Chapter 47 Wars in Babylon

Note: This is a memoir--life according to my fallible memory. This is my recollection, my point of view. I've done my best to tell the truth, but I'm sure these stories would sound very different if others told them.




It seemed to me the Hippocratic charge, “first to do no harm,” applied to pastors no less than than to physicians. But sometimes “doing no harm” appeared to be impossible. By virtue of my office as pastor I was required to make decisions between conflicting convictions and interests. Sometimes I could see no available path that did not offend or wound someone. I felt a desperate need for greater knowledge or better wisdom.

When I met with Elder Kretschmar to learn about my pastoral assignment, he cautioned me about the Babylon school—an eight-grade parochial school next door to the church. In the Adventist elementary school system, school payrolls are run by the conference. The sponsoring congregations reimburse the conference for a major portion of the payroll for their school. The Babylon Church had gotten so far behind on its obligations to the conference that the conference had voted to close the school. To avert this closure, Rollin, the former pastor, and, Ian , the principal, had proposed a novel plan: their wives would continue working as teachers at the school, but they would donate their salaries back to the conference to pay off the old debt. The congregation's only obligation then would be to keep current with on-going expenses.

Elder Kretschmar expressed admiration for the commitment to Christian education these two families demonstrated. But the whole arrangement was unconventional. I would need to keep my eye on things. Kretschmar didn’t say so explicitly, but it was clear he didn’t trust the plan or the players.

Rollin, the former Babylon Church pastor, lived in a conference-owned parsonage across the street from the church and school. He would remain there even though his pastoral assignment had changed. He offered to continue as chairman of the school board since I was new to the ministry and he was used to working with Ian and the school. I was happy for him to do so.

The principal, Ian Robinson, taught full time in a local public school, then came to the church school in the afternoons and evenings to handle the administrative tasks of the school, without any compensation. The time and energy he devoted to the school were incredible. Even when he was sick and on the verge of pneumonia for several weeks, still he was there every afternoon. This, on top of his wife's donation of her entire salary.

I was puzzled by the name of the school. Elder Kretschmar had referred to it as the Babylon School. But the school letterhead read Sound View Adventist School. The name would have made sense in Huntington which was adjacent to the Long Island Sound on the north side of Long Island. But Babylon was located on the south side of the island on the Great South Bay, not the Sound. Ian explained the name did not have a geographical meaning, rather it was a statement of philosophy. They had chosen the name to reflect the school's commitment to providing its students a sound education–a solid, trustworthy foundation for life.

At the first board meeting I attended–in February–we didn’t have a financial statement, but I didn’t think much of it. Rollin was an experienced pastor. He had been chairman for several years. If he wasn’t concerned, the lack of a financial statement was obviously not something to worry about. March and April board meetings we didn’t have financial statements either. I finally, asked Rollin about it. He acknowledged that this was a bit of problem. Ian had so much to do that he found it difficult to get the financial statements together. Rollin was working with him to try and get things taken care of.
In June, Elder Kretschmar called me. “John, I think we’ve come to the end. It was a great idea but it hasn’t worked. The Babylon School is $25,000 in the red. Naomi’s and Sue’s salary give back has helped a little bit, but the school is deeper in the hole now than it was last year. I think we should close it.”
I protested. What if I can get pledges to cover the debt? If we close the school, there’ll be no incentive to repay the debt. I’ll have no carrot. And you won’t have a stick.
“All right. See what you can do.”

