A Few Sundays With Will Muddle

16. NOT QUITE THE MOST EMBARRASSING MOMENT Like most pastors, Will Muddle was frequently invited to homes of members for after-service “snack and yak” sessions. Unlike most pastors Will never really caredfor these informal and neighborly gatherings. His reluctancestemmed partly from his introversion, which made him emotionallyaverse to such events. It also arose from the fact that after he hadpreached he was painfully aware of the gap between what he hadwanted to say and what he actually said, between what he had hopedto achieve and what actually transpired. He preferred isolation tocamaraderie while he critiqued the service and the sermon. Theafter-service “fellowship-food-and-fun” times were something heendured more than he enjoyed. Nevertheless, he usually acceptedthe invitations for he wanted to please his wife and to placate hisfriends. One Sunday night, after something only moderatelyembarrassing had occurred during the service, Will was with was agroup who were chewing on the subject of embarrassing moments.As he knew it would, the flow of conversation was soon directed tohim. “Tell us, Brother Will,” his hostess urged, “about your mostembarrassing moment.” “There have been an embarrassing number of embarrassingmoments in my life,” he responded. “It would be hard to name themost embarrassing, but I’ll tell you of one that is certainly near the topof the list.” “I was preaching at a youth service during a camp meeting oneSunday night when Arlene and I were still newlyweds. Present in the 51

service was a young woman I had known in college. I may evenhave dated her once or twice--I can’t recall. That, in itself, indicateshow slight an impact we had on each other’s life. “This young woman was attractive and she listened withflattering attention to the message I preached. She was seated onthe first row of benches so I couldn’t fail to notice her. At first Ithought, ‘She looks familiar,’ and memory strained to place her while Istruggled to keep my mind focused on my message. Suddenly Iremembered who she was and realized that I hadn’t seen her sinceleaving college. “My sermon, as you would expect in that setting, was intenselyevangelistic. I was fishing for men, to borrow the Lord’s way ofputting it, and I could only hope that the bait would prove alluring. “I closed the message as strongly as I could and proceeded tomake an altar call. In a few minutes, as I glanced in her direction, Irealized that she was quietly weeping. I leaped to the logicalconclusion that she was under conviction. Remembering her as arather shy person, I thought she needed a little encouragement toopenly seek the Lord. So I walked over to where she stood,extended my hand in a gesture of invitation, and said ‘Don’t you wantJesus tonight?’ “Before I could move she lunged at me, wrapped her armsaround me, and said, ‘O Will, it’s you I want.’ “I shot a quick glance over to my bride, and I could tell Arlenewas not blessed by what was happening. “I gripped the woman’s wrists, broke her embrace, and said, ‘Itmay be me you want, but it’s Jesus you need.’ 52

“I stepped quickly away. I could feel my cheeks burning. Icould see some of the people who were close to us beginning tolaugh. That would prove contagious and distracting, I knew, so I said,‘Everybody, let’s pray. Bow your heads.’ And I prayed for the Lord toprevent the service from being defeated, but I’ll have to confess thatmy prayer contained more anxiety than faith. “When I tacked on an ‘amen’ and opened my eyes the youngwoman was rushing toward an exit, not toward the altar. People werestaring, wondering what I had said or done to provoke her reaction.Those who knew couldn’t wait to tell. Those who didn’t know couldn’twait to find out. I realized that I had lost the initiative and there wasnothing I could do but close the service. “Dodging the people, I beat a hasty retreat to our room at theworker’s lodge. My wife was eager for an explanation and I was justas eager to avoid it. Of course, she out-eagered me and neither of usslept comfortably that night. “By morning she was over any green-eyed feelings she mayhave had and she was ready to tease me about the incident. Irefused to go to the dining hall for breakfast. I knew some of thepastors would be waiting to harass me, and I knew one fun-lovingand fearless pastor’s wife who would entertain the diners by huggingme and exclaiming, ‘O Will, it’s you I want.” “When I announced my intention to boycott breakfast Arlenecalled me ‘chicken.’ ‘Yes,’ I admitted, ‘and we won’t discuss it. I’m ina fowl mood.’ “Arlene missed the pun and I missed the bacon and eggs. Andbefore you ask--I never saw or heard from that young woman again. 53

I hope she found Jesus; I’m thankful that she has not rediscoveredme.” The reaction of his friends to that story was noticeably slight.Pastor Muddle thought, “If I had shared my most embarrassingmoment you would laugh at me until your sides ached.” Never did hegive them the satisfaction of hearing about it, though he was temptedfrom time to time to share the story. Since he never told me either,you won’t read about it in this book. Sorry. 54

