He sat in his usual pew, the fifth back from the altar on the left side as the parson viewed him. As usual he’d been at his Sunday school class prior to the service. Now sitting third in from the center pew his attention was focused on the parson as the gospel lesson for the day was read.

The parson completed the reading and proclaimed to the gathered, “The Word of God for the people of God.”

He responded without hesitation, “Thanks be to God.”

When the time came for the offering and the ushers passed the plates down his row he placed a modest amount that was generous for his circumstance into the plate. As the offertory was sung he sat enraptured with the soprano voice lifting lyrical praises unto the Lord. And then as the organ intoned the introductory notes of the Doxology he rose on cue and added his voice to that of the gathered in “Praise God from whom all blessings flow ….”

The service continued in its practiced and familiar flow and he responded in the appropriate manner in the appropriate places. Then as the choir began to sing the anthem, he sat back in the pew, crossed his leg and moved his lifted foot in rhythm with the beat of a happy and joyous song.

The parson rose to preach. He watched the parson intently. The parson was one of his favorite people and he looked forward to hearing his sermons. Today the parson began speaking of Jesus telling stories, of his disciples not understanding and Jesus explaining. Somewhere between the parson’s retelling of the story and the first point of the sermon he became fascinated with the stitching of his shoe. He ran his finger along the pattern amazed at the intricate in-and-out weaving. The parson’s voice raised in pitch and the suddenly realized his mind had been wandering. He forced his attention back to the pulpit.

The parson illustrated one of his points with a funny story. The punch line brought a moment of laughter and relief for the assembled faithful. They laughed. They squirmed into more comfortable positions. And the parson’s sermon continued. The sermon continued without, however, his attention for in the squirming he took note of Lucy Williams sitting across the aisle.

The parson said, “It is so obvious that Jesus experienced an affinity with the common . . . .” But his mind
had wandered. It had been ensnared by the vision of the three four inches of flesh exposed above Lucy William’s knee. Again, he moved in his pew, feigning an attempt to focus on the parson more intently, when, in fact, his movement focused him more contentedly on Lucy Williams. The swell of her left breast stole him completely away from any exegetical effort of an ancient cleric. His mind wandered back to the Sunday before.

It happened behind the Youth Activities Building. He and Lucy Williams had been assigned to fire up the charcoal in the grill on which the evening’s meal was to be cooked. They got the fire started. They sat on the bench. They looked into each other’s eyes. And Lucy Williams seemed so, so, Lucy Williams was so, so … He leaned forward and his lips made tender contact with the lips of Lucy Williams.

His head jerked back toward the parson’s homiletic enterprise within a nanosecond of Lucy William’s eyes meeting his. His cheeks burned with an influx of blood. The parson’s eyes had caught his. Did he notice? Did he know? The parson looked toward others in the congregation as he continued preaching. He rearranged his feet below the pew and shifted himself more upright.

The parson made reference to the poor people for whom the church should minister more willingly. His
eyes wrestled his head to focus across his right shoulder. Across the aisle Lucy Williams was shifting in her pew. She did it so gracefully. Lucy Williams’s lips moved to form the hint of a smile. Her head turned and her eyes once again captured his. Screwing up courage he did not look away for two seconds. And when he did he once again focused on the inspiring and captivating words of the parson’s sermon.

The parson finished his narrative. The final hymn was sung. He sang with all the gusto he could manage. The parson said the final prayer and blessed the people. His mother and dad excited the pew before him. Lucy William’s mother and dad paused to speak to them. As they did hidden in the tuck of torsos filling the aisle his hand and Lucy William’s hand touched and for a moment fingers entwined.

At the door his parents greeted the parson. He followed and shook the parson’s hand. “So, when are you getting your learner’s license?” the parson asked.

“Next week, sir,” he replied.

“I bet you’re going to be at the youth group tonight,” the parson observed.

“Oh, yes, sir. I’ll be there.”

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Shhhh! I'm taking a day off.

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Ring. Ring.

“Hello.”

“Hello, this is Virginia. I am with the “We’re Collecting Data So Politicians Can Find Out What You Want Them To Say Corporation and if you have a few moments your input into our research would be greatly appreciated.”

