Hear the story read by the author.
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. Every year the church holds an Easter party and egg hunt for the Sunday school kids the day before Easter. This year the weather forecast was ominous so Karen Winslow, the Sunday school teacher, decided to do the party inside.
Karen also had a special surprise for the kids. Ever since Gerry the Gerbil had passed away the
previous summer, the class had been without a pet. Karen decided it was about time they replaced Gerry. Since it was Easter, she hit upon the idea of getting a rabbit. She would unveil it at the party - an actual “Easter bunny.”
Her timing may have been nicely symbolic given the holiday but it was not entirely serendipitous. Usually, church secretary Tammy Billings cared for the Sunday school class pets during the week. However, Tammy was going to be taking a two week vacation with her husband Ralph to greet the arrival into the world of her very first grandchild. This meant that Karen would be taking the rabbit home with her for the next two weeks.
Party time arrived and Jill Boyer dropped four year-old Mary and her two year-old sister Susie off at the church. Some of the parents helped with the event, but Jill desperately needed the hour and a half break from her kids. Jill’s in-laws were coming for Easter brunch the next day and she needed to go grocery shopping. The two kids made the chore difficult, especially when the store insisted on putting Easter candy at the end of each aisle. Jill left her cell phone number with Karen in case there were any problems. Where Mary went there were frequently problems.
Karen introduced the kids to the rabbit. It was white with pink eyes and cotton tail. The kids had a vote to name it and settled on Barry the Bunny. Mary could barely contain her excitement over the new member of the class. She loved cute animals with a frightening passion and this was about the cutest she had ever seen. Karen had to repeatedly defend the poor creature from Mary’s enthusiastic petting. Rabbits could only take so much handling.
Barry was granted a reprieve when Karen announced it was time for the Easter egg hunt. There were a few things Mary liked more than cute animals and one was candy.
The rules for the Easter Egg hunt were these: Karen had hidden plastic eggs with jelly beans in them all through the church except the restrooms and Pastor O’Donnell’s office. The child who collected the most eggs would get a prize. There was to be no stealing eggs or fighting over eggs or the participant would be disqualified. When Karen rang her cow bell all the children were to return to the classroom. Karen made sure the kids understood the rules - especially Mary.
It was a good thing she did because Mary was very determined to win the prize for most eggs collected. When Karen said “go,” Mary tore off like a tornado demolishing room after room. Her sister Susie was a little slower. She didn’t care about the prize, she simply enjoyed the searching game. However, every time Susie started to look somewhere Mary would rush over and snatch any eggs before Susie could get to them.
Once Susie actually got hold of an egg before Mary could. Mary tried the “I saw it first,” argument, but Susie countered with the “no stealing, no fighting” rule. The debate had drawn the attention of Karen, so Mary decided to let the issue drop. Karen suggested Mary go in one direction and Susie go the other.
Susie scurried off on her own happy that she wouldn’t be competing with Mary for awhile. However, she couldn’t seem to find any more eggs. She came around a corner and saw Tammy Billings, who had volunteered to help with the party, stationed at the door to the kitchen.
“Finding many eggs?” Tammy asked Susie.
Susie held out her basket to show her single discovery.
“Well, lets try in here,” Tammy said and held open the kitchen door. But before they could enter there was a loud crash down the hall and they heard Karen shout, “Mary!” in a frustrated voice.
“Wait right here a moment,” Tammy said, “I’m going to see if Mrs. Winslow needs help.”
Susie waited dutifully for a few minutes then grew bored. She wanted to get more than one egg before Mrs. Winslow rang the cowbell! She decided she could manage to search the kitchen without Mrs. Billings help. She went on in and soon found a purple egg behind a pot in the cupboard. Then she checked the refrigerator.
Jackpot! There were eighteen eggs in a cardboard container in the door! They weren’t the colored plastic ones, but Mrs. Winslow hadn’t said white eggs don’t count, so Susie dumped them all into her basket, miraculously only dropping one on the floor. The dropped egg broke, but Susie carefully collected the pieces of shell in case Mrs. Winslow would still count it.
As Susie emerged from the kitchen she heard Mrs. Winslow ringing the cowbell so she raced back to the classroom. She sat patiently as Mrs. Winslow counted each child’s eggs in turn. Mary had found thirteen eggs, but was in second place to Sierra Smith who had fifteen. Mary did not like coming in second and pouted dramatically.
When it was Susie’s turn, Mrs. Winslow looked into her basked and her eyes widened in surprise. She held up one of the real eggs. “Where did you get these, Susie?”
“From the ‘frigerator,” Susie replied.
“You were supposed to collect the plastic eggs,” Mrs. Winslow said.
“That wasn’t a rule,” Susie told her and then proceeded to recite the rules back to her.
Mary’s eyes lit up. She saw a chance at getting half of the prize since her Mom would undoubtedly make Susie share. “You didn’t say they had to be plastic eggs,” Mary said. “You have to count them.”
Karen was surprised at Mary coming to Susie’s defense. She conceded that according to her own rules Susie should win. She awarded Susie the prize - a big chocolate bunny. Susie was so excited that she knocked her basket over, spilling out her collection of eggs which shattered all over the linoleum. Susie wasn’t overly concerned, however, since she’d already received credit for them.
Jill Boyer arrived to retrieve Mary and Susie as Karen was cleaning up the broken eggs. Mary, high on jelly beans and party excitement, dragged her mother over to Barry’s cage to show him off. That gave Karen a devious idea.
She strolled over to the Boyers and said, “Someone needs to take care of Barry for the next two weeks while Mrs. Billings is out of town. Maybe you’d like to do it?”
“Can we, Mom? Can we?” Mary screamed.
Karen could tell Jill was trying to work out how to say no without having Mary throw a hissy fit. So Karen jumped in before Jill could answer and said, “and maybe you’d like to hear about what your daughters did during the egg hunt.”
Jill looked at Karen. She didn’t really want to hear that story. “What do we have to do?” she asked.
“Not much,” Karen said, and explained the basic care requirements. The hardest one would be keeping Mary from constantly handling it. Jill sighed and agreed. She probably owed Karen at least that much given Mary’s history in the Sunday school class. As Karen returned to her cleaning, she felt a twang of regret. Not for Jill but for Barry. Karen could only imagine what a week with the Boyers was going to be like for the poor animal.
The story of Easter at the little church will continue in two weeks.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Self-Deprivation
By Douglas J. Eboch
Hear the story read by the author.
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. This year, church secretary Tammy Billings decided she was going to give up coffee for Lent. This was no small thing. Tammy went through several cups of coffee every morning. “Good for you,” Pastor Henry O’Donnell said when she told him. Little did he know how much Tammy’s decision was going to impact his own Lenten experience.
Meanwhile, Henry’s wife Jennifer had her own idea for Lent. Jennifer had been concerned about both her and Henry’s steadily increasing weight for some time. But getting Henry to agree to do something about it was a difficult proposition. Henry liked to eat and didn’t like to exercise. He also seemed less worried by their expanding waistlines than she was. Jennifer thought perhaps Lent might offer him the proper motivation. So she proposed that they each give up their biggest weakness - ice cream for her and barbecued ribs for him.
Henry didn’t care for the idea. First of all, he really, really loved his weekly visits to Big Tommy’s Rib Shack. Second of all, he didn’t think the Lenten sacrifice was meant for self-improvement. It was supposed to be a way to focus one’s mind on God, not on oneself. He only made that second argument to Jennifer.
Jennifer thought the pain of giving up Big Tommy’s would definitely focus Henry’s thoughts on God.
Henry then pointed out that under the Catholic rules of Lent he would still be able to eat at Big Tommy’s on Sundays. He thought he could probably live with that. Jennifer pointed out that they weren’t Catholic.
In the end they came to a compromise. They both would agree to eat healthy six days a week. On Sundays, they would go to Big Tommy’s for dinner and stop off for ice cream on the way home.
When Henry arrived at the office the morning after Ash Wednesday he was still sulking over the bowl of oatmeal Jennifer had served him for breakfast. At least eating healthy didn’t mean he had to give up his morning cup of coffee. He went straight to the coffee maker which was in a small conference room off the front office. To his surprise, the pot was empty. Tammy’s desk was right outside. Henry leaned out and asked, “so, does giving up coffee for Lent mean you’re not going to make it for the rest of us, either?”
It probably wasn’t the wisest thing to say, but Henry was lightheaded from his low-cal breakfast.
Tammy turned on him like a starving fight dog. “I’m the church secretary, not a barista,” she snarled. “Why am I the only one who ever makes the coffee anyway? I know you’re just a helpless pastor with very few real world skills, but I think maybe you can manage to make your own coffee for a few weeks.” Henry ducked back into the conference room and wiped a few beads of sweat from his temples. Yes, he thought he probably could make his own coffee for a few weeks.
Tammy had entered stage one of caffeine withdrawal. This stage was characterized by headaches, bad temper and general snippy-ness.
The next day Henry went into the conference room to make the coffee and discovered the coffee maker wasn’t there. He took a deep breath and girded his psychological loins. Then he leaned into the office. “Uh, Tammy…”
“I moved it,” she barked. “I couldn’t take smelling it all day. It’s in the lounge. Is that a problem for you?”
