A Few Sundays With Will Muddle

A FEW SUNDAYSWITH PASTOR WILL MUDDLE BY W. E. MC CUMBERA BLUE COLLAR BOOK 1

FIRST WORD This small book is intended for entertainment only. It containsfictionalized accounts of actual happenings. Names, places, andcircumstances have been changed but at the heart of each story is anactual event. Some of them occurred during the author’s ministry asa pastor. Others happened to other preachers who related them tome. John Newton, in his poem “Saturday Evening,” wrote of Sundayas “Day of all the week the best, emblem of eternal rest.” One stanzaof the poem reads: When the morn shall bid us rise, May we feel thy presence near! May thy glory meet our eyes When we in thy house appear. There afford us, Lord, a taste Of our everlasting feast. Thankfully, that is true of most Sundays. Occasionally,however, something interrupts the “feast” that wasn’t included in theplanned menu. I am presenting just a few of the odd, awkward,embarrassing and direction-changing events that can happen, havehappened and will happen to suddenly sabotaged pastors. In the spirit of fair play, I issue this warning: If you are one ofthose super-spiritual saints who think anything entertaining orinterruptive is evil, don’t turn another page. You will find enough inlife to offend and irritate you without reading this book. Personally, Iam convinced that if God never wanted anything unusual, annoying, 2

embarrassing or hilarious to happen in church he would not havemade children, animals, insects or bishops. Scripture quotations, unless otherwise noted, are from the NewInternational Version. 3

1. THE LAW OF THE HARVEST The first Sunday of the year tested the resolutions made by the church folks on New Year’s Day. Little Freddie was a superb tester and the whole congregation weretestees. He united the church--they all wished him gone. EvenPastor Will, as genteel and peace-loving as he was, found Freddie ahuge challenge to his patience, to his nerves and to his sermons. Onthose rare Sundays when little Freddie was home sick, the goodreverend found it difficult to pray for the boy’s healing. Quite a few of the members had hinted strongly to Freddie’smother that she take him to the nursery. The facilities of the NurseryDepartment, like ancient Gaul, were divided into three parts, one forinfants who were housed in cribs, one for crawlers who wore outcarpets and used the most diapers, and one for toddlers who movedlike bipeds and scrapped like delinquents. Freddie was a toddler,loaded with energy and looking for opportunities to treat the oldsterswith new forms of shock therapy each week. Of all the kids of allages who attended the worship services he had the largest repertoireof disruptive antics. His mother steadfastly refused to house Freddie in the nursery.She countered every hint or suggestion that he be placed there bysaying, “He must learn to worship.” While Freddie was learning toworship the grownups were unlearning every attitude, gesture andaction they had traditionally associated with worship. They sang withears cocked toward Freddie, prayed with eyes opened toward 4

Freddie, and they listened to preaching with necks swiveling betweenPastor Will and Freddie. On this particular Sunday, Freddie the spoiled once morebecame Freddie the spoiler. As usual he occupied his mother’s lap,drawing from her a large number of whispered “hushes” as theservice progressed. Finally, to keep him quietly occupied, sheallowed him to explore the contents of her voluminous and bulginghandbag. He found her plastic change purse and discovered that hecould open it by squeezing the ends, and he filled his chubby littlehands with what must have been at least two dollars in coins. The harassed pastor was well into his sermon, casting anoccasional nervous glance at his private definition of “brat.” At aclimactic moment when Muddle’s profound thoughts were findingexpression in purple words, Freddie swung both arms and emptiedboth hands. Coins clattered on the hardwood floors, bouncing androlling in all directions. Some of them landed on edge and ran underseven or eight pews before falling exhausted, heads or tails now up.The pastor choked on a pluperfect verb and lost in one noisy momentthe attention of his congregation. Red-faced, Freddie’s mother scurried from the sanctuary,Freddie on her right hip and yelling for his money. Outside shelooked around for something frail enough to serve as a switch butspotted nothing she was willing to spank her precious fallen angelwith, lest she warp his personality. She elected to get in her car anddrive home. There she poured out her lamentation, punctuated withtears, to a long-suffering husband who had discontinued his churchattendance by time Freddie was ten months old. 5

Back at the church Pastor Will knew when he was defeated andresigned himself to adding a benediction to the jagged edge of ashattered sermon. The people filed out, some scowling, somemuttering, some bemused and some disgusted. Little Freddieprovoked a reaction from all of them, something the pastor’s sermonsnever managed to achieve. That evening Arlene, the pastor’s wife and the soul of non-confrontationalism, quietly urged her husband to stop pacing the floorand muttering to himself. “Now dear,” she said gently, “you are thespiritual example for the entire church. I think you should go to yourstudy and pray for Freddie.” Without replying he veered off-course and entered his study,his personal Holy-of-Holies. There he knelt, eyes on the open door tomake sure his wife had not followed him, and he prayed: “Lord, if youneed a kid in heaven, I have a name for you.” It is written, “Whoever sows generously shall also reapgenerously.” Little Freddie had sowed coins across the church floor.The next Sunday fourteen different people put one dollar bills in hishands, saying to his mother, “He can play more quietly with papermoney.” 6

2. A CAT NAMED JOE Pastor Will Muddle’s first charge was a small church in Florida. Around the corner from the white frame building where the church met lived a family whoowned a cat named Joe. Originally, according to family testimony,the cat had a more sophisticated name--either Joseph or Josephine.The cat owners were never certain which, but probably it was Joseph,since the animal was of the male species and was not given toconstant noise-making. The youngsters in the family called theundistinguished feline by an ordinary moniker--Joe. For a while some of the children from this family attended theservices of the church. For whatever reasons, Joe, a black cat withwhite paws, became religious and followed them to church onSunday mornings. They were embarrassed by the distraction thatJoe created and tried to discourage his presence in the house of theLord. Keeping him out of church proved well-nigh impossible, sincethe Lord had no screen doors or automatic doors on his house.Given the tropical climate and the lack of air-conditioning, the doorsstood open throughout the services. Joe regarded those open doorsas an invitation which he gladly accepted week after week. His quiet excursions up and down the aisles were a source ofdisquiet to the spirit of Pastor Will. Even worse, Joe from time to timeentered the pew areas and made himself at home among the feetand legs of the congregation. Kids loved it and when their parentswere not watching, they encouraged Joe’s visits. Like most cats, Joeliked to brush against and even coil around friendly ankles. That 7

doesn’t hurt, but it can make a person hurt himself or herself when ithappens suddenly and unexpectedly. For years there were worshippers who recalled, usually withholy laughter, the Sunday morning when the congregation wasstanding and singing “Be Still My Soul,” and Sister Alberta Brewster’svoice suddenly rushed up scale beyond any note she had everreached before. That’s saying a lot, for her singing voice wascomparable to the squealing, quavering tones of a musical saw. Herpiercing yell was accompanied by what must have been a new worldrecord for the standing high jump. Joe also let out a screech,surprised and frightened by her panicked reaction to his furrycaresses of her plump ankles. He shot out from beneath the pewsand made a swift departure through a side door of the sanctuary.Poor Alberta abruptly sat down, pale and gasping for air, as herhusband fanned her with one of those cardboard fans funeral homesonce furnished to churches. Brother Will found it difficult to really get into his sermon thatmorning. The wary congregation kept watching the doors to see ifJoe would reappear. Their attention to Will’s message could becalled scant and that would be an overstatement. To the pastor’s dismay the cat did return. An altar of prayerstood between the pulpit and the pews. Joe leaped onto this“mourner’s bench” with typical feline grace, wrapped his tail aroundhis own legs, and sat there facing the preacher. He was a picture ofcontentment and fixed his eyes on the mobile face of the pastor as ifhanging on to every word spoken. Pastor Will proved to be a majorattraction to Joe and Joe proved to be a major distraction to Will. 8

