In a few weeks, my family will be moving. We have been living in the parsonage that belongs to the Church of God for over 9 years. We are trying our best to get ready to buy a house here in town. Time and again, I have explained to folks who have asked why we are buying a house: “We can’t retire, and live in a parsonage.” My goal is to work here until I retire and then live in Big Sandy. My family and I love this town. With that background information, I will explain the strange experience I have had in the last few months. On multiple occasions, my wife and I have been approached by people asking about our impending move out of the area and who would be taking my job. I have also had folks congratulate me on my retirement. There are a few other versions of this exchange, but in total it has been a funny series of exchanges. Though, I am a little taken aback that folks think I’m old enough to retire. One thing I have always found interesting is the tendency for stories to grow, morph, change, and transform as they make their way around the community. I usually don’t consider it a terrible thing and definitely don’t in this instance. (Except that I apparently look like I’m nearing 70 years old!) There is an interesting principle attached to this that is worth discussing and considering. Small town grapevine news is a fact of life and often beneficial. Folks sometimes hear about needs and help or pray for sick members of the community. We are concerned about our friends and neighbors. We are a close community and folks want to know what is going on with each other. I know some people chafe at the lack of privacy, which is understandable, but for the most part it is pretty innocuous. It is a lot like a family. I know what my nieces and nephews are doing because my siblings and I talk about them. My mom used to tell me what everyone had going on. I learned of family illnesses and hardships, as well as successes and celebrations. I was always closer with my family because of this. This sort of talk is just part of community. I love being a part of these conversations in our town. I love hearing about kids that excel in academics or sports. I love hearing about successful efforts my neighbors take on. I love hearing about the good things teachers are doing. I don’t love it, but I do appreciate knowing when I should be praying for my neighbors or when they need a bit of encouragement or help with something. I think this is the sort of talk that results in neighbors showing up with farm equipment to help a sick friend or folks dropping off meals with new moms to help carry the burden of housework. This is the best of Big Sandy. The real problem with this is when it turns from community to delighting in each other’s struggles, shortfalls, failures, or errors. My grandmother used to call everyone in the family and tell about how everyone else was messing up their kids. She loved family scandals and dirty laundry. Even more, she delighted in being the one who got to share it. I know that created a lot of hard feelings and resentment in those around her. I got the sense that most folks loved hearing her share gossip, but no one liked being the subject of it. In the end, everyone knew that though she told you stuff, she talked about you when you walked away. This is the other side of the coin, which I think makes folks leery about small town grapevine news. To paraphrase James in the Bible: It only takes a spark to start a forest fire, and the tongue is a flame that can set our worlds ablaze. Our talk can draw us closer, but the way we tell stories can often start fires that we don’t mean to ignite. The real trick in this is to be careful. I think Paul’s advice is best: That we are to season our words with salt. Specifically, our words should taste good to others because they are filled with love and grace.