If it was Henry figured it was a smaller problem than the one he’d have if he complained. He went to the lounge.
On Sunday morning Henry was relieved that Tammy spent most of coffee hour talking with her friend Karen Winslow. He could drink his coffee without fear of violent attack. And that evening he enjoyed his trip to Big Tommy’s. Lent had gotten off to a rocky start, but he thought maybe it was turning a corner.
When Henry came into the office Monday morning, he found Tammy had entered stage two of caffeine withdrawal: lethargy.
Normally Tammy was bright and bubbly first thing in the morning. Callers to the church office got a chipper, “Hello!” But today her “hello” sounded like the last gasp of someone dying of dehydration in the middle of the desert.
Henry had a meeting that morning with the church accountant to discuss tax issues followed by a long conference call with the District headquarters. During the meeting and call he heard the phone ring in the front office several times. So when he finished he went to see what he’d missed.
Tammy, her eyelids at half-mast, was wobbling over the copier as she ran copies of the monthly church newsletter. “Any messages?” Henry asked.
“No,” Tammy replied in a haze.
“None?”
“No.”
Henry looked at her skeptically. Normally Tammy was incredibly reliable and he would take her word on the issue without question. But today was not exactly normal. “Then who called?” he pressed.
“Nobody.”
“I heard the phone ring.”
For the first time Tammy looked at him. “Oh yeah,” she said. And she went to the desk, picked up a message slip and handed it to him.
“Thank you,” Henry said.
As he was returning that call, Tammy brought in another message slip that she had forgotten to give him. As he was returning that call, she brought in another.
Henry was glad when two days later Tammy had finally entered stage 3 of caffeine withdrawal: recovery. She was back to her normal, chipper self, though the coffee machine stayed in the lounge.
Henry did not realize how much damage stage 2 had done to him, though, until he finally got around to perusing the latest church newsletter that afternoon.
There, copied in the middle of the calendar page, was a phone message from Shane the choir director. It read, “Norm’s O.K. for lunch Tues.” Apparently Tammy had accidentally mixed the message in with the newsletter while she was copying.
Overall, Henry had been pretty faithful to his agreement with Jennifer to eat healthy. Going to Big Tommy’s every Sunday helped. But he wanted more than just ribs. He was craving a big, juicy barbecue burger and onion rings. One Tuesday every month Henry and Shane had lunch to plan songs for the following month’s services. Henry had left a message for Shane asking if they could do their lunch at Norm’s Normal Burgers. He figured one mid-week burger wouldn’t really hurt.
Henry burst out of his office clutching the newsletter.
“Hello,” Tammy said cheerfully.
“Did these go out?” Henry asked.
“Two days ago.” Tammy replied.
That evening Henry raced home as fast as he could hoping to beat Jennifer to the mail. He failed. When he came inside she was waiting, newsletter in hand. “Norm’s Normal Burgers is not eating healthy,” she said. Henry realized that one mid-week burger was indeed going to hurt him. A lot.
The rest of Lent went easily for Tammy now that she’d kicked her caffeine withdrawal. It did not go so easily for Henry.
The story of Lent and Easter at the little church will continue…
Hear the story read by the author.
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. This year, church secretary Tammy Billings decided she was going to give up coffee for Lent. This was no small thing. Tammy went through several cups of coffee every morning. “Good for you,” Pastor Henry O’Donnell said when she told him. Little did he know how much Tammy’s decision was going to impact his own Lenten experience.
Meanwhile, Henry’s wife Jennifer had her own idea for Lent. Jennifer had been concerned about both her and Henry’s steadily increasing weight for some time. But getting Henry to agree to do something about it was a difficult proposition. Henry liked to eat and didn’t like to exercise. He also seemed less worried by their expanding waistlines than she was. Jennifer thought perhaps Lent might offer him the proper motivation. So she proposed that they each give up their biggest weakness - ice cream for her and barbecued ribs for him.
Henry didn’t care for the idea. First of all, he really, really loved his weekly visits to Big Tommy’s Rib Shack. Second of all, he didn’t think the Lenten sacrifice was meant for self-improvement. It was supposed to be a way to focus one’s mind on God, not on oneself. He only made that second argument to Jennifer.
Jennifer thought the pain of giving up Big Tommy’s would definitely focus Henry’s thoughts on God.
Henry then pointed out that under the Catholic rules of Lent he would still be able to eat at Big Tommy’s on Sundays. He thought he could probably live with that. Jennifer pointed out that they weren’t Catholic.
In the end they came to a compromise. They both would agree to eat healthy six days a week. On Sundays, they would go to Big Tommy’s for dinner and stop off for ice cream on the way home.
When Henry arrived at the office the morning after Ash Wednesday he was still sulking over the bowl of oatmeal Jennifer had served him for breakfast. At least eating healthy didn’t mean he had to give up his morning cup of coffee. He went straight to the coffee maker which was in a small conference room off the front office. To his surprise, the pot was empty. Tammy’s desk was right outside. Henry leaned out and asked, “so, does giving up coffee for Lent mean you’re not going to make it for the rest of us, either?”
It probably wasn’t the wisest thing to say, but Henry was lightheaded from his low-cal breakfast.
Tammy turned on him like a starving fight dog. “I’m the church secretary, not a barista,” she snarled. “Why am I the only one who ever makes the coffee anyway? I know you’re just a helpless pastor with very few real world skills, but I think maybe you can manage to make your own coffee for a few weeks.” Henry ducked back into the conference room and wiped a few beads of sweat from his temples. Yes, he thought he probably could make his own coffee for a few weeks.
Tammy had entered stage one of caffeine withdrawal. This stage was characterized by headaches, bad temper and general snippy-ness.
The next day Henry went into the conference room to make the coffee and discovered the coffee maker wasn’t there. He took a deep breath and girded his psychological loins. Then he leaned into the office. “Uh, Tammy…”
“I moved it,” she barked. “I couldn’t take smelling it all day. It’s in the lounge. Is that a problem for you?”
If it was Henry figured it was a smaller problem than the one he’d have if he complained. He went to the lounge.
On Sunday morning Henry was relieved that Tammy spent most of coffee hour talking with her friend Karen Winslow. He could drink his coffee without fear of violent attack. And that evening he enjoyed his trip to Big Tommy’s. Lent had gotten off to a rocky start, but he thought maybe it was turning a corner.
When Henry came into the office Monday morning, he found Tammy had entered stage two of caffeine withdrawal: lethargy.
Normally Tammy was bright and bubbly first thing in the morning. Callers to the church office got a chipper, “Hello!” But today her “hello” sounded like the last gasp of someone dying of dehydration in the middle of the desert.
Henry had a meeting that morning with the church accountant to discuss tax issues followed by a long conference call with the District headquarters. During the meeting and call he heard the phone ring in the front office several times. So when he finished he went to see what he’d missed.
Tammy, her eyelids at half-mast, was wobbling over the copier as she ran copies of the monthly church newsletter. “Any messages?” Henry asked.
“No,” Tammy replied in a haze.
“None?”
“No.”
Henry looked at her skeptically. Normally Tammy was incredibly reliable and he would take her word on the issue without question. But today was not exactly normal. “Then who called?” he pressed.
“Nobody.”
“I heard the phone ring.”
For the first time Tammy looked at him. “Oh yeah,” she said. And she went to the desk, picked up a message slip and handed it to him.
“Thank you,” Henry said.
As he was returning that call, Tammy brought in another message slip that she had forgotten to give him. As he was returning that call, she brought in another.
Henry was glad when two days later Tammy had finally entered stage 3 of caffeine withdrawal: recovery. She was back to her normal, chipper self, though the coffee machine stayed in the lounge.
Henry did not realize how much damage stage 2 had done to him, though, until he finally got around to perusing the latest church newsletter that afternoon.
There, copied in the middle of the calendar page, was a phone message from Shane the choir director. It read, “Norm’s O.K. for lunch Tues.” Apparently Tammy had accidentally mixed the message in with the newsletter while she was copying.
Overall, Henry had been pretty faithful to his agreement with Jennifer to eat healthy. Going to Big Tommy’s every Sunday helped. But he wanted more than just ribs. He was craving a big, juicy barbecue burger and onion rings. One Tuesday every month Henry and Shane had lunch to plan songs for the following month’s services. Henry had left a message for Shane asking if they could do their lunch at Norm’s Normal Burgers. He figured one mid-week burger wouldn’t really hurt.
Henry burst out of his office clutching the newsletter.
“Hello,” Tammy said cheerfully.
“Did these go out?” Henry asked.
“Two days ago.” Tammy replied.
That evening Henry raced home as fast as he could hoping to beat Jennifer to the mail. He failed. When he came inside she was waiting, newsletter in hand. “Norm’s Normal Burgers is not eating healthy,” she said. Henry realized that one mid-week burger was indeed going to hurt him. A lot.
The rest of Lent went easily for Tammy now that she’d kicked her caffeine withdrawal. It did not go so easily for Henry.