This further amused the people and made preaching a nearlyimpossible chore. You can stare down a dog but not a cat. PastorWill tried and failed. The message that Sunday morning was one ofthe briefest that Pastor Will had ever delivered, and some of thecongregants later admitted to one another that they had silentlycheered the attentive cat. Joe’s family strove valiantly for a while to keep him from church.One or more of them would volunteer to stay home, and would callthe cat into the house for milk and meditation while the others slippedout and got to church unaccompanied by the most religious animal inthe neighborhood. The plan worked well on most Sundays, but fromtime to time Joe would ignore the milk in favor of the hymns and thesermons. Finally, after Pastor Will had delivered some gentle but firmadmonitions to Joe’s family, they hit upon a painful but permanentsolution--they gave him to a cat-loving old couple who lived acrossthe state. Rumor had it that Joe, living in a more upscaleenvironment, had become an Episcopalian. However the rumor wasnever confirmed and that, of course, prolonged its life for months. 9

3. A REGRETTED INVITATION Will Muddle learned the hard way to be discreet about opening his pulpit to guest preachers. Early in his ministry an evangelist, with his wife and twoboys, one a toddler and one an infant, were visitors in the Sundaymorning service. Will had never seen them before, but a friend ofWill’s had heartedly commended them for revival services. Thought Will, “Go to now” (Will was strongly influenced by thelanguage forms of the King James Version of Scripture) “I will invitethis man to preach and if the people respond well to him we willengage his services for our next revival.” The visiting evangelist snapped up the offer like a hungry basstakes a crippled minnow. He told Will, “My wife and I also sing andwe would like to sing a duet this morning.” Will graciously consented.Before they sang the preacher took a long time to strap his wife to anaccordion which she then played with gusto. Pastor Muddle inwardlycringed. He had heard better music in a hen house. While the parents were singing the toddler climbed into, out of,over and under one of the pulpit chairs. He was a bundle of endlessenergy on a determined exploration of the number of ways a chaircan be approached and enjoyed. The infant had been handed toMuddle’s mother who was also visiting that Sunday and was sittingon a front pew (where visitors could be sure of finding a place to sit.) When the music faded into silence the preacher remained atthe pulpit, preparing to launch his sermon. His wife, who had beendisburdened of the accordion, stepped to edge of the platform and 10

stretched out her arms for the baby, which Mrs. Muddle surrenderedwithout regret. Instead of vacating the platform while the preacher was doinghis thing, the mother and children remained seated, facing theaudience. Well, the mother and baby remained seated. The toddler,with all the concentration of a budding scientist, continued hisresolute journey of discovery. He must have gone two miles that daywithout losing contact with the chair. As if that much distraction was insufficient, while fatherpreached the infant whimpered for food, and to the congregation’ssurprise the mother bared one breast and fed the little one. Heeagerly nursed through about a fourth of his father’s sermon. Whenhe withdrew from the breast and fell off to sleep, the woman sat therewith the breast still in full view of the people. Perhaps she expectedthe tiny one to wake up and want a second helping. The people who stared at the bared breast occasionallyglanced at Pastor Will to see how he was reacting to all this. Willappeared to be locked on to the preacher, but his red face was proofenough of having seen the impromptu dining experience of the baby. Not that the sermon lacked attention-getting force. It was amasterpiece of twisted Scripture vociferously expounded. The guestspeaker was making his way through the first Psalm. He came to thepart where the “blessed” man is likened to “a tree planted by rivers ofliving water.” He emphatically intoned, “Rivers. You don’t think of oneriver when you read that, for it’s plural. On the other hand, you don’tthink of several rivers. You instinctively think of two rivers.” With thatbit of clever deduction he preached “two works of grace,” justification 11

and sanctification. Inwardly Pastor Muddle, as he later confessed,groaned with sympathy for the tortured text. Following the departure of the “nice little family” (and keeping apromise to them) Brother Will called the board to order for a single-agenda special meeting. Before he could ask for discussions ordecisions old Brother Hampstead said, “Pastor, this meeting is totallyunnecessary. I move we adjourn.” They did. As for the friend who had recommended the evangelist to Will—he was viewed as an enemy for a sizable stretch of time. Finally Willrestored him to the status of friend, but a friend with an asteriskbeside his name to indicate his incredibly poor discernment andjudgment. Arlene, who rarely expressed disgust, muttered to Will on theway home from church that morning, “Thank God she didn’t havetwins.” 12

4. LITTLE BOY BLUE-EYES One of Pastor Will’s neighbors was a one-armed taxi driver. Will sometimes thought a troop of one-armed men would make perfect ushers for passing collectionplates. He especially thought so when it was once discovered that anusher had been taking money out with one hand while he held theplate in his other hand. Not in the church aisle, of course--that wouldhave been too daring and brazen. On the way to the counting room,however, he was augmenting his income with the Lord’s money. HadBrother Will been God, the usher would have been struck dead onthe spot for his blasphemous crime. But then, if God dished outimmediate judgment upon all sins, Brother Will would have beenmoldering in his grave like John Brown’s body. But I digress. Getting back to the point--okay, back to where Istarted to make a point--the pastor’s neighbor had a grandson, a cutelittle guy with large blue eyes that could melt hearts and magicallyproduce cookies. The cabbie never attended Will’s church, thoughWill sometimes rode in his taxi, which made the neighbor seem amite unfair and ungrateful to Will--but I digress again. (If I get thisdigression tactic down pat I may feel a call to the preaching ministrymyself.) Little blue eyes, when visiting his grandpa and grandma,would stroll over to the church and attend the Sunday morningservice. His ignorance of church protocol was immediately displayed onhis first visit to the church. He came in after the service had begun.Instead of occupying a front pew (the back ones were always takenby members), he walked down to the altar of prayer. In that church it 13

