Both presidential candidates John McCain and Barack Obama have hit snags in their campaigns over clergymen whose comments are somewhat out of the mainstream of Christian thought. They have been forced to disassociate themselves from their ecclesiastical supporters. This has caused me to rack my brain to see if I have ever done anything that could be used against any of my parishioners who might want to run for political office. I don’t believe I have ever said anything that would be a fatal blow to any of them—Republican or Democratic. Most of my daring behavior through the years has been of the non-controversial, silly sort having to do with unusual attire.

     Once when I was minister at First United Methodist Church in Charlotte, we held a festival to raise money for missions. I dressed in a carrot costume. People could pay a dollar to have their picture made sitting on my knee. Or they could pay $2 and not have their picture made with me. Even my own mother declined to appear in the same photo with her 8-foot carrot son. But it was a good cause and I raised a few hundred dollars and there are very few photographic evidences of the event. I don’t think this would hurt anyone’s political efforts nowadays, but stranger things have happened. I also dressed once as a bumble bee, once as a court jester and once as Little Lord Fauntleroy. All any of this proves is that my friends can tempt me to shameless behavior. However, I have managed to suppress almost all evidence of these sartorial lapses.

     The second incident was a more serious one. When I was minister at Central United Methodist Church in Asheville, I was asked by the youth of the church to play the role of St. Francis’ father in a drama performed by the young people on “Youth Sunday.” It was a “cameo” role; all I was required to do was walk on stage, utter one line and walk off. I happily agreed. The drama was to be presented in period costume which was, for me, a brown tunic and black leotards. My beloved created a fine brown tunic for me with her

own hands. I don’t remember where she got the fabric. It was probably from the backseat cover of my old Oldsmobile. At 9:00 on the Saturday night before the Sunday performance, I suddenly realized that I had made no provision for the black tights! Here again, wife Judy came to my rescue. The supermarket was still open for another hour, so she suggested that I rush out and buy a pair of black pantyhose to complete my costume.

     Next morning, before the first performance, I locked the door of my study, laid down on the floor on my back with my legs in the air and began putting on my pantyhose. They were mammoth size, industrial strength things and I had two pairs because I didn’t want my hairy legs to show thought the sheer fabric. I was dressing in secret because it turned out to be true, as I suspected; it is not possible to put these things on while maintaining any sense of dignity. This is only one of the problems of pantyhose. Another is that there are no pockets for your Swiss Army knife and your car keys. But, back to my main story. While installing the second pair of pantyhose, I ruptured a disc in my lower back. So, there I lay, on my back, legs stuck into the air in the most excruciating pain I ever imagined! But, trouper that I was, I was more or less, in period costume. To make a long story short, I managed to struggle to my feet, make two appearances that morning to full audiences and check into the hospital. Over the next ten days, I learned what a blessing from God morphine can be. But, I escaped surgery and a year later I was good as new.

     Now, almost 20 years later, and in light of political rivalry and rhetoric these days, I can imagine a TV ad with my picture and the following narration, “The candidate’s pastor shown here was hospitalized for morphine treatment and for injuring his back while putting on his pantyhose. What does this tell you about my opponent?” My advice these days is for pastors to stay out and citizens to leave us clergy out of these campaigns.

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