“I see. How long will this take, Virginia?”

“Sir, our data gathering survey requires only a few moments.”

“I see. Tell me, Virginia, how do you define ‘few’?”

“Excuse me.”

“’Few’, Virginia. You said it would take only a few. How long is a few?”

“Sir, do you have time to take the survey””

“I don’t know. I’m still working on the definition of ‘few’.”

“Look, sir, the survey only takes two or three minutes.”

“Oh, why didn’t you say so? I tell you what, throw the first question at me and we’ll see how it strikes me.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome.”

“Sir on the following which do you consider to be the most pressing issue in the upcoming Presidential election: a) the economy, or b) the war in Iraq?” …. “Hello, sir?”

“Yes.”

“Which do you consider to be the most pressing issue in the upcoming Presidential election: a) the economy, or, b) the war in Iraq?”

“That’s all the choice I get?”

“That’s the choice.”

“What about the future of America? What about the education of our children? What about the public health issues? What about campaign finance reform? What about rising fuel costs? This country is faced with a plethora of unprecedented problems and you want me to choose only between Iraq and the economy?

“Sir, we’re asking our respondents to tell us what you consider to be the most pressing problem in the Presidential election, and the choice is between Iraq and the economy.”

“I understand the question. But when you ask me about the economy did you want me to take in consideration the failing agricultural crisis in third world nations?”

“Sir, the question is about the United States’ economy.”

“Well, if the question is about the United States’ economy does it not by definition have to be also concerning the failure of farmers in third world nations?”

“Sir, I’m confused.”

“Okay, let me go through it for you. The gas prices are rising. With rising gas prices there’s a heavier demand for ethanol. With a heavy demand for ethanol there’s a drive to plant millions more acres in corn. With millions more acres of corn there’s an over abundance of corn. With an over abundance in corn we dump the excess on those third world nations, selling the corn at a much cheaper price than the local farmers can. So the local farmers are out of business. With the local farmers out of business, well, you can see the economic problems this causes in those countries. … You still there, Virginia?”

“I don’t know how to respond to you. I wasn’t briefed on this kind of response.”

“But, you see it’s a bit more complicated than either/ or; don’t you?”

All I was asking is which do you consider to be the most pressing issue in the upcoming Presidential election: a) the economy, or b) the war in Iraq?”

“Since you mentioned Iraq, Virginia, do you mean the actual fighting, the rebuilding of the infrastructure, the stabilization of their government, the reconciliation of their various factions …?”

“Sir, you really don’t want to answer the question, do you?”

“I only wish it were that simple, Virginia.”

Amber was a member of the church. She had joined when a young teen. The parson was not sure when she had grown inactive, but he suspected it had been in college or right after. Amber now taught history at the nearby high school. She had a reputation of being tough but fair. The parson knew the kids at the church were petrified at her final exams. He also knew her students knew history up one side and down the other.

The parson and Amber served on a couple of community committees and boards together. A more important bond, however, was her parents. Her mother was still active in the church, though Amber worried about her declining health. The parson appreciated her concern but was also aware Amber’s mother still mowed her half acre yard with a push mower once a week and always seemed to have some project demanding physical effort ongoing. Of more concern was Amber’s father.

“I appreciate what you are doing,” said Amber as the two rode up the highway toward the nursing facility. “But Dad isn’t going to know what’s going on. He’s been in the Alzheimer’s ward for two years now. Before that he wasn’t at church for another two years. He just won’t understand, Parson.”

“Well, that’s now my worry, Amber. My vow was to offer this to him. I’m not to make judgments about understanding. I just fulfill my vow.”

“That’s really commendable, Parson. But I don’t think God would fault you should you forego your duty to Dad.”

“I’m sure God would, Amber. But I’m not sure I would.”

The parson pulled the car into a spot just a few feet from the door. Before exiting the car, he opened the storage compartment of the console dividing the seats and extracted a small leather case. Then he followed Amber into the facility.

Amber’s dad was in his room watching television.

“Hello, Dad,” said Amber. “How are you?”

Her dad stared at her with wrinkled brow. “Are you Elaine?” he asked.

“No, Dad, mom’s at home. I’m Amber, your daughter. This is the parson; do you remember the parson?”

