By now most readers of THE CHURCHWARDEN are familiar with Father Felim McAllister and seem to appreciate his wit and wisdom, especially as they are directed towards Bishop Harry Hackle. Recently, an Orthodox priest asked about McAllister's ecclesiastical affiliation, whether or not he is an Anglican or, perhaps, an Episcopalian. Excellent call on the priest's part. Felim is a card carrying member of the Episcopal communion, although he often finds himself in conflict with "the powers that be" by virtue of his conservatism. If the good Father's theological position must be identified it would probably be called "Reformed Neo-orthodoxy" since his Protestant mentors, though long dead, are Karl Barth and John Calvin. McAllister came to Protestantism by way of Catholicism via the writings of a 19th century Anglican named J.C. Ryle.
With regard to Felim's personal history, I can do no better than to let the man speak for himself. Thus, with permission, I offer an extended quote pieced together from two letters McAllister wrote about three years ago to pastor William D. Brown:
"Perry told me that he mentioned some of my family history to you. It is true. My father was an Irish immigrant who worked as a tug-boat captain in New York harbor. My mother, sad to say, was a dock whore. I never knew her. Because of my father's job, the task of raising me was largely pawned off to my grand parents, also immigrants from Ireland.
Choosing the priesthood as a vocation had a great deal to do with my mother. In eventually coming to understand that I was essentially abandoned by her, Duane, I developed a deep seated distrust of women. When the appropriate time came to consider what I wanted to do with my life, the priesthood became the apparent choice by virtue of the absence of women. Don't get the wrong picture, Duane, I have never had any homosexual leanings, I just never trusted the female gender enough to risk relationships. Time, of course, and maturity has changed all this. But, as you know, my current status prohibits the fulfillment of my burgeoning interests.
As for more regarding my Celtic roots, McAllister is really a Scottish name, not Irish. My roots were originally in Scotland, but transplanted to Ireland eons ago, due to economic reasons, if I understand my family history correctly.
Continuing with a bit more of my personal history--as I mentioned before, I was essentially raised by my grandparents. Under their care, by virtue of their relentless Catholic faith, I acquired a love/hate relationship with the Church. As time progressed the love aspect gained the upper hand. That, coupled with the aforementioned difficulty with respect to women, led me to my present calling (note: at this time he was still a Catholic priest). I marched through the NYC school system, including undergraduate work and then I was off to St. Joseph's Seminary in Dunwoodie, New York. After being ordained, I served in various capacities in the state of New York until my present opportunity to serve as a chaplain in Massachusetts opened up.
My interest in spiritual direction was advanced by an old German priest named Durst Biermann. By all means, laugh, Duane. Durst did! Apparently his mother had a great sense of humor.
Durst led me to an appreciation of the spiritual writers--and tobacco, specifically the prayer pipe. Some things I just can't explain, how a German learned to appreciate an ancient Celtic tradition is one of those things. We would smoke our pipes together and pray. What great days those were, Duane.
Sadly, Durst was killed about ten years ago, squashed flat by a subway train in the Bronx. In a crowed station he was accidentally bumped onto the track just as the train was approaching to pick up its passengers. I still miss him, terribly."
I had put Felim in contact with Mr. Brown back in 1998, and for awhile they carried on quite the online correspondence. In some of those e-mails the matter of moving to the Episcopal Church from Roman Catholicism was hashed out rather extensively. I am not at liberty to discuss the subject beyond mentioning marriage as a motivating factor.
It goes without saying that McAllister is a connoisseur of cane fly rods, an aficionado of briar pipes and an arrogant twit when it comes to his tobacco blending ability. His wife, whom he caught--quite literally--on the Swift is Sharon, a fellow fly fisherman who prefers graphite. Hey . . . at least she fishes.
The only question left to address in this little biography is one detail of no small consequence to the search for the historical McAllister: Is he a real person, or a figment of my literary imagination? Well, it all depends upon what you mean by "real." If you acknowledge his existence, then regardless of historicity would he not still be very much alive in your heart? However, should you deny his reality because of agnostic presuppositions, flesh and blood doesn't mean a thing. Right?
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