The Lutheran Ladies' Circle: Plucking One String by Kris Knorr, Barb Froman Page A

and lives the way you think he should?”
    “Well…no.” Allie shrugged.
    “It takes a bucketload of patience and care doesn’t it? You have to pick your battles.” Kay handed her a pair of hunting socks. “I don’t have the energy to argue with Vera. And I sure don’t have the time.”
    “I get that,” Allie said. “So that makes me wonder about that ‘adi-furry’ you mentioned at our meeting. Hettie said it got you out of a lot of projects.”
    Kay laughed again and handed her a pair of girl’s anklets. “ Adiophora . It’s Greek for ‘middle things’. Stuff that’s not essential to salvation.”
    “Still clueless.” Allie frowned spacing the socks evenly.
    “It’s when KiKi Smith complains there’s not enough wine in her little communion cup, or Maggie thinks we should sing more of those ol’ time-religion hymns, or—and this is my personal favorite—when Edna threatened to leave the church if we started using tambourines. It’s not important. I refuse to get pulled into the discussion.”
    “Who’s Edna?” Allie had a puzzled look.
    “She doesn’t go here anymore.”
    “Because of tambourines?”
    “Because some people have a cow if you change anything. Adiophora means you ask, ‘Is this essential to where my soul spends eternity?’” Kay shrugged and held up striped knee socks.
    “Do you mean we can have jazz or heavy metal at church because music isn’t essential to salvation?”
    “Let ’er rip. You’d have to haul several people out from heart attacks, but as long as it points to God and draws you to an attitude of worship—rock on.”
    “But…that means most of the things in the sanctuary—aren’t required.”
    “Bingo.” Kay pointed at her. “Can’t you see Jesus at the Sea of Galilee saying, ‘Hey! One of you disciples get candles and a choir. And bring the green hymnal, not the red one. I can’t deliver words to save your souls without those items.’” Kay smiled, watching Allie absorb the weight of this revelation. “In Martin Luther’s time, they didn’t even have pews. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad we have them—it’s hard to sleep standing up—but bulletins, robes, even music aren’t crucial. Although,” Kay patted her heart, “I’d keep our gurgling baptismal font. It’s like having a water feature, reminding me of my baptism.”
    “Now that’s essential isn’t it”? Aren’t we supposed to be baptized?”
    “Hey! One of you other disciples go get me a baptismal font,” Kay mocked. “I’m not using the river Jordan anymore. Too much pollution and the bathing laws are getting so strict. Salvation needs props.”
    She handed Allie more socks. “Anyway, that’s adiaphora : choice about non-essential items. I don’t get my tail in a twist over frou-frou.”
    “But that’s what I like about the church—the different colors of the church season and the mysterious symbols everywhere.”
    “Actually, we stole that from the Roman Catholics when we split. The Episcopals took it too. Grace is our big thing. So simple. So complex.”
    “The-I-can-do-anything. I’m-covered-because-of-grace doctrine. Right?”
    “Ha.” Kay shot a pair of stretchy socks off her fingers at Allie as though they were a rubber band. “That’s like saying, ‘If I cut off my head, I won’t have any more bad hair days.’ If you do something wrong or hurt yourself or someone else, you’ve broken the harmony and justice of life. You have a mark against your name.”
    “Wow, Kay, you probably have a lot of marks against your name.” Allie made giant eyes of horror.
    Kay returned the look with a flat stare. “Just takes one. The penalty is death.”
    “But Jesus took my place so I’m free from your scare tactics.” Allie shook her head.
    “Yeah,” Kay’s voice dropped, “but when someone takes your place for death, it does something to you. When a friend of mine was little, he was sitting in a jeep on top of the river bluff. The rest of his family