The Lutheran Ladies' Circle: Plucking One String

by Kris Knorr

  Everyone seems especially supportive.

  And that had changed too. Oh, people asked if she needed anything. They invited her to dinner, some dropped by, others brought food. But there were little signs of disrespect creeping in. No one had included her in planning the Thanksgiving worship service. They hadn’t even told her when the meeting was to be held. She’d had to sleuth it out, show up, and organize it. Even then her hard work was ruined by a leaky pipes and a giant pumpkin.

  You’ll have to visit, so you can meet the new pastor, Poe Muldoon, and his wife. They’ve dropped by the house several times to see if I need anything. He’s working very hard, but he graduated from Berkley, so he has some different ideas that are new to this congregation.

  Like using girls as acolytes, which had always been a job for boys. He even chanted the liturgy. Jim had tried it, but he really didn’t have a singing voice. Besides, it had seemed too Roman Catholic to him. Pastor Poe didn’t seem interested in the insights she tried to share with him about the congregation. It wasn’t advice. Jim, bless his dear soul, had admonished her never to give advice. She only tried to provide insights and history.

  His wife works full time as a physical therapist, so we don’t get to see too much of her.

  What was happening with ministers’ wives nowadays? When Shaded Valley Lutheran called Jim, they actually got two people for the salary of one. She worked almost as hard as her husband. Of course, she was behind the scenes and perhaps not many people noticed, but that was as it should be.

  We are not decorating the church until Advent is over. It’s a lot of pressure, but the ladies of the church all support each other and we’ll get through it.

  It would be nice to sit with some of the other women, but not in the “Women’s Pew.” No one called it that, but everyone knew that’s what it was. A row of ladies: widowed, divorced, or husband doesn’t attend. It would be comforting to whisper a word to a seatmate. Worshiping together was probably better than the vacant feeling Vera had sitting by herself among families, but she wasn’t about to sit in that row. She wasn’t one of them. The ringing phone jarred her thoughts.

  “Pastor and Vera Henley’s residen—” she stopped herself.

  “Yeah, uh, I didn’t know Pastor Henley still lived there. Let me talk to him.”

  “Oh Sean! I was writing to Aunt Ula and answered without thinking. Old habits are hard to unlearn, dear.”

  “Because I live a hundred miles away, Mom, I can tell you this now. When you and Dad were out of the house, I answered the phone with ‘Yeah?’”

  “Sean, you didn’t.”

  “And you should’ve heard how Pete answered. A few times people hung up because they thought they had the wrong number.”

  “Pete would never do that.”

  “Mom, why do you think my big bro is doing missionary work in Sierra Leone? He feels guilty about denying all those parishioners a chat with their pastor.”

  “Then why aren’t you doing mission work too, instead of designing buildings?

  “I don’t feel guilty.”

  “Well…you should. How are Cindy and the girls?”

  “Great. We’re expecting you and crazy Aunt Ula here on Christmas Eve. Do you want us to come get you?”

  “Oh, Sean, you know I can’t come on Christmas Eve.”

  “Sure you can. Dad is vacationing in heaven. He’s got Christmas off. You can relax and take off too.”

  “I…don’t think so…this new pastor…things aren’t quite under control. I don’t see how…”

  “The world will turn without you. At least for one night. I’ll come get you.”

  “If you’re coming, then you all might as well celebrate Christmas Eve at our house, like we’ve always done.”

  “Mom, we want to have Christmas in our own home for a change.”

  “I see. Well, I’ll let you know what I can arrange. I’ll have to call you back.” She hung up with the phrase “for a change” echoing through her mind.

  For a change? There had been enough change. Now she wouldn’t even get to spend Christmas in her own home?

  What was God thinking? What good had come out of Jim leaving his work before he’d finished? Now things were slipping. Let’s have different music “for a change.” Let’s use a more contemporary liturgy “for a change.” Let’s not decorate for Christmas until Advent is over “for a change.

  This was the work of Pastor Poe Muldoon. When Jim was alive, she’d never have needed Walt to tell her what was happening. Pastor Muldoon needed to show her more consideration, and he needed to respect how Jim had done things.

