conversation #1
We are at St. Paul Lutheran church to hear Syd sing in his school choir. This is the church we married in, and I don't think I've been inside more than once in the 22 years that have followed our wedding.
A sweet elderly lady sitting in the pew in front of us turns around as she gets up. "I forgot this is where Neumann sits."
Neumann? I realize the pastor who married us, now retired, is about to re-enter our world. I'm not sure how I feel about it. Outlandish is a good way to describe Fred Neumann. During our marriage counseling, Steve got up and left the pastor's study to get something from the car. Pastor Neumann turned to me and said, "You don't have to do this."
Wearing a dark suit, Neumann lumbers into the pew with a cane. A bear of a man, now standing a little less straight. "Call me Pester Neumann," he says to the family sitting in front of him. "That's what I do. P-E-S-T-E-R." He half falls back into the pew and raises a leg up, his foot clod in a special orthopedic shoe.
Steve and I look at each other. "Are you Pastor Neumann?" Steve says. "You married us 22 years ago."
"Yeah?" he says. "How'd I do?"
"Great," says Steve.
Neumann looks at me carefully. "You are so beautiful," he says to me. He doesn't remember me, I can tell.
During the liturgy, Neumann turns around and addresses Ben. "I'm starving. Are you? You don't happen to have a Big Mac on you, do you?"
I follow him up to communion later in the service, he walking slowly down the side with his cane. The church is as beautiful as ever with the blonde wood carvings and bright stained glass windows. The majestic organ resonates beautifully within her walls. We bow low before kneeling to take communion; Neumann stands and crosses himself. I notice he does this everytime the Trinity is referred to throughout the service.
After communion, he disappears. At the end of the service he is back. "You're a beautiful, sweet girl," he tells me.
He turns to Ben and pulls out a dog-eared, folded up piece of paper out of his suit. "If I give you this, will you read it?" Ben, not knowing what to say, nods politely. "I wrote it," says Neumann. I look at it later and see it's a devotional he delivered to a church in the area.
We say goodbye and he doesn't, but just stands there and smiles. It's bittersweet, to be standing in the place I said my vows next to a pastor who doesn't remember me. But it's good to see him anyway.
A sweet elderly lady sitting in the pew in front of us turns around as she gets up. "I forgot this is where Neumann sits."
Neumann? I realize the pastor who married us, now retired, is about to re-enter our world. I'm not sure how I feel about it. Outlandish is a good way to describe Fred Neumann. During our marriage counseling, Steve got up and left the pastor's study to get something from the car. Pastor Neumann turned to me and said, "You don't have to do this."
Wearing a dark suit, Neumann lumbers into the pew with a cane. A bear of a man, now standing a little less straight. "Call me Pester Neumann," he says to the family sitting in front of him. "That's what I do. P-E-S-T-E-R." He half falls back into the pew and raises a leg up, his foot clod in a special orthopedic shoe.
Steve and I look at each other. "Are you Pastor Neumann?" Steve says. "You married us 22 years ago."
"Yeah?" he says. "How'd I do?"
"Great," says Steve.
Neumann looks at me carefully. "You are so beautiful," he says to me. He doesn't remember me, I can tell.
During the liturgy, Neumann turns around and addresses Ben. "I'm starving. Are you? You don't happen to have a Big Mac on you, do you?"
I follow him up to communion later in the service, he walking slowly down the side with his cane. The church is as beautiful as ever with the blonde wood carvings and bright stained glass windows. The majestic organ resonates beautifully within her walls. We bow low before kneeling to take communion; Neumann stands and crosses himself. I notice he does this everytime the Trinity is referred to throughout the service.
After communion, he disappears. At the end of the service he is back. "You're a beautiful, sweet girl," he tells me.
He turns to Ben and pulls out a dog-eared, folded up piece of paper out of his suit. "If I give you this, will you read it?" Ben, not knowing what to say, nods politely. "I wrote it," says Neumann. I look at it later and see it's a devotional he delivered to a church in the area.
We say goodbye and he doesn't, but just stands there and smiles. It's bittersweet, to be standing in the place I said my vows next to a pastor who doesn't remember me. But it's good to see him anyway.