Ordained Irreverence

by McMillian Moody

  “Why?” He seemed incredulous.

  “Because I want—no, I need to get to the bottom of this hundred-year-old mystery. It’s just the way I’m wired. I like working and finding solutions to challenging problems or puzzles.” I felt a bit frustrated by his ambivalence.

  “Okay, okay. Don’t get all huffy on me,” he said, straightening up in the passenger seat of my car. “What’s this about a new clue?”

  “Up until today, the most recent artifact had come from 1975. Then out of nowhere this afternoon, I found a new artifact written on the back of an Echelon Country Club coaster. Which means it can only be a few years old.”

  “Hey Elmo, did I ever tell you I saw Jack Nicklaus play an exhibition match at the Echelon Country Club?”

  “You know what, Thurm? Just forget I even brought it up. Look—we’re here, and there are the girls waiting for us. Is Juliann wearing a poodle skirt?”

  Thurm checked his hair in the mirror. “What’s a poodle skirt?”

  “Maybe you two do belong together . . .” I mumbled, shutting the car door behind me.

  I bumped into Louis Estrada in the break room Wednesday morning.

  “Hey Elmo, how’s the Young Singles skit coming along?”

  “I think we’re in good shape. The skit is written, and we’ve already had one meeting to assign all the parts and prop-making responsibilities. We have two rehearsals planned this weekend to finalize everything.”

  “Sounds great. Bonnie tells me you had a rough time at the bowling alley last night.”

  “Yeah, well, the bowling ball was a gift from Dr. DV, and it was extremely heavy. I had trouble keeping my fingers in the holes custom-cut for his big hand.”

  Louis chuckled. “Did you really knock over one of the planters?”

  “Unfortunately yes, and I’m afraid it went downhill from there.”

  He continued to chuckle as he walked out of the room. “See you at staff meeting.”

  Making my way up the back stairs, I headed for Pastor Snooker’s office. As I rounded the corner, I could see The Three Widows—actually only two of The Three Widows (Miss Fanny was still home recovering)—had just left Fred’s office and were headed back to the volunteer room. I cracked the door to the men’s room and whispered “All clear!” And just like always, Pastor Snooker emerged with his Daytimer, and we walked back to his office.

  “Pastor Snooker, I had my last meeting with Dr. DV this week, and he agreed quite amicably, to meet with you for the purpose of making amends.”

  “Splendid, Elmo! You are a true peacemaker!” he said, all smiles.

  “Dr. DV suggested sitting down right after the conclusion of the commencement service over at the seminary.”

  “You let him know that would be just fine. I’ll look forward to it.”

  “On another topic” I segued, “there has been a new development with The Black Toe Enigma.”

  “Oh, really?” Fred replied as he sat down behind his desk.

  “This showed up in the TBT album this week.” I handed him the Echelon coaster.

  “Well, isn’t that interesting. Any idea who did it?” he asked.

  “I thought it might be Thurm pulling a practical joke. But I asked him about it, and I’m convinced he had nothing to do with it. And here’s where it gets really weird.” I handed him the 1975 artifact. “Notice the similarity of the handwriting between the two, look at the ‘g’ in both messages.”

  His eyes widened. “You’re absolutely right. This could be the same person. Or, perhaps the new one was forged?”

  “I suppose.” I laid the TBT album on his desk. “Pastor, I’ve decided to give up the chase. I’ve had fun working on it, and it helped me learn about First Church’s history, but I’m facing some very important decisions right now, so I need to turn The Black Toe Enigma back over to your faithful hands.”

  “I’m not at all surprised, Elmo,” he said pausing for a reflective moment. “But kudos to you for resurrecting the search, even if only for a while. I too have invested a lot of time over the years in the ol’ TBT. Maybe next year’s intern can build on your work and bring the journey to its conclusion. I, for one, would still like to know what really happened,” he said with a touch of remorse.

  “Me too. Let me know if there are any new developments, okay?”

  “I will,” he said with a smile. “Let me walk with you to staff meeting.”

