One treasure under the roof of another

Her voice was what first drew me in her direction.  Mary Harker, who is 87 and weighs not much more than that, speaks in a melodious bass voice that could make her a fortune doing radio voice-over commercials.

Instead, she's doing what she's wanted to do all her life: she's the pastor of a little country church here in our neighborhood known as "Whitepine."  She and the church are of the Methodist persuasion, but neither one would turn away a Catholic or a Lutheran.  They wouldn't turn anybody away.  The average congregation on an average Sunday numbers about 10 people, including the pianist and pastor.  Last week there were only seven of us because of the flu.  But Mary was there.

She's been there, at Whitepine Community Church, for 28 years.  Before that, she was a rancher's wife up the road in Heron.  She and her late husband, John, raised six kids.  They operated a Christmas tree farm that's still going strong under the management of the now-grown kids.  Mary moved to Whitepine about four years ago, as the 40-mile drive was becoming increasingly difficult for her.  She lives in a "parsonage" that she bought and remodeled behind the church.  It's a tiny trailer, but it suits her needs.  She spends most of the time over at the church anyway.

Don and I first met her at a Memorial Day service at the local cemetery.  I was spellbound by her voice.  When I found out she was the pastor at that little country church a mile down the highway, I beelined it to the next service, just so I could hear more of her voice.  I've been going, fairly regularly, ever since.  It's a great group of people--usually about six women and two men.  It's casual. 

Mary always wraps up the service in just less than an hour.  That might be because she tires after more than that, but I suspect it's her very practical nature.  She's not one to say ten words when two will do.

A friend of mine once asked her a complex religious question.  He was searching for answers and hoping she would spew forth something profound.  She did.  She said simply, "I don't know the answer to that, but when I see God, I'll ask Him."  Turns out that was the very answer my friend needed.

Unlike most of my friends, Mary's not a dog lover.  She's too practical.  I told her about our dogs, and she said, "I've never cared for dogs in the house.  I'll put up with a sick calf next to the woodstove in the kitchen for two weeks, but that's about it."

Mary Harker is a lucky woman.  After leading a rich life as a Montana pioneer woman, her dream came true.  She was in her 60's when she was finally allowed to be a Methodist pastor; before that, women were not allowed in that role.  She had yearned for that position and even dreamed about having a little white country church with her name over the door.  When asked to fill the position at Whitepine, she didn't hesitate.

Friday afternoons Mary and I meet in the church kitchen for an hour of fiddling.  She learned to play the fiddle just a few years ago and still struggles with it, as do I.  But we're playing a duet during the service on Nov. 29, Advent Sunday.  We may scare all the cats away, but the few eager parishioners will probably stay for the benediction anyway.