“How do you do,” said Amber’s dad. “How are things at the mill?”

“I haven’t been at the mill for a while, Gavin,” said the parson. “What I came by for today was to celebrate the Lord’s Supper with you like you used to do in church.”

“Do you go to my church?” asked Gavin. “I don’t remember seeing you there.”

The parson had begun to place the cups and small plate on the coffee table in front of the sofa on which Gavin sat beside Amber. “I’m there every Sunday, Gavin.” The juice was poured into the cups.

“What is that stuff?” asked Gavin.

“See, I was afraid this would be the case,” said Amber.

The parson ignored her. “Gavin I’m going to begin the service now.”

The parson bowed a moment in silent prayer. He raised his head and said, “The Lord be with you.”

Without a moment’s hesitation Gavin said, “And with thy spirit.”

The parson looked up. For a moment he thought Gavin had made the wrong response. But then he remembered. Gavin had responded according to the ritual of his childhood. The parson folded his Pocket Book of Worship. The parson, too, returned to an earlier age.

“Almighty God, from whom all hearts are open …. “ He began and Gavin immediately joined him …”all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid: Cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of thy Holy Spirit, that we may perfectly love thee, and worthily magnify thy holy name: through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. …”

The parson looked at Gavin whose hands were folded in his lap and whose head was bowed. The parson continued: “Glory to God on high, and on earth peace, good will toward men. We praise thee, we bless thee, we worship thee, we glorify thee, we give thanks to thee for thy great glory ….”

The parson smiled at Amber who sat with a bewildered look on her face. The parson recited the ritual of the days when he was a young cleric, surprised how easily the words flowed after all these years. The familiar words had animated the parson as well as Gavin. The parson continued until it came time for the partaking of the elements. At that point Gavin took the lead and led the parson:

“We do not presume to come to this thy table, O merciful Lord, trusting in our own righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies. We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy table. But thou art the same Lord, whose property is always to have mercy. Grant us therefore, gracious Lord, so to partake of this Sacrament of thy Son Jesus Christ, that we may walk in newness of life, may grow into his likeness, and may evermore dwell in him, and he in us. Amen.”

Gavin and the parson finished the prayer upon which Gavin automatically extended his hands right hand resting in the palm of the left. The parson leaned forward and placed the wafer in his open palm. “The body of our Lord, broken for you.”

The parson took a wafer and consumed it. He then held another out. Gavin took the wafer and tenderly placed it on his tongue then swallowed it. The parson gave Amber a wafer and she too ate.

“The blood of our Lord shed for you,” said the parson as he and then Gavin took the small cup and drank the liquid. Amber did the same.

The parson said, “The peace of the Lord be with you.”

“And with thy spirit,” said Gavin.

“Let us give thanks unto the Lord.”

Gavin began without prompting: “O Lord, our heavenly Father, we, thy humble servants, desire thy fatherly goodness mercifully to accept this our sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving; most humbly beseeching thee to grant, that, by the merits and death of thy Son Jesus Christ, and through faith in his blood, we and thy whole Church may obtain forgiveness of our sins, and all other benefits of his passion.

“And here we offer and present unto thee, O Lord, ourselves, our souls and bodies, to be a reasonable, holy, and lively sacrifice unto thee; humbly beseeching thee that all we who are partakers of this Holy Communion may be filled with thy grace and heavenly benediction. And although we be unworthy, through our manifold sins, to offer unto thee any sacrifice, yet we beseech thee to accept this our bounden duty and service, not weighing our merits, but pardoning our offenses . . . .”

The parson began to collect the items and put them back in his leather case. Amber watched with wonder as Gavin tenderly wiped each glass out for the parson with a paper towel that had been on the table. Tasks completed, the parson sat back in his chair.

Gavin sat back on the sofa. He looked intently at the parson. “God bless you.”

“And you, too,” said the parson.

There was quiet among the three as though no one dared disturb the sacredness of the nursing home room.

After a few moments, Gavin asked, “How long have you worked at the mill?”

Shortly, the parson and Amber left the home. As they got into the car Amber whispered. “That was amazing.”

The parson said nothing lest he disturb the sacredness of the moment.

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