  Thurm was back in true form. As I walked into the first floor Boardroom, I noticed an announcement filling the whiteboard on the far wall:

  Elmo Jenkins sets Modern Day Record for most gutter balls in one game of bowling. Team Guinness en route to validate.

  It would be yet another long day . . .

  The Skit

  I’d like to say the skit rehearsals had gone well, but that wasn’t the case. I’d begun to realize that most young singles are just too carefree. It’s not that they’re irresponsible—okay, maybe some are—but they don’t seem to value attention to detail and schedule that you find among older and/or married people. Meaning, both nights we got started late, each night some key player was missing, and few of them had prepared ahead of time. You get the picture. We weren’t ready, but the show must go on.

  The Sunday evening service at First Church was called The Family Hour. No children’s or youth programs were scheduled during this service in order for families to sit together in church at least once a week. Wisely, “the powers that be” agreed to leave the nursery open.

  On Sunday evenings, staff members were still required to wear a coat and tie, but members were encouraged to dress more casually. Even so, some of the old-timers still wore their Sunday best. If I agreed to accept the position as Assistant to the Pastor, one of the first issues I would address would be the dress code. To the eyes of my generation, the only people who still wore suits on the weekend were ministers and undertakers. And let’s face it—when people equate going to church with going to a funeral, there’s a problem. Definitely not a good way to reach the young. But that’s a battle for another day.

  Six skits would be performed with the young singles in the last slot (their choice). We grouped up in the Green Room and awaited our turn.

  Eddie Hughes raised his hand and quieted the room, then looked at me. “Okay, Captain Pep Talk, give us our marching orders.”

  I stood up. “All right, gang. In light of our less-than-sterling rehearsals, we’ve decided to go the improv route. Though Eddie and Jesse made some rather . . . interesting props, we’ve chosen to go with a bare stage. Each of you will have a flashlight.”

  Eddie walked around the room distributing flashlights.

  I continued. “We’ll stay with the basic structure of the original skit—a church group on a campout that learns how to put others first. I’ll start with the narration, and when I’m done, you all walk up on stage and start interacting. It’s okay if you use some of your original lines, but be sure to speak naturally and not stilted in your delivery. Also, remember this is a church service. Don’t let your ad-libbing embarrass us all. Especially you, Eddie.”

  “Got it,” Eddie whispered from the corner of the room, pretending to zip his mouth. I knew it wouldn’t stay zipped for long.

  The Super Seniors had just finished some dreadful version of The Love Boat, and they were being wheeled off the stage (literally) with several oxygen tanks in tow.

  And then it was our turn.

  Tom Applebee, the emcee for the evening, stepped up to the mic. “And now, last but not least, our Young Singles group. The title of their skit is: Kumbaya and Other Camping Horror Stories. A nice courtesy laugh floated across the audience as he handed me the mic.

  “Oh the joys of camping,” I began. “The bugs, the heat, the dirt, those wonderful porta-potties, the rain, the snakes, the bears—I could go on, but you get the idea. Into this environment of warmth and love, what do we as churches do? We send unsuspecting people. Busloads of people who hardly know each other. We send them waaaay
out into the woods away from every known convenience so they can ‘share’ with each other, build camaraderie, and have fellowship.” I turned to stage right. “Here come some happy campers now.”

  Bonnie, Debbie, Bob and Bob, Eddie, and the rest of the cast filed in.

  “Why did the Singles Director drop us off out here in the middle of nowhere and then leave with the bus?” Bonnie asked with appropriate distress.

  One of the Bobs answered, “Oh, Louis always spends the night at the Hampton down the road on these trips. He says he needs a good night’s rest before driving the bus back home tomorrow.”

  I snickered. Louis will never believe that was ad-libbed.

  “I’m thirsty!”

  “I’m hungry!”

  “I’m scared”

  “Who’s in charge?”

  “Well, that would be me.” Eddie stepped forward.

  Uh oh. I clenched my teeth.

  “Why are you the leader?” Debbie asked.

  “Because I have the bag of food.”

  “You’ve got my vote.”