17. THE LONE RANGER RIDES AGAIN Should pews be padded? If you polled a congregation they would probably vote unanimously for padded pews. Padded pews are much more comfortable thanunpadded pews, and comfort sure counts when sermons lengthen. If you polled a hundred pastors, however, you would get amixed reaction. They know people are more likely to attend theservices if the seating is comfortable. On the other hand, paddedpews are more sleep inducing, and preaching to napping people is adisheartening task. On the other hand (if you can handle three hands), when thereare young children in the congregation, padded pews can cushion thenoise some of them seem determined to make. Two boisterous boys, ages five and three, were part of PastorWill’s congregation who occupied plain unpadded pews everySunday. Other boys were there, also, and a proportionate number ofgirls, but all of them together could not match these two for noisemaking. Their father could not quiet them because their motherwould not quiet them. “Just be glad they like to come to church,” shewould say. Other listeners avoided the pew where father, mother and thetwo rowdy youngsters sat. Actually, the problem was created by thefact that the parents sat but the boys didn’t. They walked the pewand never tip-toed. Sometimes they even ran the pew, one in pursuitof the other. Motion added to noise produced a major distraction andhad the effect of isolating the family as other worshipers moveddiscreetly away. That made things even worse, for often 55

unsuspecting visitors sat in the adjacent pews and the retention rateon those visitors was adversely affected. Pastor Will had concluded that the boys didn’t get breakfast onSundays, for after service he would clear the pew as he made thesanctuary presentable for the evening service. Each week he foundenough gum wrappers, candy wrappers, cookie crumbs and applecores to rival a poorly policed picnic area. All of them were remindersof a variety of noises inflicted upon the people within earshot. Pastor Will often fumed about it, privately of course, and Arlenewould say, “Now, dear, don’t say anything to them. It will just makethings worse. Pray about it.” She really didn’t think prayer wouldchange the boy’s habits, but she counted on prayer to mollify Willenough between Sundays to keep him from a confrontation with Mrs.Noise-Boys (Pastor Will’s private name for the kids’ mother). On visits to the home Pastor Will confirmed his suspicion thatMrs. Noise-Boys was the taproot of the problem. The boys werestarved for affection. When Will sat down they would comeimmediately to stand beside him. He would greet them by name andput his arms around them, and as long as he continued to embracethem they would stand there, quietly content with his gesture ofaffection. On the other hand, as he walked up to the house Will couldhear the mother yelling at the top of her lungs, “Stop that!” She wouldscream threats of whipping them, of bouncing them off the walls, andeven of killing them, but she never laid a hand on them. Youngsterswill go as far as they can, and all her boundaries were empty threatsunsupported by the imposition of any form or degree of discipline. Ofcourse they had reached the stage of not really hearing what she 56

said, for it was all contradicted by what she did--or, more correctly, bywhat she failed to do. The situation came to a head the Sunday morning that the boysshowed up in new cowboy outfits complete with boots. They proudlydisplayed their duds to Pastor Will who, even as he complimented theboys, was mentally crossing himself. That day they clomped backand forth in the pew more vigorously than usual, enthralled by thenoise level those boots reached. At a midpoint in Pastor Will’s fervent sermon Five-Year-Oldstraddled the back of the pew, kicked his boots against it like acowboy on a horse, and shouted full-throat, “Hi Yo, Silver!” Theshout abruptly awakened old Mr. Carvello, causing his dentures to flyfrom his mouth to the floor and evoking from him a cuss word beforehe could realize where he was. Delighted with the escapade of hisbrother and eager to share the fun, Three-Year-Old tried to join him.When the little guy jumped to straddle the back of the pew he lost hisbalance and fell to the floor, striking his head on the pew behind himand raising an immediate knot on it (on his head, that is, not on thepew). The mother quickly picked up the squalling boy and gentlystroked and kissed his swollen forehead, but his loud sobs did notabate and she began to threaten him. Meanwhile, unwilling to losehis rodeo audience, Five-Year-Old renewed his imaginary gallop onhis imaginary horse until forcibly yanked from the saddle by his red-faced father. Pastor Will brought his sermon to an unplanned screechinghalt, mumbled a benediction, and headed for the foyer to apologize toany visibly angry people. Most of them seemed to be more amused 57

than angered and that did nothing to slow the emotions that werestampeding in Will’s mind. He was not helped when GloriaGrossman said, “Well, Pastor, you galloped that sermon right overthe edge of a cliff.” Will managed a brave ministerial smile, but hewas thinking, “And too bad you didn’t go with it.” Pastor Will called on the Noise-Boys that week. The father wasembarrassed and apologetic. The mother was defensive and defiant.Pastor Muddle, well, he was fed-up. When he could not reason withthe obstinate woman he finally made one desperate appeal for help.“If you can’t keep the boys from walking and kicking the pew,” hepled, “please take their shoes off before the service begins.” That never happened. 58