The story of Lent and Easter at the little church will continue…
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Loud
by Douglas J. Eboch
Hear the story read by the author
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. Donald and Marjorie East have been attending the church since 1962. Recently they’d both grown hard of hearing. No surprise since they both entered their eighties a few years ago. The trouble was that in the last few years Marjorie’s eyesight had deteriorated to the point she had difficulty seeing what was happening during the service, so she frequently asked Donald, “what’s going on now?” and, “who’s that reading the scripture?” This wouldn’t be a big deal except her questions and his responses were delivered at a volume well above regular conversation and certainly loud enough for everyone in the congregation to hear.
Being church, at first everyone tried to have sympathy and just ignore the Easts. What the congregation discovered, though, was that Marjorie’s eyesight worked fine at close range, and as people walked in to find their seats Donald and Marjorie frequently discussed their weight, dress and appearance. Not realizing everyone could hear them, these discussions were often not flattering.
One victim of the East’s fashion critiques was Pastor O’Donnell’s sixteen year-old daughter Katie. Katie was generally well behaved for a teenager but she did like to dress in the styles of her generation. Marjorie East deemed said styles to be “the costumes of whores.”
One Sunday Katie wore a blouse that was cut low enough to show a bit of her budding cleavage. When she took her place in the pews, Marjorie, who was already seated, remarked to Donald, “That Katie O’Donnell is sure becoming a little tart, isn’t she?” A chill passed through the congregation. Katie blushed a deep crimson.
Pastor O’Donnell had heard the comment and seen his daughter’s reaction. So on the ride home he suggested that maybe Katie ought to dress a little more conservatively for church. He meant well. Katie’s embarrassment immediately turned into anger. The next Sunday she searched through her closet and found a slinky black mini-dress she had bought at the mall with her friends but had been too shy to wear in public yet.
Katie kept the dress hidden from her parents under a long coat that morning. She hung the coat in her father’s office and strutted into church just as service was starting, the hem of the dress barely brushing the middle of her thigh. She made a point to give her hips a little extra swish as she passed the Easts. Marjorie gasped and said to Donald, “Katie O’Donnell is dressed like a prostitute! Has she no shame? Why doesn’t the Pastor put a stop to this?” Instead of turning red, this time Katie grinned proudly.
Pastor O’Donnell both heard the comment and observed the large amount of skin his daughter was displaying. This time he agreed with Marjorie. On the way home he insisted Katie never wear that dress to church again. He would prefer, in fact, that she never wore it anywhere.
The next week Pastor O’Donnell made a point to inspect Katie before leaving the house. She was dressed in a very modest slacks and blouse ensemble. He should have checked her purse. The black mini-dress was rolled up inside. As Katie took her seat in the pew opposite the Easts, she artfully made sure the hem of the mini-dress rode nice and high up her young leg. Marjorie delivered quite a tirade that morning.
Katie’s two week fashion show was brought to an abrupt end that afternoon when Pastor O’Donnell grounded her for the next three days. She made a big show of arguing about how unfair it was, but it was just a show. Tweaking Marjorie East wasn’t worth having to spend several evenings in a row at home with her parents. The following Sunday Katie wore a knee length skirt and Marjorie East went back to commenting on how fat Del Winslow was getting and how Tammy Billings’ new haircut made her look homeless. Life went on.
Then about two months later Pastor O’Donnell received the call that Marjorie East had passed away.
That Sunday, Katie managed to slip into the mini-dress again just before service. When Pastor O’Donnell saw her enter the back of the church, a heat of fury rose in his cheeks such as only a teenage daughter can cause. But then the most surprising thing happened. Katie sat down next to Donald East.
“Hello,” she said, “how are you?”
“My wife died last week,” he replied.
“I know. I heard. I’m really sorry,” Katie said. The service started.
As Tammy Billings went to the lectern, everyone was startled to hear Katie say quite loudly, “Mr. East, I forgot to put in my contacts this morning. What’s going on?”
“Tammy Billings is giving the opening prayer,” Donald replied, smiling.
He wasn’t the only one. Everyone in the congregation was smiling. Especially Pastor O’Donnell.
The service continued with Katie asking Donald questions and the two of them commenting loudly on everyone’s appearance. Finally, after Pastor O’Donnell delivered the benediction, Katie and Donald stood. Donald turned to her and said, “Thank you, Katie.”
“For what?” she asked.
“For sitting with me today. By the way, I like your dress.”
Katie walked with Donald over to the coffee hour. He got a Styrofoam cup of bad coffee; she got a plastic cup of the so-called “fruit punch.” Then they sat beside each other awkwardly, neither really sure why they were still together.
Finally, Katie said, “I really was sorry to hear about your wife.”
“She was a wonderful woman, just wonderful,” Donald said. “She had such a sense of style.”
“Tell me about her,” Katie said.
And Donald did -- in a voice that was much too loud for coffee hour. But nobody minded.
Hear the story read by the author
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. Donald and Marjorie East have been attending the church since 1962. Recently they’d both grown hard of hearing. No surprise since they both entered their eighties a few years ago. The trouble was that in the last few years Marjorie’s eyesight had deteriorated to the point she had difficulty seeing what was happening during the service, so she frequently asked Donald, “what’s going on now?” and, “who’s that reading the scripture?” This wouldn’t be a big deal except her questions and his responses were delivered at a volume well above regular conversation and certainly loud enough for everyone in the congregation to hear.
Being church, at first everyone tried to have sympathy and just ignore the Easts. What the congregation discovered, though, was that Marjorie’s eyesight worked fine at close range, and as people walked in to find their seats Donald and Marjorie frequently discussed their weight, dress and appearance. Not realizing everyone could hear them, these discussions were often not flattering.
One victim of the East’s fashion critiques was Pastor O’Donnell’s sixteen year-old daughter Katie. Katie was generally well behaved for a teenager but she did like to dress in the styles of her generation. Marjorie East deemed said styles to be “the costumes of whores.”
One Sunday Katie wore a blouse that was cut low enough to show a bit of her budding cleavage. When she took her place in the pews, Marjorie, who was already seated, remarked to Donald, “That Katie O’Donnell is sure becoming a little tart, isn’t she?” A chill passed through the congregation. Katie blushed a deep crimson.
Pastor O’Donnell had heard the comment and seen his daughter’s reaction. So on the ride home he suggested that maybe Katie ought to dress a little more conservatively for church. He meant well. Katie’s embarrassment immediately turned into anger. The next Sunday she searched through her closet and found a slinky black mini-dress she had bought at the mall with her friends but had been too shy to wear in public yet.
Katie kept the dress hidden from her parents under a long coat that morning. She hung the coat in her father’s office and strutted into church just as service was starting, the hem of the dress barely brushing the middle of her thigh. She made a point to give her hips a little extra swish as she passed the Easts. Marjorie gasped and said to Donald, “Katie O’Donnell is dressed like a prostitute! Has she no shame? Why doesn’t the Pastor put a stop to this?” Instead of turning red, this time Katie grinned proudly.
Pastor O’Donnell both heard the comment and observed the large amount of skin his daughter was displaying. This time he agreed with Marjorie. On the way home he insisted Katie never wear that dress to church again. He would prefer, in fact, that she never wore it anywhere.
The next week Pastor O’Donnell made a point to inspect Katie before leaving the house. She was dressed in a very modest slacks and blouse ensemble. He should have checked her purse. The black mini-dress was rolled up inside. As Katie took her seat in the pew opposite the Easts, she artfully made sure the hem of the mini-dress rode nice and high up her young leg. Marjorie delivered quite a tirade that morning.
Katie’s two week fashion show was brought to an abrupt end that afternoon when Pastor O’Donnell grounded her for the next three days. She made a big show of arguing about how unfair it was, but it was just a show. Tweaking Marjorie East wasn’t worth having to spend several evenings in a row at home with her parents. The following Sunday Katie wore a knee length skirt and Marjorie East went back to commenting on how fat Del Winslow was getting and how Tammy Billings’ new haircut made her look homeless. Life went on.
Then about two months later Pastor O’Donnell received the call that Marjorie East had passed away.
That Sunday, Katie managed to slip into the mini-dress again just before service. When Pastor O’Donnell saw her enter the back of the church, a heat of fury rose in his cheeks such as only a teenage daughter can cause. But then the most surprising thing happened. Katie sat down next to Donald East.
“Hello,” she said, “how are you?”
“My wife died last week,” he replied.
“I know. I heard. I’m really sorry,” Katie said. The service started.
As Tammy Billings went to the lectern, everyone was startled to hear Katie say quite loudly, “Mr. East, I forgot to put in my contacts this morning. What’s going on?”
“Tammy Billings is giving the opening prayer,” Donald replied, smiling.
He wasn’t the only one. Everyone in the congregation was smiling. Especially Pastor O’Donnell.
The service continued with Katie asking Donald questions and the two of them commenting loudly on everyone’s appearance. Finally, after Pastor O’Donnell delivered the benediction, Katie and Donald stood. Donald turned to her and said, “Thank you, Katie.”
“For what?” she asked.
“For sitting with me today. By the way, I like your dress.”