was a plain, old-fashioned mourners’ bench that Methodists in earlyAmerica would have approved. The boy didn’t kneel at it, however;he sat on it, occupying the center of its generous length. There hesat, cross-legged, staring intently up at Pastor Will with those large,beautiful blue eyes, striking the same pose that Joe the cat had usedsome years before. The happy little lad had an unhappy eye problem. As hefocused on an object his eyes would very slowly cross. Had his nosenot formed a fence between them the two eyeballs would havemerged. When they had crossed as far as possible they would takeas long to uncross as they had taken to cross. For a few minutesthey would hold a normal position, and then the process would beginanew. Things might have gone quite well despite the potential fordistraction a listener like that possessed, but the little guy, evidentlyenjoying his new experience to the max, began to slowly sway fromside to side. Brother Will could continue preaching as long as the ladwas sitting still, though it wasn’t easy. But when his eyes keptcrossing and his body kept swaying it had an almost hypnotic effectupon the pastor. The boy was staring at him and he was staring atthe boy with a flow of words between them. I’m sure the boy feltgood to be the focus of such rapt attention. He probably went homeand announced to his grandparents, “I have a new best friend--thepreacher.” Brother Will strove valiantly to glide an abbreviated sermon to asmooth stop. Alas, it was not to be. Just as Will hovered above therunway with landing gear down and flaps up to brake his speed, little 14

blue-eyes over-swayed and fell kerplunk to the floor. At once threemothers rushed to the altar and loomed over the fallen angel, makingsoothing noises meant to comfort him. He didn’t cry. He didn’t evenwhimper. He climbed to his feet and walked wordlessly from thesanctuary. He paused before reaching the foyer, waved a friendlygoodbye to Pastor Will, and then toddled across the street toGrandpa’s house for Sunday dinner. Just as the boy fell a proverb had rushed to the pastor’s mindand escaped his lips: “Whoso diggeth a pit shall fall therein.” Theancient word of wisdom had lodged in Will’s memory from the KingJames Version. Brother Will always wondered why none of those concernedmothers had been alert enough to escort the boy to a proper seatwhen he first perched on the altar. However, he never pressed theissue for he cherished little boy blue eyes, and he knew bettersermons had been ambushed for worse reasons--including some ofhis. 15

5. MY DOG HAS FLEAS From boyhood Pastor Will had been familiar with two well-worn statements about fleas. “If you lie down with the dogs you will get up with the fleas.” That one washis favorite and he sometimes injected it into sermons when heexhorted the people to keep good company. The other statement was not an adage but a musical exercise,if you defined musical exercise broadly--very broadly. The beginningpiano player, for instance, would press keys in a certain order andintone the words, “My dog has fleas.” Pastor Will didn’t own a dog. He was hard pressed to feed hisfamily on his salary; feeding a dog also was out of the question. Hisonly pet was his wife, Arlene, and on infrequent occasions she haddisplayed a willingness to bite the hand that fed her. All that aside, fleas created a problem for the pastor. Membersof his congregation became unhappy because they were beingassaulted and bitten by fleas during the worship services. None ofthem were bringing pets to church and none of them had seenanimals in the church, yet the fleas seemed to be multiplying. Thepeople were concerned for their own comfort, and they wereembarrassed when visitors left church with hitchhiking fleas on theirankles and legs that made their presence known by their persistentbiting. In small churches every problem becomes the pastor’sproblem. He is blamed for whatever goes wrong. He is always aconspicuous scapegoat, whether he actually had any part in the 16

disturbing situation or not. Scapegoats do not necessarily attractfleas but they cannot escape critics. Determined to get to the bottom of the problem before theproblem got to his bottom, Pastor Will resolved to find the source ofthe invasion and deal severely with it. One Monday morning, havingbeen bitten by his critics on Sunday, he entered the church and sat invarious locations hoping to locate the fleas. His fourth move was outof the sanctuary and into a room at the rear of the building, a roomthat housed one of the Sunday school classes. Sure enough, he hadhardly settled his hindquarters into a folding chair when he felt thetiny creatures crawling up his legs. Looking down he could seeothers of them on the floor, engaged in what appeared to be jumpingcontests. . Why would fleas occupy the building when there were noanimals on which to ride and feed? With that dedicated persistencewithout which no sane man could long continue in pastoral ministry,Pastor Will began to hunt the dog, cat, raccoon, opossum orwhatever that had brought fleas to the building and was keeping themthere. That night he sprinkled talcum powder on the floors of thatroom and those adjacent to it. He hurried over the next morning andfound cat tracks. Feeling like a direct descendant of SherlockHolmes, his next strategic move was to actually view the offendingfeline. He entered the church the following night, walked softly to theroom where the fleas had been most densely congregated andsuddenly switched the light on. There, staring up at him was an 17

underfed and overpopulated gray cat, looking for a way of escape.Unwilling to charge the doorway where Will stood, the animal justhunched its back and waited for Will’s next move. It didn’t take aveterinarian to know that the cat was a sick stray. It had been hidingduring the days and hunting during the nights. It was gaunt andfrightfully skinny, not a whole lot unlike the treasurer of the church. Those were not the days when many people lavished moreaffection and money on their pets than on their children. Pastor Willdid the only thing he knew to do, the only thing he could afford to do.He put the cat out of its misery with a well-placed 22 short caliberbullet, then gave it a private and, to tell the whole truth, unmournedburial. With their host gone, the fleas vacated the premises. Order wasrestored and a crisis was averted. Pastor Will kept his secret andoften thought, “If only people-problems could be as easily solved!”People, however, have sharper bites and live longer lives than eventhe most robust of fleas. Besides, killing people is illegal. 18

6. SOLEMNLY AND SINCERELY CURSED As he preached one Sunday morning, Pastor Will could not keep his eyes off a stranger, a first-timer in the congregation. The man was tense, fidgety, nervous,squirming as though he were caught at a midpoint between painfullistening and repressed speaking. Ah, the pastor thought, he must be under conviction. He isfeeling the weight of guilt and shame for his sins. He is eager tocome forward and pray for God to have mercy on his soul and toforgive his sins. As the man’s agitation became more evident thesensitive and sympathetic pastor shortened his sermon and made asimple, earnest altar call. The squirmer came forward, but he didn’t kneel and pray as dida few others who came. Instead, he stepped over to the pastor’s sideand said in a hoarse whisper, “Can I see you in private? It’s terriblyimportant.” “He’s reluctant to pray in the presence of people he doesn’tknow,” the pastor thought, and being a private person himself he wassympathetic. “Certainly,” he replied, “come with me.” He led him tohis study / office. Closing the door behind them he said, “How can Ihelp you?” “Your sign,” the man replied. “You must change your sign.God cannot bless you unless you change your sign.” Pastor Will realized, to his chagrin, that he had totally lackedthe gift of spiritual discernment that Sunday morning. He was surethe man was upset about his sins, but it was the church’s sign that 19

had him distraught. Well, he had dealt with loonies before; he couldhandle one more. “What’s wrong with the sign?” he asked. “Well, it says Church of the Nazarene. That’s not scriptural.” “What name would you recommend?” the pastor asked. “It has to be ‘the Church of God.’ That’s what the church iscalled in the Bible. To call yourselves anything else is to take God’sname in vain.” “I think you’re sincere,” the pastor replied gently, “but you aresincerely wrong. There is a denomination that has named itself ‘theChurch of God.’ If I listened to you the public would identify us withthem, and they would then have legal grounds to demand that we getsome other name.” “They can’t own a Bible name,” the man argued, his voice risingsharply as his temperature rose. “You’re cursed as long as yourefuse to name yourselves the Church of God.” “We can’t do that. Jesus said, ‘I will build my church,’ but wecan’t even call ourselves ‘the Church of Christ.’ There is adenomination that disclaims being a denomination that already hasthat name. But the New Testament does refer to ‘the church of theThessalonians.’ Could we use that name?” “You’re not Thessalonians,” the man fumed. “You think this isfunny don’t you?” “Well, to tell the truth, which a preacher is supposed to do, itseems to me a little funny but a lot sad,” Pastor Will replied. 20