18. WHEN DRAMA BACKFIRED Will Muddle had a colleague in ministry, a Presbyterian pastor, who was gifted for dramatic preaching. For example, he once entered hispulpit in a wrinkled green suit, stood there brushing dust from it, andwhen all eyes were riveted to him, he announced, “I am yourmissionary dollar. I have just returned from a trip around the worldand I want to report what I achieved on your behalf.” Story after storyfollowed, as various victories on a number of foreign fields made thepeople glad they had invested money in the global mission of thechurch. On another occasion Muddle heard his friend preach amessage at an Easter sunrise service that held the audiencespellbound, including the pastors who shared the service. Thesermon began, “I am Longinus, the Roman centurion in charge of thecrucifixion and resurrection of Jesus. Each year I am required toreturn to earth and report what happened at those events.” The restof the sermon was a first-person account of the saving acts of God onthose days that history can never leave in the past. Will told hisfriend, “Someday I’m going to muster the courage to attempt some ofthat dramatic strategy myself.” His friend laughed and said, “Be careful, Will. It can backfire.”He told of preaching a sermon from the question God put to Moses atthe burning bush: “What is that in your hand.” Moses replied, “Astaff,” and God wrought miracles through that simple shepherd’s staff.In the sermon the preacher was the voice of God asking, “What isthat in your hand?” Then he became various characters from biblical 59

and secular history who consecrated ordinary things to God and wereused to achieve extraordinary results. One of those historicalcharacters was George Washington Carver, the black scientist whoutilized the peanut for an amazing variety of helpful products. When he reached that part of the message, the pastor intonedin his most godlike voice, “George, what is that in your hand?” Before“George” could answer “a peanut,” a little boy on the first row of pewslooked up surprised and exclaimed, “It’s a note from my mother.” Theplace shook with laughter and the sermon closed abruptly. The boy’sname was George; he had been getting restless and his mother,seated a few pews away, feared that he might disturb the service.She sent him a note instructing him to sit still and pay attention to thepastor. To her dismay the note became a part of the sermon--anunintended, unexpected and unscheduled closing. One Sunday night Will was preaching a solemn message froma warning Jesus issued to the sub-earnest in his audience. Thepassage tells of those who were caught off-guard and unprepared bythe return of Jesus. The wedding feast was being celebrated, but thedoor to the festal event was closed. “And the door was shut” becameWill Muddle’s text. Adjacent to his right as he stood in the pulpit was a doorconnecting the sanctuary to a room used for storing items used fromtime to time in decorating the sanctuary for various seasons andemphases of worship. The room had no other outlet. As hepreached, Will stepped from the pulpit, entered that room, and slowly,quietly, dramatically closed the door behind him. He waited a minuteuntil he was sure the congregation would be looking at the door and 60

listening for his voice. Then he shook the doorknob, pounded on thedoor, and cried out in urgent tones, “Lord, open the door.” He allowedbrief silence to follow, and then intoned the text: “The door was shut.” He repeated this awful pleading, met only by silence, and eachtime he loudly but seriously added, “The door was shut.” When hethought the effect was climactic he twisted the knob to open the door,reenter the pulpit and finish the message. To his surprise the doorrefused to open. Somehow it had locked. He resumed his pleading,door pounding, and repetitions of the text as a cover for his franticefforts to open the unyielding door. Finally he surrendered to theinevitable, and in the silence that followed, he called out, “BrotherClampett, get a key and open this door. I’m trapped in here.” Clampett was the church custodian and always sat near thatdoor. Unhappily, he did not have the key with him and it took severalminutes for him to fetch the key and release the pastor. During thattime Will made no effort to continue the sermon. When he regainedthe freedom and light of the sanctuary he read the faces of the peopleat a single glance and closed the service. Years later Pastor Muddle could recount the incident and jointhe ensuing laughter. For a long while, however, it produced a crisisof faith, for he really felt the Lord had let him down. He graduallyallowed the experience to teach him that all preachers do notpossess kindred abilities and cannot work in the same types ofharness. He also struggled to accept and forgive the “young Turks”who, for the next few months, would dart ahead of him as heapproached the sanctuary, saying, “Let me open the door for you,Pastor.” 61

19. THE BIRTHDAY GIFT Pastor Will was preaching one of those revival meetings he called “vacations” and found to his sorrow that the church to which he was preaching was badly divided,and even bitterly divided, over the pastor. Some praised him to theskies; others seemed to be convinced that he was either from orheaded for a deeper region. There was a tension in the atmosphereof the services that made preaching an awkward and arduous task.Will found himself counting the days and dreading the nights until themeeting was over. Churches that are fully united are usually dead. Those that arebadly divided are dying. Revival is desperately needed but effectivelyblocked in those situations. During this campaign in a rural churchWill was lodged in the parsonage and the pastor was under suchheavy fire that he could furnish no inspiration or encouragement. Infact, the pastor made matters worse by buttonholing members beforeand after the services, demanding to know whether they were for himor against him. The gatherings had the flavor of a politicalconvention, not an evangelistic crusade. The Sunday on which the revival closed happened to be thepastor’s birthday. Will was hoping that some after-servicedecaffeinated coffee, strawberry ice-cream and birthday cake mightcheer the fellow up. That night, however, a self-appointed chairmanof the board called for an emergency meeting to follow the worshipservice. Will sat on the steps of the church waiting for the pastor whowas, of course, neck deep in the debate raging among the board 62