  Not decorate until Advent was over? Did he have any idea how many people he inconvenienced by such an impulsive decision? Well, she’d shown honor for his position, but as soon as the last service was over today, she’d have the ‘troops’ there to decorate. This free fall into worshipping with the flavor of the day would screech to a stop.

  “Seek and You Will Find” Matthew 7:7

  “I NEED TO talk to you about the Christmas pageant. Now.”

  Nan turned toward the voice. Vera pushed through the sanctuary doors, her lips stretched in a grim line, her eyes bearing down on her target.

  “Could you wait until practice is over?” Nan rubbed the heels of her hands against her temples. There was no need to publicly point out what she already knew. This production was worse than the time Bob Windgett had a few drinks before doing the dramatic reading of “Journey of an Apostle.” The tankard of Rum Scorpions had calmed Bob’s performance anxiety so well, he went off script, interacting with the audience and accusing several people of being “too Roman to be Lutheran.” Nan pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to ease the throbbing in her head. Vera could at least tell her this was a debacle in the bathroom, where plenty of tissues would be available for the subsequent sobbing.

  A burst of laughter shot from the chancel area. The teenagers were rehearsing Mary and Joseph having a tug-of-war over baby Jesus. Kevin, Kay’s son who played Joseph, looked up, whipped the doll behind his back, stood up straight, and smiled. The other youth gravitated to a corner.

  “I haven’t been to any of your practices.” Vera watched the teens clump together and whisper, and then she scrutinized Micki. “Micki’s been taking up a great deal of my time. Not that I mind but—”

  “My fault. My fault entirely.” Micki nodded, placing a hand on her chest.

  Vera moved her gaze to the organist. “You need to end this.”

  “You’re probably right.” Nan continued pinching her nose.

  “You’ve had four weeks. We only have the next four days. This Advent-waiting exercise has been a hardship, but we’ve done it. We’ve put everything off until today. Advent has ended, and we’re taking over the sanctuary.

  “What?” Nan stared at Vera, waiting to be dressed down.

  “It has to be done. Everyone is coming. Now.”

  Nan caught the movement of Hettie waving her arms in the parking lot. The schoolteacher was directing her husband on how to unload an SUV of red poinsettias into a wheel barrow. A large Fraser fir staggered toward the door; Walt and Roger’s strained faces peeked through the branches. Lorena and Brynn were piling ribbons and greenery into the arms of a conscripted Pastor Poe.

  “I…” As Christmas marched through the door, Nan’s slow thoughts hinted that this was not about the play. This was about getting the blazes out of the way so the next tradition could settle into place. The play was still a fiasco, but fortunately, she’d never been accused of being “too Roman.” As a matter of fact, she thought the Creator of the Universe whipped out His most surprising miracles within the fuzz of chaos. “Oh! I see.” She turned to the waiting actors; with her hands in the air and a grin on her face, she exclaimed, “That’s a wrap. No more rehearsals. We’re all done!”

  Christmas Eve

  Parents helped their children out of their autos, trying to minimize the damage car doors and siblings could do to angels’ wings.

>   “Look at the church!” a kid in the parking lot yelled.

  Large fir wreaths with golden bows adorned both doors. The windows held garlands of greenery plaited with diaphanous ribbons which glittered when they caught the light. An occasional snowflake drifted from the sky.

  Cedar and pine scents met them as they entered. The narthex twinkled with tiny white lights tucked throughout flower arrangements, baskets of pine cones, and garlands of holly.

  The live Christmas tree stood next to the sanctuary doors, ornamented with Chrismons, symbols representing God: interlocking circles for the Trinity, a Chi Rho symbol—Jesus’ initials in Greek, a gilded fish, a Tau cross, and white butterflies—representing new creations in Christ. Underneath the tree sat Roger’s giant pumpkin, lovingly decorated to resemble a mouse.

  After Thanksgiving, the pumpkin had lived in the kindergarteners’ Sunday school class. The five-year-olds quickly discovered it was big enough to ride and adorned it with paper eyes and a nose. They made ears and a tail, too, but those were repeatedly knocked off until the teacher glued soft felt pieces in their place. When they asked Roger what the pumpkin/mouse’s name was, he exclaimed, “Jehovah Jirah. Herbrew for ‘God provides.’”