  “I’m thirsty!”

  “I’m hungry!”

  “I’m scared!”

  “Would you all pipe down?” Eddie shouted with authority. “You’re all whining like a bunch of girls!”

  “We are a bunch of girls,” the whiners said in unison.

  “Oh, yeah. I see that,” Eddie responded, a bit befuddled. “Okay, let’s get organized. Bob and Bob, you guys pitch the tents over there, and you whining girls set up the food table over there. I’ll build a campfire right here in the middle with my one good arm.”

  “Why do the guys always have to do the grunt work?” the Bobs said together.

  “Why do the girls always have to prepare the food? Huh?” one of the girls retorted.

  “I’m thirsty.”

  “I’m hungry.”

  “I’m scared.”

  Eddie, now totally immersed in character, threw his head back and screamed, “Quit your complaining!”

  At that split second, a bolt of lightning crashed outside the church, so close I wondered if it might have hit the steeple. Thunder boomed through the auditorium, shaking the stained glass windows, and simultaneously knocking the power out on the entire church facility. Everything went pitch black. Gasps and screams filled the auditorium, then suddenly the room went completely silent.

  Now what!? I thought. The emergency exit lights at the back of the auditorium flickered on but remained dim.

  Bonnie had the presence of mind to click on her flashlight and point the beam up toward her face. She took one step toward the audience, who were now sitting in the dark. “I’m sorry for whining, Eddie. Here, let me help with the food.”

  And then another flashlight clicked on. “Here, let me help you.”

  And another. “I’ll get the tents all set up.”

  One by one the flashlights came on until everyone was working together to set up the camp. So cool. Very spontaneous.

  How are we going to end this thing?

  Then BAM! Louis Estrada burst into the front of the auditorium with a bright Coleman lantern, “Is everyone all right?” he shouted. Louis had been counseling someone in another part of the building when the lights went out, unaware of what was happening on stage.

  “Louis, did you remember to bring back the bus?” Eddie yelled back, still in character.

  The audience roared at poor Louis’s expense as the young singles filed off the stage, and the emergency halogen lights finally brightened to full power. Many of the members in the audience thought the whole thing had been staged.

  But the young singles knew better. They took off to Applebee’s to celebrate with some real food and fellowship.

  Man, was I glad that was over! Forget Applebee’s. I took off to celebrate with some real up-close-and-personal Bonnie time.

  The Wrap-Up

  I believe it was Yogi Berra who once said, “It ain’t over ‘til it’s over.”

  Well, it was almost over. How’d I know? They had scheduled the fat lady, Geraldine Fitzsimons O’Leary, to sing for my last Sunday morning under The Big Top. Probably just a coincidence, but for me, it put the final fork in the pie for my internship at First Church.

  With Friday came a long list of tasks to accomplish, including cleaning out The Closet, signing a few papers for Big Bird, meeting with Tom for my Exit Interview, and several other miscellaneous items. I’d asked Dunston to come down and help me get all the furniture and other office accessories put back where he’d found them.

  On Wednesday, the staff had given me a nice party during staff meeting, and presented me with one of those giant going-away chocolate chip cookies. And who knew it was possible, but not a single Sesame Street joke. Either I’d gained their respect, or else they’d just grown tired of embarrassing me. Who knows. But they all chipped in and gave me a new leather briefcase—even though I’d told them I only wear boxers. Go figure.

  My graduation commencement exercises would take place at Harvest Morgan Seminary on Monday morning at 10:00. For reasons not fully understood, I had been chosen to represent the graduating class and give the final remarks at the close of the ceremony. They probably couldn’t find anyone else willing to do it.

  Most of the church staff had promised to come to my graduation. I felt as though these folks had become my new family, and many of them would probably be lifelong friends. Only a few people at the church knew I’d been offered a permanent position on the staff, but word was starting to get around. No surprise there. Churches are notoriously bad when it comes to gossip. Ironic, isn’t it?