members. Their agenda was framed as a question: “Who is toblame for this ineffective and unfruitful meeting?” Accusations andrecriminations were flying about the room like darts flung at dartboards--or more like darts thrown at other dart throwers. Will was tired, eager to get a little sleep and then head homeearly Monday morning. Had he known what the board meeting wasabout he would gladly have walked in and announced, “Blame it onme,” so that adjournment might follow. About 11:00 the pastor finallyappeared. “He looked like a woodpecker that had been draggedthrough a knothole backwards,” to quote a friend. All his featherswere rumpled and his face was a collage of weariness, sorrow, angerand pain. As they drove to the pastor’s home, Will asked what the boardmeeting had been about. The pastor said, “We go through this duringor after every revival meeting. Why does the revival do so little good?Who is blocking the Spirit’s flow? Trouble is, there is never anyconfession or repentance, just mutual blaming and shaming. Thequestion never gets answered and the problem never gets solved. Idon’t look forward to our annual revivals with hope and I can’t lookback on them with joy.” By time they reached the parsonage and the pastor’ wife couldset out the birthday treats, Brother Will thought they might as well addbacon and eggs and have breakfast. It was getting late and he wasbushed. When they walked into the living room a surprise gift awaitedthe pastor. Sitting in the middle of the floor and sporting a huge red 63

bow was a new suitcase. The card attached to the bow read, “Foryour birthday; have a nice trip.” The tag was unsigned. Turning to Will the pastor asked, “What do you make of this?” “Well,” replied Will, “When the handwriting on the wall is thatplain, you don’t need to send for Daniel to interpret it. Someonewants you to resign and leave.” “What do you think I should do?” the crestfallen man asked. “I’ll help you pack,” Will responded. An indirect reply was nevermore direct. Needless to say, the coffee tasted like swamp water and thecake tasted like stale bread smeared with buttered ashes. The foodhadn’t changed but the taste buds of the pastor and his guestevangelist had undergone a swift mutation. They said very little asthey ate. The pastor’s wife and son looked even sadder than he did. Will had packed his things early. He said to the pastor, “I’msorry you have to endure this embarrassment and heartache,Brother. I won’t be able to sleep tonight so I may as well head forhome.” He put his old, worn suitcase in his car, said goodbye to thelittle family, and hit the highway with a heavy heart. Sixty-four miles down the interstate the pastor’s car, bearing thefamily of three and a new piece of luggage, passed him in the fastlane. A sign, hastily printed in large letters and fastened to the rearbumper of the car, read, “ANYWHERE ELSE OR BUST.” 64

20. THE MYSTERIOUS GUEST Pastor Muddle, a veteran of long years of pastoral ministry, thought he had seen and heard it all. He profoundly hoped so, for he had been victimized by hisand others’ blunders on enough occasions to last any normal persona lifetime. One Sunday morning, as the soloist was trilling her happy waythrough an updated rendition of “In the Garden,” a well-dressed,intelligent looking man in a black suit and muted necktie stepped intothe sanctuary. With a handsome leather briefcase in one hand, thestranger proceeded down the aisle, walked up on the platform, andtook a seat. Without looking around he opened the briefcase,extracted some papers, and began to leaf through them. Will tried to look as though he was enraptured by the soloist’sperformance, for many of her large family were present and he didn’twant to offend them. He also kept stealing sidelong glances at theunexpected and unrecognized visitor. Obviously the man was amember of the clergy, and he must be reviewing sermon notes, Willthought. If he is to preach, though, why wasn’t I informed? That wasthe question that kept repeating itself in Will’s puzzled mind. Because of several unfortunate and embarrassing incidents hehad earlier endured on Sundays, events that he would like to forget,Pastor Will was subject to infrequent bouts of paranoia. Was this anew district superintendent, here to introduce himself and confer withthe church board about their degree of satisfaction with Will’s work?Was this a practical joke, plotted by one of several impious youngmen in the congregation, and designed to shock the pastor and tickle 65

the people? Will knew that some of them carried irreverence to theedge of sacrilege, and he didn’t trust them to exercise respect orcommon sense where the proprieties of worship were concerned. Hehastily and discreetly scanned the congregation, looking for anyonewho might be wearing a knowing smirk. Everyone seemed to bedividing attention between the stranger and the soloist, but no one’sfacial expression favored the cat that ate the canary. The soloist ended her contralto lament about having to leavethe garden because night was falling, and the audience politelyapplauded. She exited stage left, glaring at the stranger whosedisruptive entrance took attention from her--and she had worn a newdress for the occasion. Unforgivable! Pastor Will had to act and he rose to the occasion. He steppedtoward the man in black, saying, “I am Pastor Will Muddle, and youare?” The man looked up at Will in obvious confusion. His eyesswept the sanctuary and the congregation with a startled gaze thatinstantly produced a reddening face. “Are you here to preach?” Will asked, keeping his voice low andhis face impassive. The man in black hastily shoved the papers into the briefcase,sprang to his feet, mumbled, “Sorry, wrong church,” and bolted downthe aisle, through the foyer and into the parking lot, avoiding all eyecontact with those who watched his dignified but accelerateddeparture. Silence reigned for a long moment, and pastor and peopleheard a car start and tires squeal as the man who had sinned in 66

