Well, yesterday was the first Sunday of Advent, an
event that poses administrative/organizational challenges to churches
everywhere. And no church is more challenged in this way than Covenant Baptist
Church, where we have no paid organizers and the administration is
mostly left up to me. People who know me cannot stop laughing when I tell them
that.
Well this year we've gone all out for Advent,
in spite of the administrative challenges. We even had an Advent committee to
help pull it off. And because of their efforts, our worship service yesterday was packed
with all sorts of things we normally don't do. Various people were popping up
here and there to read scriptures or pray. The music was from fancy,
high church hymnals. There were booklets, banners, a world hunger display, and
a food basket. And even little rice bowl banks to be handed out to the children,
so they can save their pennies to buy food for the needy.
Was I stressed about
things? Let me just say this: I had to create a spreadsheet to help me keep
track of all the people who have various roles in worship during the Advent
season.
A spreadsheet. Me. Yeah.
So of course, the three sisters and I got
completely confused and what followed can only be called a comedy of errors.
Let's begin with me. Dressing in the dark
yesterday
morning, I mistakenly put on an orange t-shirt, which wouldn't be so awful
except that I wasn't wearing a tie so you could see it peeking out of my open
collar. I got a few comments. But it was chilly, so I didn't want to take off
the t-shirt.
My next problem
was with my spreadsheet. I did contact over 20 people to find out which Sundays
they were available for assorted liturgies, readings, prayers,
etc. And I did sort their names and put them in various slots on various Sundays in my
spreadsheet thingy.
But I neglected to actually call people back
and tell them they were up for this Sunday. So I spent the half hour before
church running here and there, pressing printed readings into people's hands and
telling them when their part of the service would occur. It was exactly the sort
of out-of-control, running around, panicked sort of thing that I hate and try to
avoid. Still, I got everything and everyone settled and worship
began. Then the three sisters decided this was their Sunday to have various
meltdowns of their own. The preacher's family, otherwise known as the keystone
cops.
Before I go any further, keep in mind that ours
is a small church. There were probably 75 people in the room, and the seats were
arranged around a central table. Everyone is close to the action and can see
everything.
Now Shelby, the middle sister, showed up to
church, having spent the night at a friend's house, wearing the jeans she
normally paints in. These jeans are covered in paint, and she's
not supposed to wear them to church. She arrived early, and I made her call her
mother to bring her another pair of jeans. She was pretty chapped about this,
but I was in no mood for negotiation. Jeanene brought her a decent pair of
jeans, but instead of changing into them, she put the new pair on over the old
pair. Unfortunately she couldn't zip or even snap the jeans, which was
apparently not a problem in her mind. She just walked around with her jeans
gaping open. And it was not readily apparent that she had another
pair of jeans on beneath them. I mean, why would anyone even imagine that she
would?
As it turns out, Shelby and
Chloe were going to lead the children's
part of the service, where they were going to talk about world hunger and pass
out the rice bowl banks. Shelby walks to the front of the church, turns around,
and that's when we see that her pants are wide open. I mean, you've seen people
forget to zip their pants, right? When was the last time you saw someone forget
to zip and button their pants? Jeanene and I gestured wildly for her to pull her
sweater down over her pants, whereupon she threw up her hands dramatically and
mouthed, "What?"
Nice. Very classy. That fit so well with the
rich, Christian symbols and traditions of the season.
Oh well, thankfully that was over soon, and the
service moved forward.
Then there came a time in the service where
people wrote prayer requests on little slips of paper, solemnly brought them to
the table with the Advent wreath, and deposited them in a plate. My oldest
daughter, Reiley, obviously not paying attention at all to what was going on,
walked up to the plate and dropped a five dollar bill on top of the pile of folded papers, drawing snickers and
puzzled looks from a number of people. Her fiver sat there atop the pile of
prayer requests, looking as out of place as a turd on the kitchen table. Well,
maybe not that out of place, but you get my meaning.
I had a thought that maybe she wrote her prayer
request on the five dollar bill. Perhaps her request was for the poor, and she
was backing up her prayers with cold, hard cash. But no, later she admitted that
she was daydreaming and thought it was time for the offering.
Hey, that's no big deal. A little money
mixed in with the prayers. The Church has been doing that kind of thing for
centuries.
But wait, I have yet to tell you of the third
sister's contribution to the day. She is the youngest, but she outdid them all.
Lillian was sitting on one of the three rows
that surround the table with the Advent wreath. Suddenly, she fell out of her
chair. I mean, all the way out of her chair onto the floor. Mind you, this is just a normal chair. And she wasn't standing on her
head or doing anything strange. She just pitched forward and fell onto the
floor right beside the table. No big deal, right? I mean,
people fall down sometimes. It happens.
A few minutes later, she did it again. She
flopped forward like someone had shoved her in the back and landed on the tile
floor with her shoes and whatever she was holding clattering and scrapping
across the floor. It was loud, and it brought the service to a stop.
"That's weird," I thought. "Falling out of your chair twice."
Then she did it again. This is the truth. This
poor child fell out of her chair three times. Everyone was thinking, "What the
hell is going on with that crazy girl?" Well, I was thinking that. I assume
others were.
At this point, we still have not established
exactly what happened to her and why she found it so difficult to sit in a
chair. I asked her that afternoon, but I found it impossible to follow her
lengthy and rambling answer. My mind doesn't work well on Sundays after the
service.
So this is church. You work hard to make things
run smoothly, but sometimes the more you work, the more things go wrong. I probably
needed to laugh and relax a little anyway. I'm sure there is a spiritual lesson
for me in here somewhere, but I have yet to figure it out.
rlp