I visited every home in both Babylon and Huntington Churches and asked for pledges to keep the school open. Some young adults pledged only ten dollars a month, but I added their pledges to my tally.
After I made my pitch in one home, the husband who seldom attended church said, “Pastor, listen. I wish I could run my business the way those people run that school. They just spend and spend and figure the money will come from somewhere. They have no idea of fiscal responsibility. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You get rid of the principal and I’ll pay the entire twenty-five thousand dollar debt. I’ll take care of the whole thing. You just get rid of that principal. And while you’re at it get rid of his wife, too.”
I was speechless. Ian and his wife were strong, in-your-face people. He came from a West Indian family. I thought she was also West Indian. (I was wrong. She came from a prominent African American family in Boston.) I didn’t like their style. I felt betrayed by Ian ’s failure to provide the board with regular financial statements. I knew the conference president would be happy to be rid of Ian .
But Mr. Smith's antipathy was so blatantly race-based (“those people” meant Black people) and his offer of money for their ouster was so crass, I knew I had to reject it. I felt trapped. I would have loved to work for Ian ’s ouster. But Mr. Smith had put me in a corner. If I cooperated in removing Ian as principal I could never live with my conscience.
I finished my canvass of every home in the two churches. I accumulated enough pledges that on paper at least, we should be debt-free by the end of the following school year, if enrollment and tuition payments held. The conference agreed to give us another year.
The following year, Rollin was gone as board chairman. I became chairman of the school board. In board meetings, Ian and I sparred constantly. I felt utterly outclassed by him. He was older. A good debater. His manner was professional. He had decades of experience in education. I often wished I could just get out of the way and let him do whatever he wanted to do. I felt desperately ill-prepared for the role I was cast in. I needed more knowledge, more experience, more wisdom. I had no idea where to turn for advice. The conference educational superintendent was useless. The conference president just wanted to be rid of Mr. Robinson, so I could hardly look to him for balanced advice. But while I wished I could abdicate, I felt a responsibility to the Babylon Church. The church was the final guarantor of the school’s finances. My first commitment was to the church not the school. I constantly fought to save money. Ian fought to enhance the quality of education offered by the school.
At one point late in the school year, I told the board, “I cannot work with Ian . Either he goes or I go.” Romelda Walker, an experienced administrator in the state mental health system, a West Indian with a pleasant manner but a firm hand, told me that was unacceptable. I had to get together with Ian and find a way to cooperate for the good of the school and the church. She said it carefully and respectfully. I didn’t like it, but she was obviously right. I tried spending some time with Ian in his office every week. We survived the school year, we didn’t become friends.