  I still wasn’t sure what to do about the job offer. The seminary placement office had been sending out my resume, and I’d been contacted by four other churches to interview for a variety of positions. A church in Birmingham needed a Singles minister, and one in Orlando had an opening for a Youth minister.

  I’d even had a call from a Chairman of Deacons named Slim from a small town in Texas looking for a pastor. “Son, what would it take to get a city boy like you to come to West Texas?”

  “How about the oil and minerals rights under the church property?” I quipped. He thought I was serious. Probably not a good match.

  Someone knocked on my door. “Come in,” I called. The door opened, and my favorite janitor walked in. “Hey Dunston, how’re you doing this morning?”

  “Fine-’n-you?”

  “I’m great, and I sure appreciate you coming down here to help me close up shop. By the way, when is your last day at First Church?”

  He smiled real big. “Two weeks from today.”

  “When did you start working here?”

  “Why, I believe it was the first week of 1969. Yessir, yes that is correct.”

  “Wow—you’ve worked here a long time! What happens now for ol’ Dunston, and how will the church ever function without you here?”

  He looked at the floor. “Oh, I don’ know. They’ll make do just fine. You know, ’specially with that fancy new cleanin’ service that’s takin’ over. And me, you’ll find me down at the lake fishin’ most ever’ day, I s’pect. You should come out there some time and learn a few things.”

  “I just might do it,” I said, laughing. “Will I have to get down low behind the bank like this?” I slid down behind my table just peeking over the edge.

  Dunston stiffened his back. “Laugh all you want, just ‘member I’m the one eatin’ fresh fish sam-a-gis’ ever’ day!” he said proudly.

  “Hey, I’m just kidding. In my eyes, Dunston, you may just be the best fisherman in the world.”

  His smile returned. “Could be true, I s’pose.”

  “Dunston, this is my last day in my off—uh, this closet, so we’ll need to return all this stuff back to its rightful place.”

  “No problem. I know right where everythin’ belongs. I’ll take care of it. I would like to keep that nameplate that fell off yo’ door. I have me a collection of doorplates from most the folks I’ve
worked for here over the years, and I’d like to add yours to the collection.”

  “Well, I’d be honored for you to have it! It’s right over there on that metal shelf against the back wall.” His request humbled me.

  “I’m mighty thankful, Elmo. Now, I’ve got somethin’ for you. I know you’re graduatin’ Monday, so’s I wanted to give you a little somethin’.” He pointed a weathered finger at me, his expression serious. “Don’t you ever forget that a good education is a privilege and comes with a responsibility to pass on what you learned.” He pulled a sealed envelope from his back pocket with “Elmo” written on the front. “Now, don’t be gettin’ too excited. It ain’t money, but you’ll be mighty happy when you see what’s inside. But you got to promise me you won’t open this envelope ‘til after you graduate. You hear what I’m sayin’?”

  “Yessir, I promise.” I took the envelope from his hand. “Dunston, I don’t know what to say. Thank you. Getting to know you has been one of the highlights of my time here. And I really do want to go fishing sometime. No, scratch that. I want to go ‘catching’ with you sometime.”

  He smiled his biggest smile yet. “Well, I’m yo’ man for that!” We both had a good laugh, and I gave him a big ol’ hug.

  My exit interview went well. Tom gave me mostly high marks, and lots of good suggestions for the areas he thought I could improve in. He reviewed the job offer from the Personnel Committee with me, this time including the salary and benefit numbers. If I took the job, I wasn’t going to get rich, but it would still be a great starting point for someone like me, coming right out of school. I told him I would have a decision for him on Monday. He promised this time I would get a real office with real furniture and a full-size mail slot. What more could a guy want?

  The fact is, you don’t go into church work to get rich. Granted, some senior pastors of larger churches probably make what most of us would consider big salaries. In reality, most church workers—including most pastors of smaller churches—make paltry salaries, and in many cases have to work a second job just to pay their bills. The rewards come in other forms, like seeing lives change for the better. That doesn’t mean it’s not hard, particularly on the families. For those choosing a life in vocational ministry, there’s one cliché that is absolutely valid: No one ever said it would be easy.