Katie walked with Donald over to the coffee hour. He got a Styrofoam cup of bad coffee; she got a plastic cup of the so-called “fruit punch.” Then they sat beside each other awkwardly, neither really sure why they were still together.
Finally, Katie said, “I really was sorry to hear about your wife.”
“She was a wonderful woman, just wonderful,” Donald said. “She had such a sense of style.”
“Tell me about her,” Katie said.
And Donald did -- in a voice that was much too loud for coffee hour. But nobody minded.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Prayers of the People
by Douglas J. Eboch
Hear the story read by the author
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church on the corner of Wilson and Elm . On the last Sunday of each month, they do Prayers of the People in service. This a time when Pastor Henry O’Donnell asks the members of the congregation to raise their hands and offer their individual prayers of concern or thanksgiving. Most of the time it goes relatively smoothly. Last week was an exception.
Perhaps Pastor O’Donnell should have sensed something was brewing when he looked out over the congregation before the start of service. Husband and wife Kevin and Jill Boyer were sitting on opposite sides of the church. Jill was sitting with an unfamiliar young woman and Kevin was sitting with his friend Billy Kent. It was unusual but certainly not unprecedented for a married couple to sit with different friends, so Pastor O’Donnell noticed but didn’t really think much of it. And the identity of the young woman was revealed when it came time to introduce visitors. She was Joanna, Jill’s sister, visiting from out west.
Then came time for prayers of the people. The pastor was surprised to see Joanna’s hand raised. Visitors usually didn’t participate in that sort of thing. But he guessed maybe she wanted to thank her sister for her hospitality. He called on her first.
“My sister has a really hectic life,” Joanna began. “She has a full time job and two children that keep her very busy.”
Pastor O’Donnell knew Jill’s children. He could easily imagine how busy they kept her.
Joanna continued, “I’d like to pray that the people around her recognize how hard she works
and lend a helping hand every once in a while so she can take a break when she needs it.”
Kevin’s hand shot into the air. Pastor O’Donnell felt his stomach tighten as he nodded toward Kevin.
“I’d like to pray for the patience to tolerate meddling family members,” Kevin said.
Joanna shot to her feet. Pastor O’Donnell looked desperately for someone else to call on, but Joanna didn’t wait. “I’d like to pray for the patience to accept people who don’t realize how selfish they are. And I’d like to pray that I don’t miss my flight home tomorrow.”
Kevin hadn’t even sat down. “I’d like to pray that there isn’t another accident near the airport tomorrow so I don’t have to endure constant criticism because I was late one freakin’ time for reasons completely beyond my control.”
Joanna was about to respond but Jill stood and cut her off. “I’d like to pray that my loved ones recognize when they are embarrassing me and stop it,” Jill said.
Pastor O’Donnell took the opportunity to jump in before things could get any worse, saying “Okay, great, does anyone else have a prayer of thanks or prayers of concern for others?” Donald East raised his hand. Pastor O’Donnell pointed at him, glad he wasn’t related in any way to the Boyers.
“I’d like to pray for the poor people who can’t find parking spaces because SUV drivers take two spots in the parking lot,” Donald said.
Up in the choir, Del Winslow, a proud SUV owner, raised his hand. “I’d like to pray that people who drive compact cars park in the compact spaces instead of taking the big spaces and forcing the owners of big cars, who might have a perfectly good reason for owning them, to squeeze into tiny spaces because those are the only ones left.”
Pastor O‘Donnell desperately tried to steer things in another direction. “Any prayers of thanksgiving? Someone must be thankful for something.”
Ralph Billings, head usher, stepped forward. “I’m thankful there’s a grocery store a block up the street where I can get healthy food since only sugary snacks are served at coffee hour despite my many requests.”
Kevin Boyer shouted out, “I’m thankful for the sugary snacks.”
Two dozen hands shot up. Pastor O’Donnell sighed. He really wanted to just move on to the anthem, but it would be inappropriate to not give everyone the opportunity to express their prayers. He decided his best bet was to just start at the front and work his way back. Shane, sitting at the piano, had his hand up. “You have a prayer, Shane?”
Shane stood and cleared his throat. “I’d like to pray for my brother who just got diagnosed with prostate cancer and his wife and two little boys.”
Pastor O’Donnell was stunned. He gave Shane a sympathetic nod and made a mental note to call him later in the week. As Shane sat back down, the pastor turned back to the congregation. “Who else has a prayer?” Amazingly, not a hand went up.
Normally at the end of prayers of the people Pastor O’Donnell would say a prayer that touched on each of the concerns voiced. But this time he simply said, “Lord, we pray for sick relatives, give thanks for visiting family, and most of all we ask that you help us learn to get along with one another. Amen.” And the people said, “Amen.”
After the service, Pastor O’Donnell retreated to his office. He needed to consider whether once a month might be a little too often for prayers of the people.
(c) 2008 Douglas J. Eboch
Hear the story read by the author
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church on the corner of Wilson and Elm . On the last Sunday of each month, they do Prayers of the People in service. This a time when Pastor Henry O’Donnell asks the members of the congregation to raise their hands and offer their individual prayers of concern or thanksgiving. Most of the time it goes relatively smoothly. Last week was an exception.
Perhaps Pastor O’Donnell should have sensed something was brewing when he looked out over the congregation before the start of service. Husband and wife Kevin and Jill Boyer were sitting on opposite sides of the church. Jill was sitting with an unfamiliar young woman and Kevin was sitting with his friend Billy Kent. It was unusual but certainly not unprecedented for a married couple to sit with different friends, so Pastor O’Donnell noticed but didn’t really think much of it. And the identity of the young woman was revealed when it came time to introduce visitors. She was Joanna, Jill’s sister, visiting from out west.
Then came time for prayers of the people. The pastor was surprised to see Joanna’s hand raised. Visitors usually didn’t participate in that sort of thing. But he guessed maybe she wanted to thank her sister for her hospitality. He called on her first.
“My sister has a really hectic life,” Joanna began. “She has a full time job and two children that keep her very busy.”
Pastor O’Donnell knew Jill’s children. He could easily imagine how busy they kept her.
Joanna continued, “I’d like to pray that the people around her recognize how hard she works
and lend a helping hand every once in a while so she can take a break when she needs it.”
Kevin’s hand shot into the air. Pastor O’Donnell felt his stomach tighten as he nodded toward Kevin.
“I’d like to pray for the patience to tolerate meddling family members,” Kevin said.
Joanna shot to her feet. Pastor O’Donnell looked desperately for someone else to call on, but Joanna didn’t wait. “I’d like to pray for the patience to accept people who don’t realize how selfish they are. And I’d like to pray that I don’t miss my flight home tomorrow.”
Kevin hadn’t even sat down. “I’d like to pray that there isn’t another accident near the airport tomorrow so I don’t have to endure constant criticism because I was late one freakin’ time for reasons completely beyond my control.”
Joanna was about to respond but Jill stood and cut her off. “I’d like to pray that my loved ones recognize when they are embarrassing me and stop it,” Jill said.
Pastor O’Donnell took the opportunity to jump in before things could get any worse, saying “Okay, great, does anyone else have a prayer of thanks or prayers of concern for others?” Donald East raised his hand. Pastor O’Donnell pointed at him, glad he wasn’t related in any way to the Boyers.
“I’d like to pray for the poor people who can’t find parking spaces because SUV drivers take two spots in the parking lot,” Donald said.
Up in the choir, Del Winslow, a proud SUV owner, raised his hand. “I’d like to pray that people who drive compact cars park in the compact spaces instead of taking the big spaces and forcing the owners of big cars, who might have a perfectly good reason for owning them, to squeeze into tiny spaces because those are the only ones left.”
Pastor O‘Donnell desperately tried to steer things in another direction. “Any prayers of thanksgiving? Someone must be thankful for something.”
Ralph Billings, head usher, stepped forward. “I’m thankful there’s a grocery store a block up the street where I can get healthy food since only sugary snacks are served at coffee hour despite my many requests.”
Kevin Boyer shouted out, “I’m thankful for the sugary snacks.”
Two dozen hands shot up. Pastor O’Donnell sighed. He really wanted to just move on to the anthem, but it would be inappropriate to not give everyone the opportunity to express their prayers. He decided his best bet was to just start at the front and work his way back. Shane, sitting at the piano, had his hand up. “You have a prayer, Shane?”
Shane stood and cleared his throat. “I’d like to pray for my brother who just got diagnosed with prostate cancer and his wife and two little boys.”
Pastor O’Donnell was stunned. He gave Shane a sympathetic nod and made a mental note to call him later in the week. As Shane sat back down, the pastor turned back to the congregation. “Who else has a prayer?” Amazingly, not a hand went up.
Normally at the end of prayers of the people Pastor O’Donnell would say a prayer that touched on each of the concerns voiced. But this time he simply said, “Lord, we pray for sick relatives, give thanks for visiting family, and most of all we ask that you help us learn to get along with one another. Amen.” And the people said, “Amen.”
After the service, Pastor O’Donnell retreated to his office. He needed to consider whether once a month might be a little too often for prayers of the people.