Mabel

The conference president had warned me of potential conflict with Ian Robinson, but he had said nothing to prepare me for Mabel. When I met her, I was impressed with her energy and zest. She obviously loved her church and was devoted to it. She had no use for my immediate predecessor, Rollin, but she talked of other pastors prior to him with affection. I was sure Mabel and I would get along great.
And we did for about a year. That first year, I did my best to listen and learn. This was my first parish. And while I had read a lot of books, and figured I was reasonably smart, I was at least occasionally aware of my inexperience. It helped that the saints of Babylon were gracious, good people. While the school was problematic nearly from the beginning, I was continually impressed with the sweetness and competence of the people at church. Marion the church clerk and her husband, Jim. Sue, the church treasurer. Sam, the head elder. Hans and Elzabeth Tauber. The Loughlins and Olivers. They did not need me to tell them how to run the church. They had been doing church together for decades, in some cases.
Mabel was the most outspoken at church board meetings. She had been there the longest. She knew how things had “always been done” and how they ought to be done. She was so pleased to have a new pastor, because the previous pastor had been completely unmanageable.
Toward the end of the first year, we began talking about remodeling the church. The stucco on the front of the church was cracked and water was coming through. The front steps of the church were disintegrating. The linoleum in the basement looked dreadful. I had read in books about the wars that can erupt when a church tries to choose carpet, so I suggested to the board that we ask Marion and Mabel to pick the carpet. Marion was the only person who appeared to get along with Mabel. Mabel would trust no one else’s opinion. And she had good taste.
On one level, the strategy worked. We ended up with new carpet without a fight. But on another level, it apparently failed. One reason I suggested having Mabel pick the carpet was to show her that while I might disagree with her, I still had high regard for her. As we moved into my second year and I began to offer my own opinions about directions for the church Mabel grew increasingly hostile.
She arrived at every board meeting breathing anger and frustration. We were not doing things the way they had always been done. I had to confront her over her ungracious behavior. One Sabbath, the head deacon left his fifteen year old son at church while he drove one of our elderly members home. The temperature was in the high thirties. It was raining. Mabel was in the church puttering around, putting things away when the deacon left. She finished before he returned. She wanted to go home (next door) and get her lunch. You can’t leave a teenager unattended in the church. You never know what they might do. So she put Jimmy outside on the back porch and locked up the church. When the deacon returned he found his thoroughly chilled, annoyed son shivering on the back porch.
I apologized to Jimmy. I ordered Mabel to never, ever do something like that again. She took offense.
Visitors sat in her accustomed seat in church. She came in after the church service started and asked them to move to a different pew. I took offense and lectured her on courtesy to guests. When I asked her if she thought she owned that pew, she answered, “Yes. My husband and I bought that pew. And no one else has a right to sit in it.”
Her “base of operation” was the “lay activities” table in the tiny lobby of the church. The “Lay Activities Department” used to be called “The Home Missionary Department.” Now it is called “Personal Ministries.” But whatever the name, its purpose has always been to encourage people to communicate their faith to people outside the church. And among Adventists a primary way of communicating our faith to outsiders has been literature. From her base in the lobby, Mabel would button hole members during various denominational campaigns seeking their commitment to sponsor magazine subscriptions for neighbors, friends, government leaders. These gift subscriptions would give the recipients an opportunity to become acquainted with “The Truth.”
Mabel was effective. Our church always did well in per capita participation in all of these denominational campaigns. But her table took up a quarter of the floor space in the tiny entry way. And her location in the lobby gave her the opportunity to annoy, offend and otherwise bother nearly everyone who came through the door. In addition, her title, Lay Activities Secretary, made her an ex officio board member. After the incident with Jimmy, I decided it was time for her to go. I had never heard someone cite general obnoxiousness as a cause for removing someone from church office. But it seemed to me that in an organization publicly devoted to Jesus, it was inappropriate to retain someone in leadership who was constantly wounding teenagers, friends and guests.
So when we convened our annual congregational nominating committee I proposed we remove Mabel. Her abrasive manner made Jesus and the church look bad to our kids. She offended guests. Her arrival at board meetings instantly transformed a pleasant, congenial atmosphere into a tense, silent dread. She never participated in Communion, the most venerated element of Christian worship.
I wanted us as a congregation to continue to welcome her as a member. I wanted us to show her care and respect. But, I argued, by retaining her in formal leadership, we were making the church an accessory to her discourtesy and aggression.
The women on the committee expressed concern. They could see my point, but they knew Mabel would be terribly hurt by this demotion. I countered that at some point leadership had to demonstrate more care for the “little people” than for themselves. The conversation lasted awhile. Committee members did not question my evaluation of Mabel’s behavior, but they could not bring themselves to remove her. They suggested I talk to her and tell her about our concerns. If she would agree to participate in Communion and practice greater courtesy and respect in her treatment of teenagers, guests and members, then we would continue her as the Lay Activities Secretary.
I talked with her. She agreed.
The next year, when the nominating committee met, I was ready. Mabel had not participated in Communion. She had not modified her unpleasant style of interacting with nearly everyone. And this year, there were new people on the nominating committee I was confident would support my decision. One on the new committee members was a math professor. A decade or so earlier, he had been deeply offended by a pastor in upstate New York. Tim’s wife had remained devout and devoted to the church, but he maintained a studied, careful distance. But over the past three years as our friendship developed, he had allowed himself to be drawn into church life. I was surprised and pleased when he accepted the invitation to serve on the nominating committee. Another man on the committee was Oliver, a business man, someone always open to change and new ideas.
At our second meeting we discussed Mabel. I made the same speech I had the year before about my concern for the youth in the church, about the value of a congenial atmosphere in board meetings where we dealt with church business. And I told the committee about the action of the previous committee insisting that Mabel agree to make changes if she was to remain in office. She had not made any change. It was time to act.
Again, the women voiced concern over what this would mean for Mabel. I countered with my concern about what inaction would say to our young people and how it would affect the life of the church. To my astonishment, Tim and Oliver entered the discussion on Mabel’s side. We were a congregation of mature people. Sure Mabel was rude, but we could handle it. We just considered the source. She wasn’t really doing all that much harm.
We talked awhile. My sense was that at least half the group would vote with me to remove Mabel from office. But I could tell that Tim and Oliver were not persuaded. And Marion was hesitant. She was the one woman in the church who had somehow found a way to get along with Mabel and I deeply respected her. I really thought we ought to remove Mabel from office. But I also thought such a drastic action should be taken only if we as a committee and ultimately the church were deeply united in taking it. That unity obviously did not exist in our committee so I withdrew my recommendation. We retained Mabel in office.
A month or two later, Tim talked to me about the meeting.
“John, when we discussed Mabel, I could see that if you pushed it, you could have gotten the committee to go along with you. Especially the women would not have voted against you, if you had insisted on a vote. You could have gotten your way. You could have gotten rid of Mabel.”
My first thought was, I sure missed that one! We could have had Mabel out of the way. But Tim wasn’t through.
“But you yielded to sense of the committee. You allowed the reservations and concerns of the committee to be fully expressed. You let us keep Mabel. I’ve never seen a pastor step back like that. Thanks.”
The next year, the committee voted unanimously to remove Mabel from office. The congregation supported the action without blinking. The literature table disappeared from the lobby. The entry of the church became a happy greeting space. Board meetings became pleasant. And Tim who had refused to every church office for more than ten years, agreed to serve as our new treasurer. It was safe to serve in a church where the pastor was not God.

