which, we used to sing, is "towering o'er the wrecks of time." For the moment that is still true of Saint Stephen Lutheran Church, Pinellas Park, FL. Towering over its modest little building, as the accompanying picture shows, is still the Cross, all right. But towering over that, in turn, is the local water tower. Is that a parable? Which of the two, do you suppose, is more essential to the community? Which of the two will crumble first? I don't know. My hunch is, they will stand or fall together. I have only a slim, transitory clue for believing that: Norb Kabelitz, Saint Stephen's pastor. And right, he is slim and, like the rest of us retirees, transitory.

But there is something about Norb that is hauntingly durable, symbolized by the partnership of the Cross and the water tower. The church and the world, together. Or better, Christ's church but also Christ's world, together. There is no Christ who doesn't care for both, at once. No Cross, may I say it, without a Crossing. It is that passionate bifocalism which has always driven this otherwise easygoing Pastor Kabelitz. Church and world: about that he is single-minded.

Driven him? Driven him where? For one thing, out into the streets. For another, into trouble. I remember, during his long pastorate in Oklahoma City, how Norb marched with the striking garbage workers, who included members from his all-black congregation. He was arrested for that and then was publicly rebuked by a fellow clergyman for committing "civil disobedience." Norb replied with a kindly letter of his own, explaining the obligation he had to his own congregation and appealing to his critic's pastoral heart, How could I -- given my ordination -- do otherwise? The critic accepted Norb's explanation with gratitude and went on record supporting his "ministry of love." At the city's memorial service following the assasssination of M. L. King, Jr., the minister chosen by the local black clergy to

You are forgiven
(See page six, "S is for Sorry")

preach in Oklahoma City's Episcopal cathedral and over NBC-TV was Norbert Kabelitz. That didn't keep his Redeemer Lutheran Church from being fire-bombed. So we at Seminex gave him an honor-ary doctorate. It wasn't much (we didn't have much) but, given our ordination, how could we do otherwise?

Now in retirement Norb is the pastor -- but only the pastor -- of this struggling little, predominantly white congregation in what snooty Floridians call "red-neck" country. Only the pastor? Right, that's the whole idea. Being retired, he saves the congregation the cost of a fulltime pastor's salary and still puts in lots of hours. With the money saved, the congregation has hired one of its own members, Kris Wright, as an Associate In Ministry. And is she ever something! Together this unlikely pair, a seasoned veteran and a sprightly young AIM, are pacing Saint Stephen-by-the-water-tower. Still barely making it financially, the congregation did burn its mortgage last year. When parishioners complain of how the congregation is aging, Norb retorts, "Remember 'old' Abraham and 'old' Elizabeth." The congregation's motto has become, "We don't believe in miracles, we depend on them."

Are they intimidated by the water tower, that it might outlast them? I don't know. I do know that, for their "fellowship" event next month, the members are going to see "Titanic." Would they do that if they were nervous about sinkings? You'll notice that the article which follows, Kabelitz' meditation on the lessons for The First Sunday in Lent, deals