(c) 2008 Douglas J. Eboch
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Odd Jobs
by Douglas J. Eboch
Hear the story read by the author
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. In this church, as in most churches, many of the odd jobs required to keep things running smoothly and keep the building from slowly decaying fall to volunteers from the congregation. And like any operation that relies on peoples’ generous natures, thing don’t always get done as promptly and effectively as might be desirable. Whenever Pastor Henry O’Donnell got frustrated at the lack of progress on some simple task, he reminded himself that volunteers are, well, volunteering. You must be grateful for what they give you and not begrudge them what they do not. Of course, as healthy as that attitude was, it meant that Pastor O’Donnell often ended up picking up the slack for these chores himself.
One of the most reliable volunteers at the church is Ralph Billings, husband to paid church secretary Tammy Billings. In addition to serving as head usher, Ralph is the unofficial church handyman. The Thursday after Christmas, Ralph went to the church to clean some leaves out of a rain gutter. He’d noticed the clog after the Christmas Eve service and wanted to take care of it right then. Ralph did not like to procrastinate -- if something needed done, best to just do it. But Tammy reminded him that he was wearing his good clothes, and besides, it was after midnight and she was tired.
So Ralph came back to do the chore Thursday afternoon a couple hours before Tammy finished work in the office. It took him a while to locate the church ladder because someone had left it in the back of the social hall instead of returning it to the storage closet where it belonged. But after that brief delay, Ralph was up on the ladder scooping out leaves and whistling “Jingle Bells.” Ralph found whistling happy tunes helped these little jobs go faster.
Pastor O‘Donnell happened by and spotted him. “Hi Ralph,” the pastor called up. “When you’re done with that, would you do me a favor? Since you’ve already got the ladder out, would you mind replacing the Advent banners behind the altar with the ‘Christ is Born’ banners? When the women’s group took down the Christmas decorations, they forgot to do that.”
“Sure,” Ralph said. “Where are the new banners?”
“With the seasonal items in the cellar under the social hall,” O’Donnell told him.
So when Ralph finished with the rain gutters, he put the ladder in the sanctuary and went to the cellar.
Unfortunately, when he flipped the switch at the top of the cellar stairs, the single fluorescent light failed to come on. Ralph knew the church had replacement fluorescent tubes, but they were stored, perhaps unwisely, in the cellar. The two thin windows in the cellar were caked with so much dirt that it was nearly cave dark down there without the overhead light. So Ralph went to get the flashlight from the kitchen off the social hall.
As he opened the door to the cupboard where the flashlight was kept, it wobbled and creaked. Ralph discovered the screws of the top hinge had worked their way well out of the wood. The hinge was on the verge of pulling loose. Not wanting to leave the door in such precarious shape, Ralph got his screwdriver from the car and tightened the screws, again whistling “Jingle Bells” as he worked.
That task finished, Ralph got the flashlight and headed back to the cellar. Unfortunately, he soon discovered the batteries were dead. He sighed, wondering what sin he had committed against light that it seemed to be conspiring against him. He went to the office and got replacement batteries from Tammy.
With the flashlight now operational, Ralph was able to descend into the dark, cluttered cellar with the ladder and locate the spare fluorescent tubes. He set the ladder up and replaced the tube in the overhead fixture, again whistling “Jingle Bells” but with a slightly less bouncy cadence. Ten minutes later, the cellar again had light.
Finishing another task restored Ralph’s spirits. He turned to where the boxes of seasonal items were kept. And his spirits sank. When the women’s group had un-decorated the church after Christmas, they apparently just piled all the decorations in a jumble on top of the boxes. Ralph could have just tossed the whole lot aside to get to the banner, but he knew that pile of lights, wreathes, fake holly boughs and bows would somehow morph over the next eleven months into a tangled mass that would induce headaches when it came time to decorate next Christmas.
So Ralph sorted the decorations and returned them to the empty boxes from which they came. He even relabeled the boxes to indicate which decorations were in each. It was a time consuming task, but “Jingle Bells” once again helped keep Ralph’s spirits up…though a passerby might have mistakenly identified the tune as a funeral dirge the way Ralph was now whistling.
Finally Ralph finished the job by taping the boxes securely shut and stacking them. And at that moment Tammy appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Ralph,” she said. “Could you give me a ride to the bank on the way home? I have to deposit the offering from Christmas Eve.”
“Sure,” Ralph responded. “Let me just hang this banner for the pastor.”
“It’s almost five,” Tammy said. “I want to get there before they close so the deposit goes in before the end of the year.”
“Okay,” Ralph said, though he was growing a little frustrated. “I guess the banner can wait until tomorrow.” So he returned the ladder to its proper location in the storage closet and took his wife to the bank.
Pastor Henry O’Donnell had been on the phone in his office with the door closed when Tammy left. She didn’t like to disturb him in that situation in case he was on a delicate call with a troubled or ill parishioner. As it happened, this time he was arguing with a customer support representative in India about the return of an ill fitting Christmas sweater he had purchased for his wife online. When he finally got the details of the transaction arranged, he emerged from the office to find Tammy gone.
Being the last one at the church that day, Henry made the rounds to lock up. When he went to lock the sanctuary, though, he was surprised to find the Advent banners still hanging behind the altar. “Ralph was supposed to change those,” he said to the empty room. But there they were, unchanged. So Henry got the ladder out of the storage closet, went to the cellar, clicked on the light, retrieved the replacement banners from the neatly organized boxes of seasonal decor, and hung them himself, grumbling the whole time. It only took a few minutes, but Henry was anxious to get home to watch a favorite TV show, so instead of returning the ladder to the storage closet he stuck it in a nook behind the sanctuary and tossed the Advent banners on top of the stack of boxes in the cellar.
“Was that so hard?” Pastor O’Donnell thought as he hurried to his car. “Why do I always have to do everything around here myself?” Then he reminded himself that Ralph was just a volunteer and Henry shouldn’t begrudge him the things he didn’t do.
(c) 2007 Douglas J. Eboch
Hear the story read by the author
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. In this church, as in most churches, many of the odd jobs required to keep things running smoothly and keep the building from slowly decaying fall to volunteers from the congregation. And like any operation that relies on peoples’ generous natures, thing don’t always get done as promptly and effectively as might be desirable. Whenever Pastor Henry O’Donnell got frustrated at the lack of progress on some simple task, he reminded himself that volunteers are, well, volunteering. You must be grateful for what they give you and not begrudge them what they do not. Of course, as healthy as that attitude was, it meant that Pastor O’Donnell often ended up picking up the slack for these chores himself.
One of the most reliable volunteers at the church is Ralph Billings, husband to paid church secretary Tammy Billings. In addition to serving as head usher, Ralph is the unofficial church handyman. The Thursday after Christmas, Ralph went to the church to clean some leaves out of a rain gutter. He’d noticed the clog after the Christmas Eve service and wanted to take care of it right then. Ralph did not like to procrastinate -- if something needed done, best to just do it. But Tammy reminded him that he was wearing his good clothes, and besides, it was after midnight and she was tired.
So Ralph came back to do the chore Thursday afternoon a couple hours before Tammy finished work in the office. It took him a while to locate the church ladder because someone had left it in the back of the social hall instead of returning it to the storage closet where it belonged. But after that brief delay, Ralph was up on the ladder scooping out leaves and whistling “Jingle Bells.” Ralph found whistling happy tunes helped these little jobs go faster.
Pastor O‘Donnell happened by and spotted him. “Hi Ralph,” the pastor called up. “When you’re done with that, would you do me a favor? Since you’ve already got the ladder out, would you mind replacing the Advent banners behind the altar with the ‘Christ is Born’ banners? When the women’s group took down the Christmas decorations, they forgot to do that.”
“Sure,” Ralph said. “Where are the new banners?”
“With the seasonal items in the cellar under the social hall,” O’Donnell told him.
So when Ralph finished with the rain gutters, he put the ladder in the sanctuary and went to the cellar.
Unfortunately, when he flipped the switch at the top of the cellar stairs, the single fluorescent light failed to come on. Ralph knew the church had replacement fluorescent tubes, but they were stored, perhaps unwisely, in the cellar. The two thin windows in the cellar were caked with so much dirt that it was nearly cave dark down there without the overhead light. So Ralph went to get the flashlight from the kitchen off the social hall.
As he opened the door to the cupboard where the flashlight was kept, it wobbled and creaked. Ralph discovered the screws of the top hinge had worked their way well out of the wood. The hinge was on the verge of pulling loose. Not wanting to leave the door in such precarious shape, Ralph got his screwdriver from the car and tightened the screws, again whistling “Jingle Bells” as he worked.
That task finished, Ralph got the flashlight and headed back to the cellar. Unfortunately, he soon discovered the batteries were dead. He sighed, wondering what sin he had committed against light that it seemed to be conspiring against him. He went to the office and got replacement batteries from Tammy.
With the flashlight now operational, Ralph was able to descend into the dark, cluttered cellar with the ladder and locate the spare fluorescent tubes. He set the ladder up and replaced the tube in the overhead fixture, again whistling “Jingle Bells” but with a slightly less bouncy cadence. Ten minutes later, the cellar again had light.
