Besides that, within the denomination we share facilities without charge. But he demanded the rental fee. I would not go along with him on that and told him so. When he got elected to DS, he showed up on a Sunday evening with his clone District Advisory Board. They yanked from me my parsonage, salary, health coverage, and pastorate. He's alive somewhere - in body. May God have mercy on his soul. The same for Clarence. One of the five books I authored was entitled ONE CHRISTMAS I MET AN ANGEL, published by Beacon Hill Press of Kansas City, the denominational publishing house for the Church of the Nazarene. When I was ousted by Dunlop, the headquarters threw away 2000 remaining copies of my book. Just threw them away. When my friends phoned Kansas City to get copies for that Christmas they were told that the book was no longer available. The man in charge, I have since forgotten his name, is probably still alive. May God have mercy on his soul. Richard Taylor, professor of holiness, Nazarene Theological Seminary, Kansas City, Missouri, was one of the godliest men I have ever known. When he, then retired, learned what the denomination had done to me, he wrote me that I had to watch out for the dark side of the denomination. It was then that I knew him to have a wisdom far beyond us younger ones. I admired him for telling me the bald truth. He's since died. I have known for nearly half a century in ministry those who have literally died and those who have died in their souls - died before their bodies. That's part of existing here below. No doubt everyone can tell a similar story. Yet thinking back this Thanksgiving, I thank God for them all. The ones who meant me harm taught me how to trust God even when they as enemies mounted up as vultures ready to pick clean the bones of a preacher man. All the while the sincerely good ones kept the light burning for me every step of the way. I say to them all: Thank you. J. Grant Swank Jr. © Copyright 2002-2008 by Magic City Morning Star |