leisure repented in haste. That was how Pastor Will later describedthe man’s exit. Refusing to be intimidated by the weird circumstance, Willassumed his usual stance in the pulpit and began his usual approachto the sermon for the day. He solemnly intoned his text: “I don’t knowyou or where you come from.” He never recovered the laughingcongregation’s attention to the very serious passage of Scripture hehad intended to expound. The benediction replaced the sermon, and the first fellow toshake hands with Pastor Will in the foyer asked, “Who was thatunmasked man?” That did it. Total defeat sent Will home at a boilingpoint. 67

21. A UNIQUE FUNERAL If anything can affect a Sunday evening service adversely, it is a funeral on Sunday afternoon. The additional service, the solemn atmosphere, the emotional drain, along with thedrastic inroads into a pastor’s time and energy, make Sundayfunerals a heavy burden for the preacher to bear. Most pastors feelthis way but few if any have ever refused to conduct Sunday funerals. Pastor Will had one funeral he will never forget. In a flagdraped casket lay the body of an army veteran. His widow, histwelve-year old son (who had a much lower mental age), and his oldmother were among the family and friends who attended the funeralservice. Will was a stranger to them all, having been drafted for theservice by the funeral director because the mourning family had nochurch or pastor. Everything flowed smoothly during the service at the funeralhome chapel. As the solemn motorcade made its way to the burialsite Will drove his car with a divided mind--reviewing what he wouldsay at the interment and reflecting on what he was to preach at theevening worship service of his congregation. He also drove with arebellious stomach, for he had rushed through his noon meal andnow it was rushing through him. At the cemetery he stood beside the casket and faced thegroup seated under the tent and standing around it. Fortunately forall, the day was sunny and calm. It seemed to Will that cold, wind-blown rain always made for a sadder funeral. Following a fewintroductory remarks, he opened his Bible, and without looking at the 68

exposed pages, he quoted the text he had selected for his eveningsermon. It had no relevance to the present occasion, and heimmediately realized his gaffe. Without a word of comment orexplanation regarding the quoted scripture, he dropped his eyes andread Paul’s great passage on the coming of Christ and theresurrection of the dead in First Thessalonians. With his brainsaying, “Focus, focus, focus!” he emphasized the wonderful reunionof believers that this event would initiate, all the while hoping that hisblushing cheeks were not noticeable. Following his closing prayer Will stepped back and watched asthe army took over. From a nearby post soldiers had been dispatchedto appropriately honor the dead veteran. Two of them lifted the flagfrom the casket, folded it with practiced motions, and presented it tothe widow. Then they all came to attention as a bugler sounded taps.When the last solemn note had died on the air, a rifle squad liftedtheir guns and fired a salute. This was totally unexpected by the aged mother. It badlystartled her and she fainted, slumping from her chair to the ground.Her little grandson jumped up and down in spontaneous excitement,yelling, “O, my God! O, my God! Some (bleep-bleep-bleep) shotgrandma!” No one moved. The army personnel stood stiff and silent, theirorders having been carried out routinely. The funeral home staff didnothing, said nothing, as though time suddenly had come to astandstill. Pastor Will gallantly stepped into the breach, uttered somelame and brief remarks, and pronounced a benediction. All the whilehe struggled to restrain a wild and strong impulse to guffaw. 69

Grandma was revived, the lad was quieted, and the crowd dispersed,some of them unable to stifle their hilarity. At the evening service Pastor Will read his text, and peoplestared at him in surprise, wondering what had come over him, for hebroke into uncontainable laughter. For years he couldn’t tell anyoneabout the incident without laughing until his eyes ran with tears. Will’s biggest blooper occurred early in his ministry during thesecond funeral service he ever conducted. He was trying to accentthe truth that a person survived the death of his or her body, that tobe absent from the body was to be present with the Lord. Looking atthe grieving family and pointing toward the casket, Will declared,“That’s just the shell; the nut is gone.” Another funeral that amused as much as saddened occurredwhen Muddle was old. His granddaughter’s mother died. A great-grandson, just a little guy at the time, was puzzled by his introductionto death in the family. His mother tried to make him realize that hisbeloved grandmother was in heaven with Jesus. Pointing to thecasket the little fellow asked, “It that a fake in there”? Death is real, Pastor Will, realized, but it’s not always solemn. 70