Finishing another task restored Ralph’s spirits. He turned to where the boxes of seasonal items were kept. And his spirits sank. When the women’s group had un-decorated the church after Christmas, they apparently just piled all the decorations in a jumble on top of the boxes. Ralph could have just tossed the whole lot aside to get to the banner, but he knew that pile of lights, wreathes, fake holly boughs and bows would somehow morph over the next eleven months into a tangled mass that would induce headaches when it came time to decorate next Christmas.
So Ralph sorted the decorations and returned them to the empty boxes from which they came. He even relabeled the boxes to indicate which decorations were in each. It was a time consuming task, but “Jingle Bells” once again helped keep Ralph’s spirits up…though a passerby might have mistakenly identified the tune as a funeral dirge the way Ralph was now whistling.
Finally Ralph finished the job by taping the boxes securely shut and stacking them. And at that moment Tammy appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Ralph,” she said. “Could you give me a ride to the bank on the way home? I have to deposit the offering from Christmas Eve.”
“Sure,” Ralph responded. “Let me just hang this banner for the pastor.”
“It’s almost five,” Tammy said. “I want to get there before they close so the deposit goes in before the end of the year.”
“Okay,” Ralph said, though he was growing a little frustrated. “I guess the banner can wait until tomorrow.” So he returned the ladder to its proper location in the storage closet and took his wife to the bank.
Pastor Henry O’Donnell had been on the phone in his office with the door closed when Tammy left. She didn’t like to disturb him in that situation in case he was on a delicate call with a troubled or ill parishioner. As it happened, this time he was arguing with a customer support representative in India about the return of an ill fitting Christmas sweater he had purchased for his wife online. When he finally got the details of the transaction arranged, he emerged from the office to find Tammy gone.
Being the last one at the church that day, Henry made the rounds to lock up. When he went to lock the sanctuary, though, he was surprised to find the Advent banners still hanging behind the altar. “Ralph was supposed to change those,” he said to the empty room. But there they were, unchanged. So Henry got the ladder out of the storage closet, went to the cellar, clicked on the light, retrieved the replacement banners from the neatly organized boxes of seasonal decor, and hung them himself, grumbling the whole time. It only took a few minutes, but Henry was anxious to get home to watch a favorite TV show, so instead of returning the ladder to the storage closet he stuck it in a nook behind the sanctuary and tossed the Advent banners on top of the stack of boxes in the cellar.
“Was that so hard?” Pastor O’Donnell thought as he hurried to his car. “Why do I always have to do everything around here myself?” Then he reminded himself that Ralph was just a volunteer and Henry shouldn’t begrudge him the things he didn’t do.
(c) 2007 Douglas J. Eboch
Sunday, December 16, 2007
The Third Candle (or The Second Candle Symbolizes Peace)
By Douglas J. Eboch
Hear the story read by the author
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church on the corner of Wilson and Elm. The Boyer family, which consists of Kevin Boyer, his wife Jill, and their two daughters Mary (age four) and Susie (age two), attends fairly regularly, if not always on time. Their attendance started - at the persistent suggestion of Jill - when Mary was born. Kevin consented even though it was football season. Kevin is a “cheese head” otherwise known as a Green Bay Packers fan. He has never understood why they hold church at the same time as NFL games. It has never occurred to him to ask the question in the reverse.
This Advent season, Pastor O’Donnell had the fine idea of asking some younger members to perform the Advent candle lighting ceremony during the service. He then had the less wise idea to ask the Boyer family to take that honor on the third Sunday of Advent. Jill readily consented. Kevin was no fan of public speaking, but after discovering the Packers weren’t playing until 5:30 that day, he went along with the plan.
The choosing of attire on the morning in question was a major event in the Boyer household. Jill had purchased a gorgeous green velvet dress for Susie to wear on Christmas Day, and decided that it would be perfect for this service as well. But Susie was less thrilled by the cumbersome dress and unimpressed by Jill’s explanation of what an honor it was to be asked to participate in the Advent ceremony. Yet after only forty minutes and three time outs, Jill got the dress on Susie.
Left to his own devices, Kevin would have worn khakis and a sweater, which for him was dressing up. But Jill insisted this occasion called for a tie. Kevin has never mastered the art of properly tying a tie, so Jill ties them for him. On this morning, she cinched up the knot a little beyond the point where Kevin could easily breathe. Kevin suspected, but was smart enough not to vocalize, that this might have been a response to his failure to hear her calling for help with Susie’s dress.
The Boyer family arrived at the church half an hour before the service to practice the brief ceremony. It involved someone taking a long, brass candle lighter and lighting it from one of the candles on the altar. Then, the designated individual lighted each of the first three candles on the Advent wreath in turn as other members of the family explained the symbolism of each candle. Finally, one member of the family would offer a brief prayer.
As Pastor O’Donnell explained this, Mary began jumping up and down, an arm stretched in the air. “Yes, Mary?” Pastor O’Donnell asked.
“I want to light the candles!”
Pastor O’Donnell blanched at this offer. A variety of incidents involving young Mary Boyer flashed through his head. The broken sewage pipe. The melted stained glass window. Mary’s generous repainting of the baptismal font.
“I’ll light the candles,” Jill said firmly. Many of the same incidents were flashing through her mind as well.
Mary was not pleased with this decision and pouted through the rest of the rehearsal. Jill finally coaxed her to memorize her line - “The second candle symbolizes peace” - with a promise of donuts on the way home. They did a test run and all went smoothly.
When it came time in the service for the lighting ceremony, the Boyer family went to the dais. It fell to Kevin to hold the two little girls’ hands firmly to ease any anxieties and more importantly to keep them where they were supposed to be.
Kevin guided the two girls to the microphone while Jill retrieved the brass candle lighter. “Good morning,”Kevin said, and then realized the microphone was not turned on. He released Susie’s hand to flip the switch. Now, on the walk out, Susie had noticed the two Christmas trees on either side of the altar. She knew what Christmas trees meant - presents. When Kevin let go of her hand, she decided to check to see if there were any there for her.
Unfortunately, as Susie was crossing the dais Jill had just turned from lighting the candle lighter from the altar candles. Jill tripped over Susie and the candle lighter swung straight into Kevin’s tie. Kevin looked down in shock as a smoldering black circle slowly grew in the center of the tie.
Jill let out a little yelp as she realized what she had done. She quickly hung the candle lighter on the wreath stand and began patting at Kevin’s tie. She succeeded only in burning her hand slightly.
Over by the piano, Shane Reed acted quickly when he saw the disaster. He grabbed the fire extinguisher which was kept in a little alcove behind him and ran out to Kevin. Shane had never used a fire extinguisher, so he began reading the directions. Kevin meanwhile was trying with desperation but little success to undo the tightly tied tie. Pastor O’Donnell, not a man to panic in a crisis, stormed out onto the stage and ordered Shane to give him the fire extinguisher. He’d take care of this.
As Jill and Kevin and Pastor O’Donnell and Shane Reed battled the blaze of Kevin’s tie, Mary Boyer decided she’d best take the Advent ceremony into her own small hands. She removed the candle lighter from where it hung on the wreath stand.
Although those on the dais were too preoccupied to notice Mary’s actions, they did not escape the attention of the congregation, most of whom were familiar with Mary’s exploits. The collective intake of breath vibrated the flame of the still-lit candle lighter as Mary carefully moved it toward the wreath. Yet everyone seemed too shocked to move.
Mary touched the flame to the first candle. “The second candle symbolizes peace,” she shouted. After all, it was the only line she remembered. She lit the second candle. “The second candle symbolizes peace.” She lit the third candle. “The second candle symbolizes peace.” Mary then went ahead and lit the remaining two candles for good measure, repeating her line each time. She blew out the candle lighter and returned it to its place. The members of the congregation let out the collective breath they’d been holding in a loud sigh. Mary had lit nothing on fire that wasn’t supposed to be lit. Well, the last two candles, sure, but nobody really cared much about that.
Satisfied the ceremony was complete and it was no longer necessary to be dressed up, Susie removed her green velvet dress. Mary took Susie’s hand, and the two girls walked up the aisle to go to Sunday school class.
Meanwhile, Pastor O’Donnell finally got the fire extinguisher ready and aimed at Kevin’s tie. He squeezed the handle and coated Kevin in an inch of foam. The tie no longer smoldered. Kevin, Jill, Shane and Pastor O’Donnell turned in unison toward the congregation who sat wide eyed and frozen like crash test dummies. For almost two minutes nobody moved. Then Kevin walked calmly to the microphone. The little paper with the prayer he was supposed to recite was soaked with foam, so he merely said:
“Dear Lord, we thank you for the warmth of the Christmas season, even when it comes a little too close for comfort. And on a personal note, I hope you’ll understand if I don’t wear a tie to church ever again. Amen.”
This experience will occupy the bulk of a marriage counseling session between Kevin and Jill several years from now.