“You’d better take me seriously.” The man was growing moreagitated. He was actually pacing rapidly in a circle. “God sent mehere to help you. We ought to pray about this.” “I’ll gladly do so,” said Pastor Will, going to his knees. The manquit pacing and knelt on one knee like a sprinter tensed for thestarter’s gun. “You pray for us,” the pastor requested. The perturbed visitor couldn’t pray. He opened his mouthseveral times, much like a fish that had flopped out of the sea and laygasping on shore, but no words came. “Pray yourself,” he finallymanaged to growl. “Certainly,” Brother Will responded. He prayed quietly andbriefly for the Lord to help the deeply disturbed man. He said, “Lordyou know him and love him. Forgive him and deliver him from thisobsession and give him your peace. Amen.” The man stood quickly, his face suffused with anger. “There’snothing wrong with me,” he snarled. “From this day forth your ministryis cursed of God. Nothing good will ever come to you.” While sayingthis he stabbed a forefinger in Will’s direction for emphasis. Havingdelivered his prophetic curse he rushed from the office, down the hall,and out of the building. Pastor Will never saw the man again. Truthtold, Will never went looking for him. The church board held its usual monthly meeting on thefollowing Tuesday night. In a surprising gesture of generosity theyvoted to increase Will’s salary by ten dollars a week. In those days,before World War Two lifted America out of the Great Depression, tendollars was a substantial increase. It was also the first salary 21

increase Pastor Will had received in six years. The grateful pastor,on behalf of his grateful creditors, took it as a sign of God’s favor. Hereasoned that the dire curse was never potent or else it had beenquickly lifted. Pleasantly reassured, Will Muddle happily resumed hispastoral responsibilities. 22

7. WHO REALLY WANTS ADVICE? A few years of pastoral ministry had taught Brother Will one thing for sure: Most of the people who ask a preacher for advice really don’t want it. They simplywant him to confirm the conclusions they have already drawn andokay the actions they have already decided to take. Getting apreacher to agree with them lessens any guilt they may be feelingand strengthens any resolve that may be wavering. Sometimes theyhave already acted and then they counsel with the pastor, hoping thathe will place a ministerial stamp of approval upon what they havedone. His mind often flashed back to his first year in his firstpastorate, and to a woman named Bertha Broughten. Because of hersize he always thought of her as “Big Bertha,” the name given to ahowitzer used by the German army in World War 1. The gun got itsname from Bertha Krupp, who owned the famed munitions factory atthat time. Since that time, probably every overweight woman namedBertha had been called--usually behind her back--“Big Bertha.” Willhad struggled to dissociate Bertha Broughten from the artilleryweapon, but preachers are human and often their resolutions fail andtheir prayers go unanswered. He didn’t know her well, since he had just begun his service tothe church she attended, but she made him acquainted immediatelywith her marital conflicts and her husband’s decision to divorce herafter twenty-four years of marriage and three births. According toBertha, her husband had been for several months taking an extra-curricular course in modern romance. His lover was a woman 23

several years younger than Bertha (and about a hundred and twentypounds lighter). He was quite willing for Bertha to have full custody ofthe three children and he paid off the note on her used car to help herfinancially. Of course she interpreted the debt-free car as a salve forhis conscience, and she was probably right. However, you can be right in the wrong spirit and that wasBertha’s problem, though she never thought of it as a problem butlabeled it “righteous indignation.” That provided her with salve for herconscience when she yielded to temptations to get even with theungrateful reprobate. She asked Will for ways and means of dealingwith the situation. He became convinced that she really wanted hisapproval of whatever she did to exact vengeance upon her “two-timing skunk of a husband”--her words, not Will’s. On his fourth Sunday at this church Bertha came to him beforeservice with a wicked grin and a report given in tones of triumph. “Ifixed the rotten liar,” she announced.” “What did you do, Bertha?” he asked. “I drove by her house, and there was his car parked outside onthe street. I just happened to have an ice-pick with me, so I stabbedall four of his tires. I wish I could have seen his ugly face when hecame out and found them all as flat as the sidewalk. What do youthink of that?” Brother Will mumbled some generalities and quoted a couple ofscriptures that flittered through his mind. He got away quickly, for hedid not want her gloating report to distract his mind from the sermonhe was going to preach. 24

Alas, as he struggled to preach, every time he looked inBertha’s direction he could see that ice-pick being savagely stabbedinto those tires. He could hear the hissing sound made by theescaping air. He could see the car dropping down until the rimsnearly rested on the asphalt. He could picture Thomas Broughten’sangry face as he stared in unbelief at Bertha’s vandalism. Will’ssermon suffered badly from all this unwanted mental distraction. Bytime the service ended he had pangs of guilt for the sympathy he wasfeeling for Tom Broughten. He decided, from what were not the purest of motives (as helater confessed), to confront her with some blunt truth. He began with“It is mine to avenge, I will repay, says the Lord,” and ended with “Ifyou do not forgive men their sins, your Father will not forgive yoursins.” In between those quoted scriptures he told her that herhusband’s conduct was terribly wrong but her spirit was totallyunchristian. He found the courage to urge her to repent. Instead of repenting she chose to attend another church. Foryears Pastor Muddle trembled inwardly when anyone sought hisadvice in marital disputes. 25

8. THE BAT INVASION Pastor Will’s favorite venue for preaching was always his own sanctuary and his favorite audience was his regular congregation. He didn’t care for Sundayswhen the area pastors would preach to one another’s congregations.At the same time, he was intensely evangelistic and liked to preachrevival services once or twice a year for some fellow pastor. On one such occasion he was preaching for a week in a churchin Tennessee. The area was mountainous and the church was notair-conditioned. There were few Sundays in any year when theyreally needed it, so they regarded it as cost-prohibitive. If the peoplefound the sanctuary a bit warm or stuffy, they simply opened some ofthe large windows and allowed the breezes to come to church.Occasionally other things than summer air utilized this temporaryaccess to the auditorium. On the closing Sunday night of what had been a happy andfruitful revival meeting Pastor Will preached with customary urgencyand fluency and was beginning an altar call. As the people softlysang, filling the sanctuary with the strains of a familiar invitationalhymn, a bat flew in one of the opened windows. Any bird flying back and forth in church creates a distraction.People fear that a nervous bird may make some smelly depositswhile zooming around overhead. The flying mammals we call batsfoster a greater fear than most birds do for a variety of reasons whichinclude their looks, their nocturnal hunting habits, and theirassociation with vampires in certain lurid fiction. When this bat woulddip down in flight the people would duck down to avoid being struck. 26