One final note on Mabel: After I left the Babylon Church I was replaced by a man who had been serving as a faculty member at an Adventist high school and who lived in the same apartment building as Mabel. Mabel used to complain to him bitterly about me.
When he became pastor at first she was thrilled. But over the next few years she became as bitterly opposed to him as she had been to me. He would tell me “Mabel stories” when we met at clergy meetings.
At one clergy gathering he could hardly wait to get me into the hall so he could tell me the latest Mabel story. She had gotten very angry at him. No one, she said, had ever treated her as cruelly and disrespectfully in her whole life. Certainly no minister had ever been as mean and evil to her as he was.
Charlie couldn’t resist. He asked her, “What about McLarty?”
She had paused, thought for a minute, then said, “John? Why I never had any trouble with him.”


Ian Robinson, Continued.

The next year we elected Romelda as chairperson. She did a fine job, but our finances continued to slide. Part of the problem was that the Babylon Church was responsible for the entire subsidy of the school. All expenses above income from tuition were obligations of the church. But only ten percent of the students in the school came from the Babylon Church. Twenty-five percent came from the Huntington Church and almost fifty percent came from the Bay Shore Spanish Church. So an aging majority White congregation was paying well over half of its income to support a school for Blacks and Hispanics from other churches. With the exception of Mr. Smith, I did not hear much overt racial prejudice. In fact, I often wondered if I was more racist than the great majority of my congregation. I tried to subdue my own racial bias. But I knew it was there.
At one point a group of parents demanded to have a meeting with the school board. I agreed. The parents were not members of my church, but their students were in our school. The meeting rapidly degenerated into a bitter protest against me and the Babylon Church for not doing more to support the school. I did not defend myself. I listened. Responded where I thought it might be helpful and survived the night.
On one hand I felt unfairly judged. I was the one who had visited every home in my two churches soliciting pledges to keep the school open. I had strongly supported the massive fund raising program in the Huntington Church which sold Indian River citrus during the winter months to raise money for tuition support for students who attended Sound View. The Babylon Church put between sixty and seventy percent of its budget into school. Didn’t all of that count for something?
On the other hand, I wondered, would I have done more if these students had come from White homes? I was never sure I had transcended my own racial bias.

The following summer, the conference closed the school. The closure gave a huge financial relief to the church. It ended the war between the Robinsons and me, between the school and the church board. It made Mr. Smith glad–the Robinsons were gone and he didn’t have to pay. But I have wondered for twenty-five years if the school could have succeeded. Did I do everything I could have? Did I treat Ian fairly?
During the height of my conflict with Ian, his wife went into the hospital for surgery. I wondered whether I should go see her. I didn’t really want to and I figured showing up and acting “pastoral” would have been seen by them as the height of hypocrisy, given the intensity of our conflict. I was sure that if the roles were reversed and I was in the hospital, I would not want her or Ian to visit me, no matter what title they had. But after Sue was back teaching, she protested my failure to visit. Why did I stay away? Didn’t I regard her as a member of my church?
Part of me was tempted to dismiss her complaint as just clever rhetoric, a way to get in a dig at me. But I didn’t hear that in her voice. If I understood correctly, she was saying there was something about the role of pastor that was independent of my personal character or competence. When she was in the hospital she wanted the attention of her pastor. At that point, it did not matter that I was in constant conflict with her husband and had a testy relationship with her. I was still the pastor. No matter who I was as an individual, I still represented her community of faith. My presence had a unique capacity to make the church present in her life in that crisis. My absence was not merely personal. It meant her church had failed to keep her company in her distress.