Hear the story read by the author
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church on the corner of Wilson and Elm. The Boyer family, which consists of Kevin Boyer, his wife Jill, and their two daughters Mary (age four) and Susie (age two), attends fairly regularly, if not always on time. Their attendance started - at the persistent suggestion of Jill - when Mary was born. Kevin consented even though it was football season. Kevin is a “cheese head” otherwise known as a Green Bay Packers fan. He has never understood why they hold church at the same time as NFL games. It has never occurred to him to ask the question in the reverse.
This Advent season, Pastor O’Donnell had the fine idea of asking some younger members to perform the Advent candle lighting ceremony during the service. He then had the less wise idea to ask the Boyer family to take that honor on the third Sunday of Advent. Jill readily consented. Kevin was no fan of public speaking, but after discovering the Packers weren’t playing until 5:30 that day, he went along with the plan.
The choosing of attire on the morning in question was a major event in the Boyer household. Jill had purchased a gorgeous green velvet dress for Susie to wear on Christmas Day, and decided that it would be perfect for this service as well. But Susie was less thrilled by the cumbersome dress and unimpressed by Jill’s explanation of what an honor it was to be asked to participate in the Advent ceremony. Yet after only forty minutes and three time outs, Jill got the dress on Susie.
Left to his own devices, Kevin would have worn khakis and a sweater, which for him was dressing up. But Jill insisted this occasion called for a tie. Kevin has never mastered the art of properly tying a tie, so Jill ties them for him. On this morning, she cinched up the knot a little beyond the point where Kevin could easily breathe. Kevin suspected, but was smart enough not to vocalize, that this might have been a response to his failure to hear her calling for help with Susie’s dress.
The Boyer family arrived at the church half an hour before the service to practice the brief ceremony. It involved someone taking a long, brass candle lighter and lighting it from one of the candles on the altar. Then, the designated individual lighted each of the first three candles on the Advent wreath in turn as other members of the family explained the symbolism of each candle. Finally, one member of the family would offer a brief prayer.
As Pastor O’Donnell explained this, Mary began jumping up and down, an arm stretched in the air. “Yes, Mary?” Pastor O’Donnell asked.
“I want to light the candles!”
Pastor O’Donnell blanched at this offer. A variety of incidents involving young Mary Boyer flashed through his head. The broken sewage pipe. The melted stained glass window. Mary’s generous repainting of the baptismal font.
“I’ll light the candles,” Jill said firmly. Many of the same incidents were flashing through her mind as well.
Mary was not pleased with this decision and pouted through the rest of the rehearsal. Jill finally coaxed her to memorize her line - “The second candle symbolizes peace” - with a promise of donuts on the way home. They did a test run and all went smoothly.
When it came time in the service for the lighting ceremony, the Boyer family went to the dais. It fell to Kevin to hold the two little girls’ hands firmly to ease any anxieties and more importantly to keep them where they were supposed to be.
Kevin guided the two girls to the microphone while Jill retrieved the brass candle lighter. “Good morning,”Kevin said, and then realized the microphone was not turned on. He released Susie’s hand to flip the switch. Now, on the walk out, Susie had noticed the two Christmas trees on either side of the altar. She knew what Christmas trees meant - presents. When Kevin let go of her hand, she decided to check to see if there were any there for her.
Unfortunately, as Susie was crossing the dais Jill had just turned from lighting the candle lighter from the altar candles. Jill tripped over Susie and the candle lighter swung straight into Kevin’s tie. Kevin looked down in shock as a smoldering black circle slowly grew in the center of the tie.
Jill let out a little yelp as she realized what she had done. She quickly hung the candle lighter on the wreath stand and began patting at Kevin’s tie. She succeeded only in burning her hand slightly.
Over by the piano, Shane Reed acted quickly when he saw the disaster. He grabbed the fire extinguisher which was kept in a little alcove behind him and ran out to Kevin. Shane had never used a fire extinguisher, so he began reading the directions. Kevin meanwhile was trying with desperation but little success to undo the tightly tied tie. Pastor O’Donnell, not a man to panic in a crisis, stormed out onto the stage and ordered Shane to give him the fire extinguisher. He’d take care of this.
As Jill and Kevin and Pastor O’Donnell and Shane Reed battled the blaze of Kevin’s tie, Mary Boyer decided she’d best take the Advent ceremony into her own small hands. She removed the candle lighter from where it hung on the wreath stand.
Although those on the dais were too preoccupied to notice Mary’s actions, they did not escape the attention of the congregation, most of whom were familiar with Mary’s exploits. The collective intake of breath vibrated the flame of the still-lit candle lighter as Mary carefully moved it toward the wreath. Yet everyone seemed too shocked to move.
Mary touched the flame to the first candle. “The second candle symbolizes peace,” she shouted. After all, it was the only line she remembered. She lit the second candle. “The second candle symbolizes peace.” She lit the third candle. “The second candle symbolizes peace.” Mary then went ahead and lit the remaining two candles for good measure, repeating her line each time. She blew out the candle lighter and returned it to its place. The members of the congregation let out the collective breath they’d been holding in a loud sigh. Mary had lit nothing on fire that wasn’t supposed to be lit. Well, the last two candles, sure, but nobody really cared much about that.
Satisfied the ceremony was complete and it was no longer necessary to be dressed up, Susie removed her green velvet dress. Mary took Susie’s hand, and the two girls walked up the aisle to go to Sunday school class.
Meanwhile, Pastor O’Donnell finally got the fire extinguisher ready and aimed at Kevin’s tie. He squeezed the handle and coated Kevin in an inch of foam. The tie no longer smoldered. Kevin, Jill, Shane and Pastor O’Donnell turned in unison toward the congregation who sat wide eyed and frozen like crash test dummies. For almost two minutes nobody moved. Then Kevin walked calmly to the microphone. The little paper with the prayer he was supposed to recite was soaked with foam, so he merely said:
“Dear Lord, we thank you for the warmth of the Christmas season, even when it comes a little too close for comfort. And on a personal note, I hope you’ll understand if I don’t wear a tie to church ever again. Amen.”
This experience will occupy the bulk of a marriage counseling session between Kevin and Jill several years from now.
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Shane - Part 2
By Douglas J. Eboch
Hear the story read by the author
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church on the corner of Wilson and Elm. A couple of weeks ago, Del Winslow, star singer in the little church’s choir, was simmering with annoyance at newly hired choir director Shane Reed. Shane had recruited Florence Barker to sing a solo in the Christmas Concert. In her youth, Florence had been a torch singer in New York, and Del was put off by the sultry way in which Florence performed White Christmas. Naturally, his objections had nothing to do with Shane’s obvious admiration for Florence’s voice. It was, Del insisted, simply that her style was inappropriate for a church concert.
Del could be blunt when the situation called for it, but in this case he didn’t feel a direct appeal to Shane would be the best course of action. So instead he utilized sixty-nine year-old Henrietta Miggins. Henrietta was of the opinion that people these days had lost all sense of decorum. In her day, decent people wore their best clothes to church, wrote letters on pretty stationary instead of computer screens, and kept their private business private. Henrietta didn’t much care for Florence Barker despite the fact that Florence was actually older than Henrietta. In her day, Henrietta would not have considered Florence “decent people.”
So it was easy enough for Del to whip Henrietta into a righteous lather by describing the unseemly nature of Florence’s performances. And Del well knew that whenever Henrietta didn’t like something having to do with church, she was not shy about letting Pastor Henry O’Donnell know her feelings. Reliably, Henrietta cornered the good pastor after services and lectured him for almost thirty minutes about the obscene version of White Christmas she had heard Florence was performing with the approval of this young hooligan O’Donnell had hired as choir director.
After freeing himself from Henrietta’s clutches, the pastor went to his old friend Del to get what he thought would be an objective opinion about what, exactly was going on in the Christmas Concert rehearsals.
“Well,” Del told him, “I hadn’t planned on saying anything. I want to give Shane the benefit of the doubt. He’s a good kid after all, and perhaps he knows what appeals to the young folks. But if you want my opinion what Florence is doing with the song is kind of racy for church. I feel a little uncomfortable following it with my traditional show ending performance of Silent Night that everyone always says moves them with its holiness.”
Pastor O’Donnell decided he better attend the next rehearsal himself.
So that evening he watched as the choir went through it’s repertoire for the show. He was pleased to discover it was a much livelier program than they usually did and was growing convinced that Shane was indeed a good addition to the staff for more than just the impact his looks had on the women of the church. Then came Florence’s song. Florence was older than Pastor O’Donnell’s mother, but somehow the way she seemed to sigh the lyrics as much as sing them made a warm redness rise in his cheeks. Perhaps this one time Henrietta Miggins actually had a point.
After rehearsal, Pastor O’Donnell pulled Shane aside. “Shane, you’re doing a wonderful job with the show.”
“Thanks! It’s a fun program isn’t it? And isn’t Florence just the most spellbinding singer ever?”
“She’s got a way around a carol,” the pastor agreed. “It’s just…her style is a little…suggestive for a church concert, don’t you think?”
“It’s White Christmas. It’s an Irving Berlin song,” Shane said incredulously.
“Well, sure. There’s nothing wrong with the song. But do you think maybe you could get her to, you know, tone it down a little?”
“Florence was one of the greatest jazz club singers in New York!” Shane protested. “I’m not going to tell someone like that how she should sing.”