22. IT TOOK A MIRACLE Most pastors of small churches, if they can carry a tune, have tried to help with the musical portions of worship services. Pastor Will was no exception. Hesang the lead in a men’s trio when serving a home-mission church.He sang duets with Arlene on several occasions. He even sang asolo on one occasion. In one pastorate he sang with the song leaderand that ended his musical aspirations and experiments. It happened on the closing Sunday night of a revival meeting.A young lady in the church requested Pastor Muddle and BrotherYodell to sing “It Took a Miracle.” They had sung it once before andagreed to do it again. By time they reached the middle of the second stanza they hadcompletely ruined the song. Brother Yodell was a kind soul but hecould not go on. He stopped singing and apologized, saying humbly,“I’m sorry, Pastor.” Muddle was less kind but more courageous. Hesoldiered on alone to finish the verse and chorus. The congregation was in stitches. It was that bad. Someducked behind pews to keep Muddle from seeing them laughing.Some openly chortled. The poor evangelist, whose last service wasbeing destroyed, strove heroically to restrain his laughter because hewas facing the audience. He said afterwards that he kept a straightface at the cost of a sore stomach. The piano player told Muddle—and half the town—“I played all the white keys and all the black keysand all the cracks between the keys and I never could produce thetune you were using.” 71

When Pastor Muddle got home that night he heard footstepsbehind him. He turned to see who had followed him into the house.It was a loyal member and friend who had never entered theparsonage before. “Well,” Muddle said, “to what do I owe this visit?” Brother Drucker couldn’t answer. He grabbed his stomach, andburst out laughing, then turned and left the house. For the next threemonths, every time he saw Muddle he would say, “It took a miracle,”and bend over, convulsed with laughter. Word of the musical fiasco spread throughout the state.Everywhere Muddle went he was asked about it and teased about it.At the district camp meeting that summer he was catching for thepastors in their annual softball game against aggressive and talentedlads from several churches. Suddenly a group of teens watching thegame formed themselves into an impromptu choir, stood behind thebackstop, which put them close to Will, and sang the song that hewanted to purge from his memory. One of his colleagues told him of a pastor whose church sent adelegation to ask the district superintendent to replace him becausehe couldn’t sing. Responding to the official’s questions the delegationgave the pastor high marks for preaching, compassion, andfriendliness. The superintendent exploded: “And you want to get ridof him because he can’t sing? Preposterous!” The delegationanswered, “But you don’t understand; he thinks he can sing.” Brother Yodell never mentioned the incident, for he was kindand sensitive to other’s hurts. However, the dear man blushed easily 72

and when his face would redden as Muddle approached him, thepastor knew what was going through his mind. No man ever remained more “calm, cool and collected” under abarrage of relentless teasing. Pastor Muddle would smile, even laugh,and let them have their fun without evidencing any rancor orresentment. A year later, after someone had once again alluded to thedisastrous duet, Arlene said to Will, “I know you are genuinelyChristian. No one could take so much ribbing and react so graciouslyunless he was a patient and forgiving Christian. I’m proud of the wayyou have endured this constant joking and teasing.” Will smiled at her and said, “Arlene, if you promise to keep mysecret I will tell you how much funnier it was than all these peoplethink.” “What could possibly have made it worse?” she asked. “I thought it was Yodell who was off key. I thought I wassinging well—that I was really nailing the song.” Her abrupt and uncontrollable laughter rivaled Drucker’s. One night Pastor Will was reflecting on the incident in theprivacy of his study, alone with his thoughts. He recalled the timeArlene took him from the choir of their home church, saying, “Untilyou learn to carry a tune you can’t sing in the choir. You are forcingother singers to stop.” He recalled the time at a choir practice whenthe man standing beside him whispered, “You have a peculiar voice.I don’t think you should expose it to the air.” He recalled the timeArlene told him on the way home from church, “Will, please don’t try 73

to harmonize. You can’t do it. Just sing the melody.” That’s what hethought he had been doing all along. He heard a voice—he always thought it was God’s voice—saying “You were called to preach, not to sing.” From that night on Pastor Will Muddle never joined anotherchoir or attempted another “special” song. His congregations neverregistered any displeasure with his decision to “cease and desist.” 74

23. DOWN BY THE RIVERSIDE Pastor Will Muddle preferred natural settings for his baptismal services. To him the ritual was enhanced by the beauty of clear water flowing over white sand at aspot surrounded by lush foliage and tall trees. He found such placesin both lakes and rivers and utilized them rather than the aquacolored cement baptistery in the church. One Sunday afternoon a large group from the church hadassembled at his favorite spot on the river that flowed through thesmall city to which a kind providence had brought him as pastor. Inlate September the temperature of air and water were just right foroutdoor baptismal services. Pastor Will waded into the stream andfound it pleasant to imagine sins being washed away and lives beingreborn. One of the first of six persons to be baptized was a young mannamed Wilfred Mallard. Wilfred was faithful in church attendance,congenial in spirit, and genuinely Christian. Unfortunately, he wasalso a child mentally. An accident at birth had caused brain damagethat severely limited his mental growth. This sweet natured man-child was excited about being baptizedby his beloved pastor. He was escorted to where Will stood in waist-deep water. The pastor saw his eyes shining, his face beaming, andrejoiced with him. It was a high moment for them both when PastorWill said, “I baptize you in the name of the Father, Son and HolySpirit,” and plunged the lad into the now-sacred flow. And then it happened. The water was so warm and inviting, theday so unclouded and glorious, and Wilfred so happy and relaxed 75