Bats are supposed to fly with a special navigation aid thatkeeps them from bumping into things, some kind of weird andwonderful radar system. Evidently many of the people either didn’tknow this or didn’t trust the reliability of this particular bat’secholocation system. Soon, therefore, the near-sighted creature hadpeople in small groups bobbing up and down throughout thesanctuary. Watching them go down and up made Pastor Will think ofpiano keys being depressed and released to fill the place with music. Within three minutes Will was sure of three things. One: he hadlost the audience, and no one was paying heed to anything he said.He could have undressed on the platform without being noticed.Two: at any time now women would begin shrieking and men wouldbegin laughing and the mood of the service would be irrecoverablychanged. Three: no preacher is eloquent enough or interestingenough to compete for attention with non-human creatures, whetherthese are animals, insects or birds. Only one thing could be donenow--nothing. Will decided to close the service with a brief prayer,keeping one eye open, and allow the people to vacate the building.Before doing this, however, he would wait until the organist andpianist had collaborated in playing another verse and chorus, givingthe off-course bat another opportunity to dive-bomb more of the off-key singers. Will was determined to have a little revenge upon theaudience and the invader. He was reputed to be a humble man buthe did not always handle well disruptions of his plans and work. The bat made a few more passes north, south, east and west.Some of the people struggled bravely to sing on, keeping wary eyeson the erratic flight patterns of the ugly bat. Was this bat a member 27

of the fruit-eating variety? Might it not mistake some noses for pearsand some ears for figs? These questions arose in the more eruditeminds. Most of the people, however, had dropped into their seatsand were holding song books over their heads, especially the ladieswith the more elaborate hairdos and the bald men who were planningto visit a local restaurant for an after-service snack. Of course, therewere teen-aged boys present who were silently cheering the bat on. When his resentful mood subsided, Will turned to the pastorand asked him to close the service with a benediction. The harassedclergyman promptly and briefly complied and then moved swiftlythrough a side door as the people thronged the usual exits. Willfollowed the pastor with a sense of defeat. He knew that in spite of allthe good done and victories won, the people would forever recall thatrevival meeting as the invasion of the bat. When he got back to hisroom, which was secure against bats, the disappointed preachersilently vowed never to serve a church within a thousand miles ofCarlsbad Caverns or any lesser known bat cave. He would neverwatch an episode of Batman either. Some of Pastor Will’s prejudicesran deep and lived long. 28

9. ACTIVATING A DRUNK A common problem for most pastors, especially in down-town churches, is how to deal helpfully and effectively with the occasional drunk who comes intothe worship service. The church is never far from the nearest bar,and some men, when they drink heavily, decide to visit a church andget religion--again. Once a drunk swayed into Pastor Will’s church shortly after themid-week prayer-and-praise service had begun. Seated on the backpew was Maggie O’Dell and beside her were six-months-old identicaltwin boys. She was flanked by small blankets on which the littlefellows were peacefully sleeping. The drunk entered the pew on herright side, saw a baby lying there, nodded and smiled at her andbacked out. He walked around to the other side of the long pew andstarted to take a seat there. When he saw what looked to him in hisboozy state like the same baby, it rattled him so badly that he camedown the aisle and occupied some of the ample space available on afront pew. From that front pew, when the devotional message ended, hewent forward and knelt at the altar. Pastor Will and some of thefaithful congregants gathered around the man and tried heroically topray him sober. Instead, still in a tipsy state, he said to Will, “I want toget saved. What must I do?” “First of all,” the pastor instructed, “you need to confess andforsake your sins.” He quoted Proverbs 28:13: “He who conceals hissins does not prosper, but whoever confesses and renounces themfinds mercy.” 29

“Okay,” the drunk responded and continued with head bowed,“O Lord, you know all about my sins. You know all about my drinking.You know all about my cussing. You know all about my fighting. Youknow all about my lying. You know all about my adulteries. I confessthem all.” Those given to gossip leaned toward the man, hoping he wouldenrich his confession with details. Pastor Will silently prayed that hewouldn’t. “Now what?” the drunk asked, looking blearily at Will. “You must forsake your sins,” Will said. “You must quit themand ask the Lord to forgive you.” The penitent renewed his prayer: “Lord, I’m gonna quit my sins.I’m gonna quit my drinking. I’m gonna quit my adulteries.” Abruptlyhe stopped, glared at Pastor Will and said, “I’ll do it again. I’ll do itagain. I love it. I love it. I love it.” Will said, “If you feel that way the Lord won’t forgive you and wecan’t help you.” The drunk struggled to his feet and walked out, leaving Will witha sense of defeat. A harder drunk to deal with was one who dropped to his kneesat the altar one night but would not pray. He said nothing to Will andnothing to God. He just slumped there in a foggy silence as timewore on and one by one the people left the sanctuary. An hourpassed by and Will kept praying; he also kept trying to engage theman in conversation, but to no avail. The drunk wouldn’t pray and hewouldn’t leave. 30

Finally, one of the young fellows who had been observing Will’sfrustrated efforts from the rear of the sanctuary decided to come tothe pastor’s rescue. He knelt beside the drunk and whisperedsomething in his ear. The drunk shot to his feet and rushed from thebuilding. When moving that quickly, staggering probably helped himnot to fall. With a sigh of relief Will turned to the young fellow andasked, “What did you say to him?” The young fellow grinned and confessed: “I told him the bar onthe corner would close in fifteen minutes and if he wanted a nightcaphe’d better get down there right away.” Pastor Will lifted his hands in a gesture of hopelessness. “I’mtrying to get men away from that place,” he lamented, “and you sendone there!” “You should thank me,” his friend replied. “One more drinkwon’t kill him, and you sure weren’t getting him straightened out. Ithought you looked tired and ought to get home for a good night’ssleep.” How can you fault a man who is that concerned for your healththough his strategy seems weird and paradoxical? Pastor Will did allhe could at that point; he gave his rescuer a pat on the shoulder,drove to the manse, and went to bed. 31

10. A CONNOISSUER OF PREACHING When Pastor Will was a young layman he saw his pastor do something he vowed never to do himself. He was at the church early one summer Sundaymorning when a mutt walked into the empty sanctuary. After lookingthe place over and finding it more comfortable than the hot outdoorsthe vagrant pooch decided to stay. He was standing at an openedside door, staring out at the lawn, when the pastor entered thesanctuary. Walking up behind the dog, the pastor booted its rear endwith a size twelve shoe, exclaiming, “The Bible says, ‘without aredogs!’” The quotation was from Revelation 22:15, in the King James’description of heaven. The surprised mutt landed outside, climbed toits feet and trotted away, probably vowing to give up religion for life.As a lover of dogs, Will said to himself, “Never will I be guilty ofkicking a dog out of church.” He found the resolution easy to keep, for in his years of ministryPastor Will seldom saw a dog in the house of the Lord, and the fewhe saw were usually being hastily but kindly escorted out by alertparishioners. Indeed, he had pushed the incident to the back of hismemory until it suddenly returned unbidden one Sunday morningduring the worship service. Just as Pastor Will began his message (which was carefullycrafted to motivate a desired response on the part of hiscongregation), into the sanctuary at an amiable trot came abedraggled cocker spaniel, the color of homemade taffy. It made itsway to the front as people craned their necks to watch it pass. It had 32