“That’s kind of your job,” the pastor responded.
“People will love Florence. Trust me.”
While Shane was defending his show to the pastor, Del had worked his way over to Florence. He indicated the obviously heated conversation Shane and Henry O’Donnell were having. “Good for Shane,” he said.
“What’s good for Shane?” Florence asked.
“Pastor O’Donnell is asking Shane to make you tone down your song. Looks like he’s standing up for you. I’m glad. He should have our back. I’m just concerned since he’s new and all. It would be unfortunate for him to get off on the wrong foot with the pastor.” Then Del went to get a cup of coffee leaving Florence to watch her handsome choir director fume as he put away his music. She didn’t want the poor kid to get in trouble on her behalf. But she also knew Del and suspected somehow he might be behind this.
The next rehearsal Florence informed Shane and the choir that she wanted to try a different song. Shane was concerned that she had learned about the controversy over her previous
choice, but didn’t feel right bringing it up in front of everyone. “Let’s hear it,” he said.
Florence whispered something to Walter Tibble, then stood, hands clasped demurely in front of her, eyes closed. Walter played one verse of What Child is This on the piano, then fell silent. Florence began to sing a cappella.
Her voice filled the room with haunting, perfect tones that spoke of maternal love and quiet joy. Everyone in the choir was frozen as Florence raised goose bumps from their arms with her voice. When she finished nobody spoke. Nobody breathed. Del glanced at the other choir members and noticed tears flowing from more than one pair of eyes.
“Well?” Florence finally asked, “can I do that instead.”
“Sure,” Shane choked out around the lump in his throat. “Yeah, sure. That was great. Um, Del, do you want to do your solo now?”
As he looked around at his fellow singers trying desperately to regain their composure after Florence’s song, Del very much did not want to do his solo. “My throat’s a little sore tonight. I think I better rest it,” he said.
Later, after rehearsal was over, he caught up to Florence in the parking lot. “Listen,” he told her, “I liked the new song you did tonight, but don’t you think it’s a little too similar to what I’m doing with Silent Night? I really loved your version of White Christmas and it does give the show more variety.”
“But Pastor O’Donnell doesn’t like that song,” Florence said. “I wouldn’t want Shane to get off on the wrong foot when he’s just starting out.”
“I’ll take care of Pastor O’Donnell,” Del assured her. “Let’s give Shane the show he really wants.”
So in the end, Florence performed White Christmas in the concert. Henrietta Miggins was scandalized, but a dozen jazz aficionados who came because of a flyer about Florence’s performance Shane distributed at a local cabaret loved the number. Really, so did most of the members of the church who attended, including Pastor O’Donnell’s wife Jennifer who held his hand during the song.
And Del got to close the show with his traditional performance of Silent Night. He received many compliments afterwards, including, to his delight, several from the jazz fans. Pastor O’Donnell noted those came immediately after the fans spoke to Florence and he suspected they might not be entirely genuine. But he kept his suspicions to himself.
(c) 2007 Douglas J. Eboch
Hear the story read by the author
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church on the corner of Wilson and Elm. A couple of weeks ago, Del Winslow, star singer in the little church’s choir, was simmering with annoyance at newly hired choir director Shane Reed. Shane had recruited Florence Barker to sing a solo in the Christmas Concert. In her youth, Florence had been a torch singer in New York, and Del was put off by the sultry way in which Florence performed White Christmas. Naturally, his objections had nothing to do with Shane’s obvious admiration for Florence’s voice. It was, Del insisted, simply that her style was inappropriate for a church concert.
Del could be blunt when the situation called for it, but in this case he didn’t feel a direct appeal to Shane would be the best course of action. So instead he utilized sixty-nine year-old Henrietta Miggins. Henrietta was of the opinion that people these days had lost all sense of decorum. In her day, decent people wore their best clothes to church, wrote letters on pretty stationary instead of computer screens, and kept their private business private. Henrietta didn’t much care for Florence Barker despite the fact that Florence was actually older than Henrietta. In her day, Henrietta would not have considered Florence “decent people.”
So it was easy enough for Del to whip Henrietta into a righteous lather by describing the unseemly nature of Florence’s performances. And Del well knew that whenever Henrietta didn’t like something having to do with church, she was not shy about letting Pastor Henry O’Donnell know her feelings. Reliably, Henrietta cornered the good pastor after services and lectured him for almost thirty minutes about the obscene version of White Christmas she had heard Florence was performing with the approval of this young hooligan O’Donnell had hired as choir director.
After freeing himself from Henrietta’s clutches, the pastor went to his old friend Del to get what he thought would be an objective opinion about what, exactly was going on in the Christmas Concert rehearsals.
“Well,” Del told him, “I hadn’t planned on saying anything. I want to give Shane the benefit of the doubt. He’s a good kid after all, and perhaps he knows what appeals to the young folks. But if you want my opinion what Florence is doing with the song is kind of racy for church. I feel a little uncomfortable following it with my traditional show ending performance of Silent Night that everyone always says moves them with its holiness.”
Pastor O’Donnell decided he better attend the next rehearsal himself.
So that evening he watched as the choir went through it’s repertoire for the show. He was pleased to discover it was a much livelier program than they usually did and was growing convinced that Shane was indeed a good addition to the staff for more than just the impact his looks had on the women of the church. Then came Florence’s song. Florence was older than Pastor O’Donnell’s mother, but somehow the way she seemed to sigh the lyrics as much as sing them made a warm redness rise in his cheeks. Perhaps this one time Henrietta Miggins actually had a point.
After rehearsal, Pastor O’Donnell pulled Shane aside. “Shane, you’re doing a wonderful job with the show.”
“Thanks! It’s a fun program isn’t it? And isn’t Florence just the most spellbinding singer ever?”
“She’s got a way around a carol,” the pastor agreed. “It’s just…her style is a little…suggestive for a church concert, don’t you think?”
“It’s White Christmas. It’s an Irving Berlin song,” Shane said incredulously.
“Well, sure. There’s nothing wrong with the song. But do you think maybe you could get her to, you know, tone it down a little?”
“Florence was one of the greatest jazz club singers in New York!” Shane protested. “I’m not going to tell someone like that how she should sing.”
“That’s kind of your job,” the pastor responded.
“People will love Florence. Trust me.”
While Shane was defending his show to the pastor, Del had worked his way over to Florence. He indicated the obviously heated conversation Shane and Henry O’Donnell were having. “Good for Shane,” he said.
“What’s good for Shane?” Florence asked.
“Pastor O’Donnell is asking Shane to make you tone down your song. Looks like he’s standing up for you. I’m glad. He should have our back. I’m just concerned since he’s new and all. It would be unfortunate for him to get off on the wrong foot with the pastor.” Then Del went to get a cup of coffee leaving Florence to watch her handsome choir director fume as he put away his music. She didn’t want the poor kid to get in trouble on her behalf. But she also knew Del and suspected somehow he might be behind this.
The next rehearsal Florence informed Shane and the choir that she wanted to try a different song. Shane was concerned that she had learned about the controversy over her previous
choice, but didn’t feel right bringing it up in front of everyone. “Let’s hear it,” he said.
Florence whispered something to Walter Tibble, then stood, hands clasped demurely in front of her, eyes closed. Walter played one verse of What Child is This on the piano, then fell silent. Florence began to sing a cappella.
Her voice filled the room with haunting, perfect tones that spoke of maternal love and quiet joy. Everyone in the choir was frozen as Florence raised goose bumps from their arms with her voice. When she finished nobody spoke. Nobody breathed. Del glanced at the other choir members and noticed tears flowing from more than one pair of eyes.
“Well?” Florence finally asked, “can I do that instead.”
“Sure,” Shane choked out around the lump in his throat. “Yeah, sure. That was great. Um, Del, do you want to do your solo now?”
As he looked around at his fellow singers trying desperately to regain their composure after Florence’s song, Del very much did not want to do his solo. “My throat’s a little sore tonight. I think I better rest it,” he said.
Later, after rehearsal was over, he caught up to Florence in the parking lot. “Listen,” he told her, “I liked the new song you did tonight, but don’t you think it’s a little too similar to what I’m doing with Silent Night? I really loved your version of White Christmas and it does give the show more variety.”
“But Pastor O’Donnell doesn’t like that song,” Florence said. “I wouldn’t want Shane to get off on the wrong foot when he’s just starting out.”
“I’ll take care of Pastor O’Donnell,” Del assured her. “Let’s give Shane the show he really wants.”
So in the end, Florence performed White Christmas in the concert. Henrietta Miggins was scandalized, but a dozen jazz aficionados who came because of a flyer about Florence’s performance Shane distributed at a local cabaret loved the number. Really, so did most of the members of the church who attended, including Pastor O’Donnell’s wife Jennifer who held his hand during the song.
And Del got to close the show with his traditional performance of Silent Night. He received many compliments afterwards, including, to his delight, several from the jazz fans. Pastor O’Donnell noted those came immediately after the fans spoke to Florence and he suspected they might not be entirely genuine. But he kept his suspicions to himself.
(c) 2007 Douglas J. Eboch
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