101 Degrees
By Douglas J. Eboch

Listen to 101 as read by the author

In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. The church was built sixty years ago, and the first air conditioner was installed in the sanctuary thirty-eight years after that. It was an ugly brute of a machine, chugging along noisily through the summers like an overmatched and slightly gassy boxer who simply refuses to go down. Last week, Normal was struck by a heat wave. On Sunday the weatherman forecast a high of 101 degrees. That morning, the church’s tough little air conditioner choked, gasped, wheezed out a defiant curse to the heavens, and released its last breath of chilled air.

Tammy Billings, the church secretary, pulled out the yellow pages and said a prayer that God would bring her a repairman who worked Sundays. God answered her prayer on only the twenty-third entry she dialed. It was seven minutes until the main church service was scheduled to start. Tammy went out to wait for the repairman in the parking lot.

The congregation slowly filled the chapel. Of course they had no advance knowledge of the air conditioner’s recent demise. Suit coats and ties quickly came off. Jill Boyer snuck out to the bathroom to remove her panty hose. Sixty-nine year-old Henrietta Miggins fanned herself vigorously with the bulletin and sniffed at the lack of respect such behavior indicated for the holy church. In her day, air conditioning was uncommon and people were simply dogged enough to suffer through the heat, ties and hose properly in place. Some people might question whether Henrietta’s day was actually better than these days, but Henrietta was not one of those people.

Pastor Henry O’Donnell sat in the pulpit going over his notes for the sermon and mopping at the twin tributaries of sweat streaming down his temples into a growing puddle on his dress shirt. Henry may have been pudgy and out of shape, but his sweat glands were the picture of vigorous health. At the first sign of heat or exertion, they sprang into action, releasing a torrent of liquid apparently intended to douse any nearby fires that might be responsible for his rise in body temperature.

While Tammy Billings waited for the repairman, her husband, Ralph, was busy with his duties as head usher. Ralph firmly believed the proper response to hot weather was hydration. Every spare moment he got, he replenished himself from a one liter water bottle.

Ralph Billings drained the last of his liter of water just as the call for offering began. He grabbed the faux gold collection plate and headed down the side aisle. As he started up the center aisle collecting little envelopes, it dawned on him that perhaps he had over hydrated. The nearest restroom was outside and around the corner, but Ralph had no time to dash out when he reached the back of the sanctuary. He had to take the offering to the altar during the Doxology. And then he had to wait there during the dedication prayer. Today’s dedication prayer had been written by a medieval monk who was not a fan of brevity. To make matters worse, there was an annoying drip -- drip -- drip coming from somewhere over by the pulpit (Ralph never realized it was Pastor O’Donnell’s sweat hitting the tile floor). When the dedication finished, it was all Ralph could do not to run up the aisle. He reached the foyer and knew he wouldn’t make it to the restroom.

And then his gaze fell on his empty water bottle.

The choir launched into a rousing hymn which completely drowned out Ralph relieving himself with the aid of the water bottle in the bride’s room off the foyer . Unfortunately, he was so relieved he neglected to zip up afterwards.

Pastor O’Donnell stepped to the pulpit. He felt light headed with dehydration, although through some miracle, his sweat glands showed no let up in their ability to produce liquid. Were his mind still as sharp as those sweat glands, he might have tried to edit his sermon on the fly. As it was, he was so woozy that when an irregular pounding began punctuating his speech, it took him several minutes to realize it was the recently arrived air conditioner repairman at work on the roof and not his blood pounding in his temples.

The good Pastor mustered up as much energy as he could for his big finale, a call to model mercy to an unmerciful world. And then he closed as he always did with a reverent “So be it, and Amen.” In the moment of solemn silence that followed, there was another thump from the roof, but this one strangely muffled and accompanied by a yelp of pain. Then there came a stream of decidedly irreverent -- although colorful -- language. Pastor O’Donnell tried very hard to keep merciful thoughts about the unseen repairman.

Next came communion. Ralph, completely unaware his shirt was protruding from his open zipper, walked to the front of the main aisle to direct the congregation. His job was to back up row by row, motioning the congregants out when there was space at the rail for them to kneel. Now, most of the congregation couldn’t see his open zipper since his back was to them. But the choir could. The laughter started with Thad Wheeling, who struggled to muffle it. But laughter is most contagious in a serious setting, and by the time Ralph was to the third row, the entire choir was infected. Pastor O’Donnell, noticing Ralph’s situation, tried to motion for him to fix his zipper, but Ralph was too distracted by the choir to notice.

Ralph reached the fifth row, Henrietta’s row. Henrietta, red faced and “glowing” as women said about perspiration in her day, fanned herself furiously with her bulletin, powered by her righteous indignation at the choir’s mysterious misbehavior. And what was Pastor O’Donnell doing making what appeared to be obscene hand gestures? She had half a mind not to take communion in such an environment.

But Henrietta was from a generation too stoic for that. She stood up into the aisle -- and promptly fainted away with heat exhaustion. Luckily, Ralph was quick and caught her. Not so luckily, he realized his fly was open as he lowered her to the floor and in his shock dropped her the last six inches.

Quickly, a circle formed around Henrietta. “Get her some water,” someone called.

“Ralph, you have a bottle back there, don’t you?” Pastor O’Donnell asked?

“It’s empty,” Ralph lied. That’s when Thad got an idea. He grabbed a tray of communion grape juice and ran up just as Henrietta’s eyes fluttered open.

“Drink this,” he commanded and thrust one of the glass thimbles toward her.

“This is the blood of Christ, shed for the many,” Pastor O’Donnell quickly intoned just to keep things legit. After a moment of confusion, Henrietta downed the quarter ounce of juice. Thad handed her another one. And then another.

“Don’t drink too fast,” Pastor O’Donnell instructed. She shot him a withering look. Just then two year-old Susie Boyer came running by -- or rather streaking by. She had removed her sundress to cool down. Henrietta promptly passed out again. Service was over.

(c) 2007 Douglas J. Eboch