that he did not return to the bank. Instead he moved quickly beyondthe pastor into deeper water and began to swim back and forth,sometimes on his back, sometimes on his stomach, rollicking like anotter at play. If he heard Will tell him to rejoin the people on shore henever acknowledged the gentle command. Pastor Muddle decided that the baptisms must continue. Astwo more new believers were immersed, the swimmer continued tosplash about behind them. The people watching could not help beingamused and it showed on their faces and in their whispered remarksto one another. Warm weather notwithstanding, the pastor’s moodwas getting chilly. What had gone from good to bad now went from bad to worse.The last candidate for baptism was a huge man, Rockwell Sanford.He was six-three tall and weighed over three-hundred pounds.Standing in wet clothes the pastor weighed no more than onehundred sixty-five. To make the task more difficult, Rockwell wasafraid of water. He dreaded going under, but was determined toundergo the sacrament. Will repeated the proper words, extracted from Rockwell aconfession of faith, and said, “I baptize you in the name of the Father,Son and Holy Spirit.” He tried to bend the big man backward butRockwell’s head never touched the water. Standing upright again, helaughed nervously and said, “You didn’t get me that time.” Pastor Will repeated the affirmation and tried again to immersethe huge candidate, only to fail and almost collapse under Rockwell’sresistant weight. Once again the man giggled and said, “You didn’tget me that time.” 76

By now Will’s temperature could heat the water in which hestood. A third time he said, “I baptize you…” and at the same time hekicked the man’s feet from under him. An alert friend moved quicklyout and helped Will bring the sputtering man to the surface. As thegiant spouted water the pastor said, “I got you that time!” The people were laughing and all the while Wilfred Mallard wascontentedly swimming and splashing around. Later, when he had recovered from his disappointment anddisgust, Pastor Will would tell folks, “Mallard took to water like a duckand Rockwell took to water like a boulder.” That was much later, anduntil then Pastor Muddle thought sourly about dry cleaning the nextconverts. 77

24. LOVE’S LABOR LOST Pastor Muddle accepted the responsibility and opportunity of a church that had seen better days. Located in a small, bustling industrial city, it had oncethrived but had been in decline for over a decade. With Arlene’s ableassistance he set about to attract new persons and to win back someformer members who, for a variety of reasons, no longer attended thechurch. One such ex-member was Agnes Wellington, who proudlyclaimed descent from the intrepid Duke of Wellington who orderedthe battle when the English defeated Napoleon at Waterloo in 1815..Agnes had the distinction of being the postmaster in that city. Shewas well known and well liked in professional circles. She was alsoone of those rare persons whose graying hair and tiny wrinkles lentan aura of grace and wisdom to her appearance and career. Havingher back, Will reasoned, would lend prestige to the church andfurnish impetus for its growth. He and Arlene began an unannounced and determinedcampaign to bring this significant stray back to the fold. They foundready excuses to visit the post office and engage Agnes in friendlyconversations. Acquaintance ripened into friendship as weeks andmonths slipped past. Never mentioning her past association with thechurch, they relied on that friendship to win her return. Sometimesthey lunched with the charming and entertaining woman who finallymentioned being a former member but gave no reason for leavingand made no criticism of the church. 78

“She would be a real catch,” Will told Arlene, abandoning themetaphor of a shepherd rounding up strayed sheep in favor of anangler hooking and landing a prize fish. “She has class and alwayslooks and acts the part of a social and spiritual leader. She could bea tremendous asset to our church.” Their prayers were answered and their persistence wasrewarded one Thursday at lunch in an upscale restaurant, whenAgnes said, “Will, I’m coming to hear you preach Sunday.” He laid down his fork and clapped his hands softly, not wantingto embarrass her In the tony restaurant by expressing loudly theexuberance he was feeling over her quiet promise. “How kind ofyou,” he responded. “I hope you will find the service rewarding. Wewill be thrilled to have you there. I just hope my garden variety ofpreaching won’t discourage further visits.” “Modesty becomes you,” she replied. “I’ve heard good thingsabout your preaching from a number of my friends.” Pastor Will poured heart and soul into the preparation of hissermon, and prayed that everything said, sung and spoken would bedirected and energized by the Spirit of God. Sunday would rewardthe love and labor that he and Arlene had invested for months. They were standing in the foyer Sunday morning, eager to meetand greet Agnes when she arrived. Arlene was a short distance fromher husband, engaged in making members and guests warmlywelcome. Will admired her people-skills and trusted her to say anddo the right things on every occasion. When Agnes entered the foyer she immediately spotted andwas spotted by Arlene. They quickly embraced and began to 79