been frisking in a mud puddle and left its paw prints the length of theaisle. Arriving at the altar of prayer, the dog sat down, looking up atthe pastor who was already displeased by the interruption anddistraction. There it sat, its head cocked to one side, giving thestruggling sermon-maker better attention than he was getting fromthe people. After watching and listening intently for several minutes,the intruder stood on all fours, shook its head as if disappointed andunbelieving, and made a leisurely exit from the sanctuary. Those who could not see the dog were trying hard to discoverwhy people on that side of the sanctuary were smiling and laughing.The distraction became an unplanned all-church event. Pastor Willhad bravely soldiered on as though nothing unusual had happened,but it was rough going. He soon realized that he could not competewith the spaniel and had lost his audience. He made an impromptuand ill-fitting segue to the lay-person’s favorite phrase--“inconclusion.” What made a bad thing worse was the presence in thecongregation of two visiting preachers who were friends of PastorWill. They thought the incident was hilarious, spread an embroideredaccount of it over the state, and labeled the cocker spaniel aconnoisseur of preaching. This implied that the critical animal hadfound Pastor Will’s preaching sub-standard, disappointing andgauche. His brother preachers liked to tease Will, for he was a shy andserious man on public occasions. Some pastors on the districtconcocted their notion of a practical joke. When they met Will at 33

conferences, committee meetings, or ministerial luncheons theywould cock their heads to one side and exclaim, “Arf.” Word of thejoke spread and before long some young bucks among the laity werealso giving Brother Will the same treatment. That was the straw that broke the pastor’s back. He began toreact to their antics with a stubborn silence. In time his sullen refusalto acknowledge them put a quietus on their silliness. Often however,during this unkind harassment, Will remembered how his pastor haddrop-kicked a mutt from the sanctuary of his old home church. “Iknow how he felt,” Will said to himself. He also admitted to himself inhis honest moments that it wasn’t just a dog’s rear end he would liketo test his dropkick prowess on. 34

11. THE STUTTERING SAINT When Pastor Will was on vacation he would visit a church on Sunday morning, saying nothing to greeters and ushers about being a preacher. Hewas there to rest his soul and his throat and, hopefully, to pick up afew pointers about preaching that would improve his own. He wasalso eager to hear some new stories that he could then incorporateinto sermons he delivered to his own congregation. On this particular Sunday morning, however, the local pastorrecognized Will, knew who he was and what he did, and invited himto preach. Will demurred, using all the stock excuses he could recall.The pastor insisted--a bit too strongly Will thought--that he give thepeople a chance to hear another speaker. Finally Will consented andfollowed the pastor up the aisle and onto the platform where he wasaccorded “the bishop’s chair.” Pastor Will wisely opened a memory file and selected one of his“sugar sticks” for the occasion. After the kind of exaggeratedintroduction that pastors often give visiting speakers, which promisefar more than most speakers can deliver, Will stood at the pulpit,smiled sweetly at the people, read expressively a passage fromLuke’s Gospel, and launched his familiar sermon--familiar to him, thatis. He had barely exited the first paragraph and entered thesecond when a listener, seated front and center, said “Amen.” Theman was wearing a smile which he never changed throughout the 35

message. So far, so good, thought Pastor Will, but the mancontinued to say “Amen” until he had repeated the word a dozentimes. That had everybody smiling. Before long the bolder among the congregation, which is to saythe teenagers, were laughing out loud, or as they texted theirreaction, LOL. Every few sentences from the pulpit evoked anotherspate of “Amens” from the fellow, and it seemed to Pastor Will that anadditional “Amen” was added each time. It made him think of alocomotive in a train yard, shunting back and forth and increasingconstantly the number of freight cars it was pulling. To say that Willfound it distracting is a massive understatement. The Amen-er had no one sitting close by. He spread his armsout on the back of the pew, totally relaxed, totally happy, and alwayssmiling. He was a man at peace with himself and with the worldaround him, apparently unconscious of the extent to which hedisturbed their peace. Pastor Will’s “sugar stick” lost its sweetnessabout half-way through the sermon, which he shortened and closedwith a depressed, semi-angry feeling of being had. As he stepped down from the platform the man with the endlessstore of “amens” thrust out his hand, saying, “My name is Charles-Charles-Charles-Charles-Charles--etc. The pastor, stifling a grin thatstruggled desperately to be free, came to Will’s rescue, seized hisarm and escorted him away via another aisle. When they were safely isolated from the congregation, PastorWill, who seldom minced words, said, “I feel like I’ve been set up. Ithink I know why you were so insistent that I preach.” The localpastor, a little conscience-smitten and still struggling to repress his 36

laughter, confessed that he was indeed relieved to be absent fromthe pulpit that Sunday. He explained to Will that the man had justbegun to attend their services; that he was somewhat demented butsincere; and that he was afflicted with a strange form of stuttering.Instead of repeating syllables, the poor fellow repeated whole words.“He is a Methodist,” the pastor said, “but it takes him a full twominutes to tell you that he’s a Methodist.” It took Pastor Will longer than two minutes to forgive his brotherpastor. In fact, he had begun to eat a slice of key lime pie at theclose of a delicious seafood dinner as the pastor’s guest when hedecided, “I forgive. After all, it will furnish me a good story to tell mychildren and grandchildren.” As any experienced “man of the cloth”knows, such incidents are far easier to look back on than to gothrough. 37

12. HOW DO YOU HEAR? Jesus once asked a fellow how he read the Scriptures, not what he read. We can all read the same passage from the Bible and not get the same meaning. We can hearthe same sounds but interpret them differently. In his third pastorateWill Muddle had lots of experience with that truth. He had to contendwith deficient natural forces and inefficient technical forces. The deficiency was in the hearing of old brother Rene Joliet.Joliet’s background was French and his foreground was paunch. Hemust have weighed a full three hundred forty pounds and most of itwas belly. He could barely squeeze into the pew on which he sateach Sunday morning with his petite wife Elvira. Because it was astruggle to get seated, he occupied a space on the aisle. Thatmeant, given his girth, that the long pew had to load from the otherend. Rene Joliet had soured with age. Even his complexion had thecolor and texture of curdled milk, and his small brown / black eyeswore a perpetually disapproving look. No one and nothing pleasedhim and he had been that way so long that few people made anyeffort to please him. They preferred to ignore him, but it’s no smallfeat to ignore a man of his hefty bulk and constant sulk. All of this Pastor Will could cope with by the grace of God andthe gritting of teeth. What “capped the pile,” as Mazie Holcomb wouldput it, was the defective hearing aids that Joliet wore. In his effort tohear he was constantly tinkering with them, and he was unaware ofhow often they emitted a high-pitched squeal that could be heardthroughout the sanctuary but not by Joliet. Pastor Will declares that 38