  The children called the pumpkin Jehovah until the teacher explained that she didn’t think it was appropriate to use God’s name on a gourd, even if it was humongous. So they dubbed him Jerod because that’s what it sounded like Roger had said.

  On decorating day, after the ladies had finished, Roger returned to the church and put the pumpkin under the tree, because “It was a gift.” He left the mousy add-ons and attached a note that said, “I need a home for Christmas. I’ll feed many.”

  *

  As Allie’s family entered the church, they found Lorena touching up the decorations and directing traffic. “Angels downstairs, Holy family in the sacristy.” She pointed.

  “I don’t wanna wear these.” Johnny yanked at his cardboard wings.

  “Maybe you’ll find some you like better downstairs,” Lorena said to him; then to his mom she added, “There’re extras of everything down there. You can make a halo.”

  “I’m not wearing a halo.” Johnny puckered his face.

  It appeared as though Bernie’s Been-Around, Come-Around Thrift Store had exploded in the Fellowship Hall. Adults dug under piles of costumes. Kids jiggled in various states of animal metamorphoses. Shepherds tripped and fell over each other in their parents’ long robes.

  A Wiseman, who was actually a woman, frantically tossed clothes, looking for her box of myrrh. “Did one of you cows run off with it? It’s not funny. I spent all afternoon gluing on sequins.”

  While Micki tied towels over Shepherds’ heads, the sheep poked each other with staffs and made snorting sounds.

  Kay, in a corner surrounded by little angels, fixed a broken cardboard wing. She wore red-and-white-striped stockings, a white ballerina tutu, real feathered wings, and a flashing halo.

  “I don’t think angels have halos like that,” Hettie said, herding a tyke who had been trying on camel humps.

  “Look. Look what it does.” Kay pushed a tiny button on her headpiece. It started to pulse and change colors. “It has five patterns. You covet it, don’t you?”

  “Well, don’t turn it on around Vera; she’s in a foul mood. She’s been snapping at everyone all week.”

  Lorena maneuvered through dancing angels and donkeys, carrying the 20-cup coffee urn.

  “Are we having coffee upstairs after the service?” Hettie asked.

  “We can’t have it down here.” She stepped over a gold-foil crown. “We’ll have cookies, too.”

  “That’s good. Jerod would be upset if you were serving pies made from some of his brethren.” Kay tugged at the strap of her wings.

  “That pumpkin. I don’t know why they don’t give it Confirmation classes and let it join the church. It attends every special event we have here.”

  A loud crash brought adults from all corners of the room. The angels and shepherds were brandishing canes at the sheep and camels who balanced on their hands and kicked with both legs.

  “Marcus. Marcus! Gather those angels over here,” Kay said.

  “Come on, rug rats.” He began pushing them toward the corner.

  “What happened to this room?” Vera demanded, surveying the chaos from the stairway. She began searching under piles of clothing and costumes asking, “Have you seen my pen? It’s a wooden one.” She didn’t get much help because everyone had her own problems.

  “It’ll turn up, Vera, when we put things away.” Hettie was tying a fleece cape over a sheep’s back.

  “I need to find it. Jim gave it to me. It’s made from an olive tree. He brought it from his Jerusalem trip.” She moved around the room, lifting the heaps at first then tossing them as she became more frustrated. Nearing the angels she said, “I don’t believe that flashing halo is appropriate. It’s distracting.”

  “I didn’t wear the whole Victoria Secret costume, now that would be distracting,” Kay said. “Just the wings.”

  “The halo.” Vera pointed. “You will need to turn that off.”

  Two angels were shimmying their shoulders back and forth, beating their wings into each other.

  “Marcus, take the angels for a hike.”

  “Mom, I’m a shepherd, not an angel herder. I’m all dressed. I’m minding my own business. Why am I being punished?”

  “Take them on a hike, sweetie. Take some other shepherds with you. Wear off a little of this energy.” She pointed to the wiggling, bouncing, bumping bodies in front of her.

