A Fowl Bawl

Being served any kind of chicken places me under extreme social distress.  So I scratch around on my plate until the chicken bits are well hidden under the vegetables.

            Growing up in the deep south I heard lots of scary stories about how much preachers enjoyed fried chicken, including the jolly identification of the rearmost portion of the chicken’s anatomy as “the preacher’s nose.”  I never learned whether this tidbutt was supposed to be wonderfully succulent or extremely disgusting. Either way I am not eating it.

            In 1960 I carefully avoided informing the Presbytery of East Arkansas that according to my deepest convictions all chicken is fowl.  I could not be sure that my fondness for cornbread, true grits, turnip greens, and black-eyed peas was sufficient qualification for ministry in the Presbyterian Church below the Mason-Dixon waist line.

            These remembrances were occasioned by a long trip with a group of nice people who happily ate chicken parts three times a day.  On the few occasions when the menu did not include chicken it was still not paltry on poultry.  Apparently wings were required to fly onto our table.  We turkeys were alternately goosed or ducked.  Since I am not a quack, I did not crow or squawk.  I simply ate a lot of bread.  I thought I was handling my eating preference with considerable aplomb.  In fact, I would have welcomed a plum.  But one day to my dismay my problem was noticed and moved onto the group’s agenda.  This meant a general hoot of delight in calling my attention to the next serving of chicken.  The old conundrum:  “Which came first the chicken or the egg?” may be a savory topic for sages but I know the answer.  The egg comes first for breakfast and then the chicken comes – again and again and again.  If the sky is falling, I can eat chicken a little, but I had rather beef a lot or ham it up.  I like my fowl choices to go unremarked.

            The point is that some problems can best be quietly and privately endured without making a public fuss.  Individuals are generally taken for granted by their communities because life is a set of customary practices interrupted only occasionally by a disturbing thought.  Blessedly, some potentially serious problems can quietly disappear with the unremarked passage of time. 

            Sadly, this consummation devoutly to be wished is not occurring on three issues for Presbyterians who would otherwise like to travel together.  The first is historical:  the nature and authority of Scripture.  The second is theological:  the natures and work of Jesus Christ.  The third is social:  the nature and practice of human sexuality.  This last is an issue we carry around under our clothes everywhere we go.  Nobody, no body, escapes.  Since Eros makes the world go around, love in its protean shapes is a constant of the human condition.  Given so powerful a human drive, one may wonder how much sexual behavior has actually changed over the centuries.  Undoubtedly, the development of modern contraceptive devices was a major factor in the sexually “liberated” sixties.  

In the last 20 years Presbyterians have devoted an immense amount of theological energy to the discussion of homosexuality, including the predictable human response of commending the practices of one’s self and friends and condemning behaviors that do not attract us or our friends.  A sardonic observer recently remarked that while not everyone was willing to join a Gay Pride Parade, an Adulterers and Fornicators Parade could not even be organized.  He insisted there would be too few spectators because nearly everyone would be marching.  The state of the estate of marriage in America is lamentable.  Among the modern married “committing adultery” still generally receives a frown, but “having an affair” often receives a wink.  Among the unmarried an amazing shift has occurred from the stern social disapproval of “screwing around” and “shacking up” to the widespread acceptance of being “sexually active” and “living together.”  The result seems to be: euphemism for my friends; opprobrium for your friends.  Perhaps a blue ribbon (and pink ribbon) General Assembly Task Force could explain the difference.

When next Presbyterians decide to move sex from their bedrooms into our living rooms, it might be useful in the interests of fair play to investigate the other side of the closet.  Presumably I Corinthians 6:13-20 is as relevant in the church of Jesus Christ as 6:9-11.  In any case, be-fore play begins again and we all get hot and sweaty, I must say that I liked the Presbyterian Church a lot better when there was – or I thought there was – a comfortable historical, theological, and social consensus among us.  The convictions once taken for granite look now like a rocky road ahead.