one Sunday when that ultra-high squeal had people looking andlaughing, he heard a dog outside the church begin to howl as if inpain. Pastor Will was preaching one Sunday and declared thattoday’s saints could learn valuable lessons from yesterday’s martyrs,lessons mentioned in his text. Rene turned to Elvira and asked in a louder voice than herealized he was using, “What did he say about lesions?” “Not lesions, dear,” Elvira answered, keeping her voice as lowas possible; “He said ‘lessons.’” “That’s what I’m talking about,” Rene snapped, raising his voiceanother notch. “What about lesions? What have lesions to do withreligion?” “Don’t talk so loudly, dear,” Elvira pled. “Everyone will hearyou.” By now Rene Joliet had put his last bit of patience through theshredder. He almost spat out his next words, “Just answer myquestion, woman, and I won’t say anything else. What the devil haslesions to do with his sermon or my life?” Rene’s impatience had, across the years, compelled poor Elvirato cultivate greater than usual patience. She tried once more to endthe disturbing conversation. “Rene, he did not say lesions; he saidlessons.” Thoroughly angered, Joliet stood to his feet, harrumphed like abull elephant, and backed into the aisle. He proceeded down theaisle to the door, bumped it open with a ham-sized palm, and enteredthe foyer, muttering for all to hear, “Fool woman, I know the difference 39

between lesions and legions.” He still had not heard from Will or hiswife the word “lessons.” She trailed behind him with a red face and a nervous smile, andin the foyer she finally lost her almost legendary patience. While Willwas valiantly trying to expound the lessons to be learned from his textthe congregation heard Elvira shriek, “You big dummy! He saidlessons, lessons, LESSONS. Of course lesions have nothing to dowith religion or with Brother Will’s sermon. There were never anylesions in it. LESSONS, NOT LESIONS! Can you hear me now?” “You embarrass me,” Rene trumpeted, still the bull elephant.“Get in the car and we’ll go home. I don’t want to face the pastorafter the way you’ve acted.” Back in the sanctuary people were struggling to keep theirfaces straight and to keep looking at and listening to the pastor. Heknew he had been defeated, but as I have mentioned before he has astubborn streak, so he resolutely preached to the planned end of hissermon, then prayed at greater length than usual before pronouncingthe benediction. As people talked about the incident in the foyer, some of theteens gathered on the east side and some on the west side. Whenone group would say something to the other, that group would yell,“We can’t hear you.” Nearly consumed with righteous indignation, Will drove homemuttering some unflattering remarks about Joliet and the teens,venting his frustration to keep from exploding. Sweet little Arleneshook her head in sorrow and said, “I hope the Lord can’t hear you.” . 40

13. VERY PERSONAL APPLICATION Pastor Will frequently reminded his congregation that Scripture was to be heard, not merely overheard. Its benefits required a person to hear it as personaladdress, not as something the Lord said long ago and far away toother people. The word of the Lord was to be applied to oneself,whether it came as command or as promise. God had not onlyspoken, creating the Bible; he was yet speaking, making the Bible hisword to his people who were here and now confronted with itsmessage. Muddle’s insistence on personally applying Scripture wasappropriate most of the time. The exception that proves the rule,however, always comes to church, whether it’s Mr. Exception, Mrs.Exception, or Ms. Exception. In the course of time, Pastor Will’s practice of preachingthrough books of the Bible (as opposed to a hop, skip and jumpapproach that dipped into unrelated passages of Scripture eachweek) brought him to a series of sermons that expounded the lastbook of the canon, Revelation. Martin Luther was so puzzled by Revelation that he struggled tobelieve that it was intended by the Spirit of Truth to be included in theBible. John Calvin had such difficulty with Revelation that he decidedagainst writing a commentary on it after dealing brilliantly andhelpfully with the rest of the New Testament. Pastor Will, in contrastto the doughty reformers, had always agreed with a prominent Britishexpositor, George Campbell Morgan, who insisted that Revelation isthe most optimistic book of the Bible. One fateful Sunday morning a 41

listener made a very personal application of the passage Will hadselected for his sermon, and it almost turned the pastor against everexpounding Revelation again. If a pastor announces his intention to preach throughRevelation his crowds will increase. Many people have a greaterinterest in finding out who the antichrist is than they have in givingtheir hearts and lives to the Christ. A jigsaw puzzle mentality oftenmarks those who listen to an exposition of Revelation. On this particular Sunday morning Brother Will had arrived atchapter 17 with its vision of a woman guilty of adulteries who wasmounted on a scarlet beast, a woman “drunk with the blood of thesaints” and riding to her God-appointed doom. Before Will couldreach the final verse that identifies the woman as a metaphor for “thegreat city that rules over the kings of the earth,” pandemonium brokeloose. A woman leaped to her feet, pierced the air with a horriblewail, and screamed, “I’m the woman! I’m the adulteress! I’m ridingthe scarlet beast! I’m headed for hell!” All eyes shifted to the confessor, all ears strained to hear luriddetails. Three alert ushers rushed to the woman, took her gently bythe arms and tried to lead her quickly from the sanctuary. Theirefforts were rewarded by louder screams and repeated self-incriminations. Pastor Will stood at the pulpit, his jaws moving but nowords escaping his throat. His face was as red as the hide of thebeast on which the woman in chapter 17 was riding. Nothing he hadlearned in his study of homiletics at the seminary prepared him tohandle this situation. 42

As the perspiring ushers gradually pulled and pushed thewailing woman down an aisle and into the foyer and out to theparking lot, Pastor Will saw one of his church officials rushing towarda side door. The man was blushing furiously and breathing heavily.His wife followed him with her jaws set and her mouth drawn into astraight line. What shone in her eyes was definitely not rapture but athreat of retribution. The really good stuff in Revelation comes in the chaptersbeyond 17. There the triumph of the Christ over all his enemies isdescribed. There the destiny of “hell’s trinity”--Satan and the beastsfrom sea and earth—is depicted. There a vision of heaven brings thebook to a glorious conclusion. Will’s people never knew his take onthe messages from God in those closing chapters. His series on thelast book of the Bible was abruptly cancelled and the followingSunday he began in Genesis 1, as far from Revelation as he couldget and still remain within the bounds of Scripture. 43

14. CLOSING UP FAST Years after he first read or heard the joke, he couldn’t remember which, Pastor Muddle had reason to recall it. The joke concerned a city boy who was visiting his countrycousin. Crossing a field one day the boys passed a persimmon treeloaded with unripe fruit. The urban lad had never seen a persimmontree, nor had he eaten a persimmon. When he asked about it hisrural cousin leaped at the opportunity to play a prank on him. Hedescribed the persimmons as delicious, much like peaches, andhanded his unsuspecting visitor one to eat. Few things pucker you up like a green persimmon. The boychewed it up and swallowed it, not favorably impressed with its flavor.They walked on in silence for a few minutes and the city-bred victimsaid, “If you’re gonna ask something that needs an answer, ask itquick. I’m closing up fast.” Pastor Will had a similar experience, but not from greenpersimmons. One Sunday morning Arlene brought medicines and aglass of water to him; it was a daily ritual because he tended to forgethis pills, sometimes on purpose. As always, without looking at themhe popped them into his mouth and washed them down his throat.Where his wife and his medicines were concerned, Pastor Willdefinitely lived by faith. Pastor and wife got into the car and headed for church. Withinminutes his mouth was drying out. She suspected nothing at first,because he rarely talked as they drove. He was content to be alistener and she enjoyed being a talker. They were happily 44