converse. As Will watched, elated, he saw Glenn Duffield, one of thegreeters, join the two women. Agnes extended her hand and the lip-reading pastor knew she had greeted the greeter as an acquaintance.Duffield had his back to Pastor Will, who watched the trio. Duffieldsaid something, and to Will’s horror he saw Agnes’ eyes flash fire andher mouth draw tight as she turned from them and strode from thechurch in evident anger. Arlene tried to catch her but could not.Duffield stood there with a “what did I say” expression on his face. Agnes joined Will with a defeated and disgusted look. ”What happened? What did Duffy say to her?” Arlene nearly spat the words, she was so upset. “I can’t believeit,” she moaned. “All our months of work destroyed in one moment.” “I know! I know!” Will commiserated. “Tell me what he said.” “His exact words were ‘Agnes, I haven’t seen you for a coupleof years. You’ve changed. You’re as gray as a rat.’” You can imagine how hard it was for Will to preach thatmorning. Tasting the ashes of defeat, he labored dejectedly toproclaim the message he had crafted so excitedly. Everyone sensedthat something was wrong but no one, not even Duffy, knew why thesermon fell so flat and the preacher seemed so preoccupied. When Arlene, usually the soul of tolerance, encounteredDuffield after the service ended she berated him for his inexcusablesocial gaffe. Duffield bristled and growled, “Agnes just couldn’thandle the truth.” Will’s sermon the following Sunday was based on Paul’sadmonition about “speaking the truth in love.” If Duffield felt that hewas being targeted he was right. 80

25. THE BITTER END The choir went from singing hymns to stifling hilarity. Here’s what happened. Pastor Will’s bulletin slid off the pulpit as he was announcing some “comingattractions.” As he bent over to retrieve the bulletin the mid-seam ofhis trousers split, exposing to the choir’s view his boxer shorts.Unfortunately, the pair he was wearing that Sunday sported polka-dots in varied sizes and colors. The truest saints cannot maintain straight faces when anecclesiastical rump suddenly appears in such undignified raiment.The onlookers did their best to remain as solemn as Isaiah’sseraphim, but involuntary muscles totally reshaped their facialexpressions. A few managed not to laugh but even they weregrinning. When the pastor, unaware of his unintended display, stoodup, still facing the audience, his ruptured trousers nearly returned totheir normal alignment, but through the fissure his lightly starchedwhite shirt was hanging out. That did it. Holy hilarity or unholyhilarity, depending on your theological understanding, broke out in thechoir. Meanwhile the audience, wondering what had happened, foundthe choir’s amusement contagious. They began to snicker, to smile,and then to laugh in reflexive reaction to the choir’s behavior. Theycouldn’t see the pastor’s behind but they did see the choir’s before,and soon the place was rocking. The associate pastor, eager to mask his amusement and torescue his puzzled superior, stepped over to the pulpit and said “Your 81

pants have split apart and your shirttail is hanging out.” He spoke ina low voice but forgot (or so he said) that the microphone was open. Pastor Will exited the platform as quickly as ministerial decorumallowed, moving with a red face and a white tail through a side door.Of course this allowed the congregation to see what had changed themood of the service, and then they really cracked up. In a heroic effort to restore order the associate pastor began tosing, off-key, “All Things Bright and Beautiful.” The musicians beganto play, skillfully injecting their musical offerings at the point he hadreached a cappella. It was a case of too little, too late--the peoplewere now convulsed with uncontrollable laughter and the songlanguished before he could reach the chorus. He abruptly resumedhis seat, apparently to await the second coming of the pastor and theresumption of the service. When ten minutes had expired it was obvious to all that therewould be no sermon that morning. The AP did have the presence ofmind to summon the ushers and take the offering before dismissingthe congregation. Brother Will refused to leave his office untileveryone else had vacated the building and the parking lot. Whenthey were gone, he rushed to his car, clutching the seat of his pantswith one hand in case some soon-to-be reprobated church memberwas watching from behind the shrubbery to ambush him with acamera. He drove to the parsonage mentally composing a letter ofresignation. By the week’s end, however, Will had recovered his poise andhad shredded the letter. He bravely returned to church on Sunday.Determined to be “one of the gang” and to prove he could “take a 82

joke,” he had reinforced his re-sewn trousers’ seam with aconspicuous strip of gray duct tape. That didn’t draw nearly as muchlaughter as had the prior Sunday’s spontaneous disaster. Instead, itearned him a reprimand from the church board. He got another fromthe bishop and a most severe one from the Lord. Feeling martyred, Pastor Will gloomily yielded to his frustrationand futility. He reproduced and submitted the letter of resignation,which the board reluctantly accepted when Will refused to reconsideror rescind his decision. Brother Will then moved to a neighboringstate and resigned himself to selling used cars as he waited for timeto pass and another opportunity for pastoral ministry to knock. Being a pastor is a noble task, but there are Sundays when apastor finds himself in the crosshairs of human pranksters or demonicforces or his own foibles. Such Sundays can only be enjoyed ex postfacto when a pastor is relaxed because he has retired. THE END 83