  “Okay! Come on, rug rats.”

  “Stop calling them rug rats,” Vera commanded.

  “Come on, midgets. Follow me,” he said as he took off.

  Kay stared at Vera. “Why don’t you go somewhere private, and yell at God for a while, Vera.”

  “What?”

  “Your tail’s in a twist about something. Now you’re taking it out on the kids. Go yell at God about it.”

  “I have never yelled at God.”

  “Then your God is too small.”

  “Kay, you open your mouth and utter all sorts of obscenities. Could you just be helpful for once?” Vera’s clipped words accompanied the invisible darts shooting from her eyes. The noise in the room had dropped significantly.

  “Why don’t you ask God where your pen is?” Kay said quietly.

  Vera looked at her. There was no spite or malice in Kay’s voice; it sounded like merely a suggestion.

  “I would never presume to bother God about a pen.”

  “Then your God is too small,” Kay repeated. Their eyes locked. The room grew quiet. Kay’s face showed no emotion. Vera’s lips pulled into a tight line, her eyes narrowed.

  “What did you say to me?”

  “Kay, not now.” Micki hurried toward them, carrying sheep ears on a headband. “Vera, I’ll help you look.” Kay snapped her hand toward Micki, five fingers splayed into a barrier sign.

  “In just a few minutes we’re going to tell everyone, in our own inept words, about God coming as a tiny little baby to provide a way we can get home again. God, who orchestrated this plan, this universe, and worlds we don’t even know about yet, knows where your pen is. Ask Him. This is the God who loves you enough to notice if you lose a hair out of your head. He voluntarily died for you. You can’t give Him too much to deal with.”

  Vera’s lips were pursed. Her jaws clenched. Everyone was silent, watching. Even the sheep had stopped butting each other.

  Kay flicked off her halo, smiled, raised her eyebrows twice, then turned and walked away.

  Silence hung in the air. Micki said, “Now where is that box of myrrh?” A shepherd hooked his staff around a camel’s leg. They began to wrestle. The sounds of pre-show jitters slowly returned to the room.

  “The Light Shines in the Darkness” John 1:5

  THE PLAY’S FIRST scene—the meal—went smoothly. Hettie placed an elbow on the table, held
her drinking glass to her face, and read her lines. When the script ended, she picked up another glass and began reading again. Sometimes she had to adjust her eyeglasses and look down the tip of her nose to make out the words, but she didn’t stop. Not even when Kevin tripped and sent the roasted chicken sliding to the floor. Hettie kept reading her lines, picked up the bird by the drumsticks, and smacked it back on the platter. She seemed to have no idea what the audience was laughing about.

  During the second scene, angels and shepherds fidgeted outside the sanctuary, awaiting their cue. Johnny let out a plaintive squeal, “I don’t wanna do this! I’m not singing!” Marcus bent to Johnny’s eye level, made a menacing face and claw-like hands, whispering, “Sing, or sit with St. Scary.”

  Johnny went silent and marched in with the group. He continued his rebellion by standing on the top step rather than his assigned position. Because there wasn’t enough room, he clung to the child on the end as they sang “Away in the Manger.” Tiring of being an anchor, the kid elbowed Johnny in the stomach, knocking him to the floor.

  Johnny hopped up like a TV cage fighter and gave his opponent a two-handed shove. They jostled each other off the riser once more before Marcus worked his way between them, defusing the angelic battle.

  The Virgin Mary was not wearing blue. The director had forbidden it. She did sneak on with bright lip gloss and her glittering neck warmer. When it came time to give birth, she turned her back to the audience, yanking the doll from under her bathrobe. The soft-bodied doll, filled with water to make it more life-like, had been purposefully overfilled. Each time it was handled, water squirted from its joints. It sprayed like a garden hose during the tug-of-war scene.

  “Stop it. Stop it this instant!” Hettie seized the doll—which was actually one of her lines. The Blessed Babe shot a stream of water across her face and chest. The teens froze. Hettie wiped her forehead, trying to compose herself, but each time she looked at the teenagers, she giggled. She hid her face behind her Bible to read her next line, but “My script is all wet!” came out instead.