compatible in that regard. However, she asked him several questionsand when he struggled to frame his answers and complained of hisdry mouth, she quickly figured out what was wrong. As his sweet,attentive helpmate she had accidentally given her medicines toBrother Will, and a side effect of one of her pills was the rapid dryingout of the mouth and throat. By time they reached the church Will’stongue was trying to cleave to the roof of his mouth and his lips feltlike they were trying to exchange places with his tonsils. By time hestood at the pulpit to preach his carefully crafted sermon, he couldbarely manage to utter a whole sentence. Pastor Will read a passage of Scripture, laboring through it likea drunk with blurred vision trying to read aloud a newspaper article.The congregation knew something was wrong but they couldn’t guesswhat. Several tried to diagnose the problem but failed. BerniceWatkins said later that she thought he was having a heart attackbecause her husband died of one and was struggling to saysomething as it happened. The truth is, poor Ed Watkins hadstruggled all his married life to express his opinion about matters thathis wife discussed in determined monologues. Jasper Hookingsthought Brother Will was suffering a sudden drop in his blood glucoselevel. Hookings had once experienced that and remembered how hecould bring words to mind but couldn’t get them said. Other listenershad other explanations but they were all wrong. Will cleared the mystery up by managing to confess that he hadtaken his wife’s medicines by mistake and one of them was having agreen-persimmon effect upon his throat and mouth. That brought to 45

his mind the ancient joke and he told it, every word a challenge to histongue which was by then feeling strangely thick and furry. An alert teenager abruptly bolted through a sanctuary door andsoon returned with a Styrofoam cup filled with cool water from ahallway drinking fountain. Will gulped it down (the water, not the cup)quickly and gladly, and then resumed his message before the pillcould renew its force. He managed to deliver the message much ashe had planned to, but seldom had preaching been a harder task. As Will closed the service he thanked the thoughtful andaccommodating teen, saying, “Your kindness made it possible for meto preach today.” The teenage rescuer was happy to be publicly acknowledgedas the pastor’s benefactor. However, she did wonder why severalpeople glared icily at her as they were leaving the Lord’s house. 46

15. INSECTICIDE Pastor Will Muddle, during the middle years of his ministry, quite often preached at camp meetings. To him it was a singular privilege and an awesomeresponsibility, but he did not regard himself as a camp meetingpreacher. Most of them were professional evangelists or big-namechurch leaders, and Brother Will knew himself to be a simple pastorwith a fair degree of preaching skills that had been slowly developedand honed through years of patient study and hard work. He thoughtof himself as a revivalist, not an evangelist, for he usually facedpeople who had found Christ and needed instruction, guidance andimpetus. His question was usually not “Are you a Christian” but“What kind of Christian are you?” He was not comfortable with high-pressure altar calls or with psychologically induced emotional binges.Often these factors seemed to prevail in camp meetings. Nevertheless, he rarely refused an invitation to preach, for heloved the task of preaching and he loved the folks to whom hepreached. In the mysterious providence of God he found himselffrequently preaching at camp meetings. In those days many of thevenues were open-air tabernacles with homemade pews. No airconditioning helped to keep the weary awake, and no screens helpedto keep insects at bay. He preached one camp meeting where he found himself pattingthe backs of seekers at the altar of prayer, not to encourage theirprayers but to discourage their predators--big, black, bloodthirstymosquitoes that came to the altar more quickly and in larger numbersthan did people. 47

In another scenic outdoor setting Will could count on a smallherd of deer to amble across the glade behind him about midwaythrough his sermon. The deer, with nothing to offer but curiousstares, received far more attention than did the perspiring preacherwho was struggling mightily to connect earth and heaven in theminds, hearts and consciences of the congregation. The routineintrusion and disruption finally had Brother Will thinking dark thoughtsabout killing Bambi. The worst encounter with non-human creatures that Will everexperienced in a camp meeting took place on a hot summer night inGeorgia. The tabernacle was wide open on three sides and the airwas conditioned only by hand-held, cardboard fans that advertised anearby funeral home. As he preached, Pastor Will could feel thesweat coursing down his legs and wetting his socks as it collected inhis shoes. In that climate the gnats thrived. Will was convinced thatthe gnats used the camp meeting facilities for their state conventionat the same time each year that the churches scheduled the campmeeting. Gnats do not buzz and do not sting and for that he was properlygrateful. But they delight in flying close to and even into people’seyes, ears, noses and throats. Gnats seem to handle rejection wellfor they are persistent about renewed visits. You can’t swat and can’tdiscourage gnats. They are worse than bill collectors or insurancesalesmen in the pursuit of their prey. On that fateful night, when Brother Will was warming to histask, the gnats were swarming to theirs. Right in the middle of apatch of purple words a gnat, either curious or courageous or both, 48

flew into his mouth and landed on the back of his tongue. There itshowed no intention of either advancing or retreating. He couldn’tcough it up and he couldn’t swallow it down, though his efforts at bothstrategies were heroic. He tried to keep preaching but the gnat,doing a kind of rhythmic stomp in his throat, caused Will to pronouncewords and punctuate sentences in novel ways. His words andphrases became increasingly erratic and incoherent. In desperationhe seized a paper cup filled with water that someone had placed inthe pulpit, a kindness Will had not appropriated before because somevolunteer tasters usually preceded him. Hygienic concerns had toyield to life threats at this moment, however, and he gulped waterfrantically in an effort to wash the gnat down his throat to its death inhydrochloric acid. Unfortunately, the hardy insect could swim fasterthan Will could swallow, bringing on a fresh fit of coughing thatsprayed water in every direction but could not dislodge the uninvitedvisitor. Pastor Will surrendered the fight and fled the battlefield, walkingrapidly out of the tabernacle into welcome darkness as he rushed tohis room. There he grabbed a variety of snacks and a can of dietcola which, combined with rapid swallowing, managed to send theoffensive little irritant to its demise. How close the whole incident hadcome to causing a heart attack, Will would never know. It’s a humbling thing for a grown man to be chased from thepulpit to a bathroom by so small an enemy. The bruise on Will’s egowas massive. He was still suffering from the rout when he venturedinto the cafeteria for breakfast the next morning. The first man togreet him said with a grin, “Insect aside, that was a good message, 49

Brother Will.” The intended pun did nothing to restore the preacher’ssoul. Instead, he looked at the smirking wag and thought,“God forgive me, I don’t like you any better than I did the gnat.” Heliked him even less when the grinning punster added, “Even if itended in a gnat-ural disaster.” At that point Will decided to forgo breakfast. As he steppedoutside a small cloud of gnats went into a holding pattern before hisface. His shoulders drooped, his faith withered and his joy vanished.A passage of Scripture popped into his mind, the one where Godthreatened to chase his enemies with hornets. He murmured anancient and overworked expression of resignation and comfort: “Itcould be worse.” It got worse, but that’s another story. 50