Colour Supplement

Articles by contemporary writers

Sunday 10 December 2006

 

Advent comedy of errors

By Gordon Atkinson

 

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.

Gordon Atkinson is pastor of Covenant Baptist Church in San Antonio, Texas and has his own outstanding website www.reallivepreacher.com.  We are most grateful to Gordon for his permission to reproduce his essays here.

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