Our Preacher arrived here at the beginning of the new millennia. He was a young man with a new wife and child on the way. He was assigned to our Church by the Bishop upon completion of his Internship. The fact that we still have a Methodist Church in this tiny community is a testament to the willingness of people to drive 20 miles on a Sunday morning. Their church was so small they had to enter into a non-aggression pact, so to speak, with the Baptists. For funerals, the Baptists would supply 4 pallbearers if needed and the Methodists would commit to two. They were twice the size it’s only fair. That’s how small villages muddle through.
Robert and Cindy Frankston were filled with hope over the prospect of a life of service to their fellow man. They just didn’t realize it would be for so few. Nor did they know that as a group they were so old. Many were looking forward to the time when they would be too aged to be pallbearers or serve jury duty. That time wasn’t that far away for many.
Bob and Cindy went about their tasks with all the enthusiasm of youth. He wrote stem-winding sermons that would attract more parishioners, he hoped. A stem-winder from a 25-year-old just seems to lack something. Cindy was trying to be gracious to everyone. Even in her condition, she would get out of her chair to greet everyone when they entered the room. She smiled at their flock so much. I’m sure her cheeks must have had cramps at night. A pregnant girl with her left hand on the back of her hip as she stood. Trying to relieve the strain on her spine from that new life in her belly. All the while the other hand was outstretched in greeting. They brought genuine sincerity to our lives. A wonderful gift for us old farts.
They didn’t know it, but everyone was thrilled by their youthful exuberance. The ladies were scouring the burgs’ attics looking for cribs, baby blankets, and baby clothes. “Our preacher was going to have a baby”, was the battle cry. Hopes of being called on to babysit danced through the parishioners’ heads. For once they had an advantage over the Baptists. Bob was a nice young man, and they were looking forward to helping him get his start in life. They may have been disappointed in their appointment here, but they were tickled. He could dial it back a notch or two on the sermons though.
One of the most wonderful aspects of church life was the gatherings that included food. It comes in all forms. Watermelons, homemade ice cream, and softball games in the Summer were social events that everyone loved. There was a huge hand-cranked ice cream machine that had a large wheel with a handle attached. The children would turn the wheel until it started to freeze and then they would have to turn it like a ship’s wheel. The teenagers would step in to take their turns at cranking. When they couldn’t turn anymore the men would put the finishing touches to the crank. The little boys would marvel at their Dads’ strength as they effortlessly turned the crank. When they pronounced it finished, the kids would jump in and try to turn the crank one more time. It was empirical evidence of how strong their Dads were. The men who cared for them were Herculean. Just as warming, as to know about God’s grace.
The women strutted their stuff with casseroles and fried chicken. A long table with large paper plates, casserole dishes, and platters stacked high with wonderful food. Rolls and Sweet Tea were included. The pièce de résistance was the dessert table. The food was always spectacular. The Preacher strutted his stuff too! With a captive audience, he would “let the horses run” when it came to saying grace before the meal. He left no stone unturned. No one knew if he had said his piece or if it was the growling stomachs and fidgeting feet that would bring about the final Amen. Then everyone rushed to the tables in a deliberate walk. They didn’t want people to know that hunger had robbed them of their social graces. Loading up their plates and finding a place to sit with their friends was the next order of business. Then, eat.
At the end of the evening, the women gathered up the casserole dishes they brought. On their way to their cars, they would gather at the front door for one last chance at a few of the “Deadly Sins”.
“You know, I am going to have to buy a larger casserole dish. They ate everything.”
“I know, my dish looks like I won’t have to wash it when I get home.”
“My husband wanted some, but by the time he got to my dish it was all gone, and he was in the middle of the line.”
Etcetera, etcetera……………………………. Travis looked down at Loretta’s half-full casserole dish and said, “Do you want me to bring the car around to the back?”