Pastor Paul Brown sat in his office at his desk. His sermon notes were in a nice, neat stack before him. He was sitting in a recline position, resting his head on the top of the black leather upholstery of his chair, staring up at the ceiling. In his heart, he was praying for strength but in his mind, he was wondering why he was here today. He simply did not want to be there. He leaned forward causing his chair to sound its familiar squeak as he came to rest upright behind his desk. The desk itself was a simple one, a small one that had two drawers on either side of the space where his legs fit beneath it. There was a drawer that was imbedded in the desk at the same level as his stomach and it contained a compartment for a few pens and pencils. The larger area within it was bare except for a small stack of ruled paper. He used that for notes. The drawer was now closed, waiting to be opened and ready to be used. On top of the desk, beside his sermon papers, a stapler was on the right side and a pen was laying on his left, Paul being left-handed. Above the pen, a Bible sat, unopened. An upright picture frame was stationed on the left corner of the desk that displayed a picture of his family and next to it in another frame was an artist’s rendering of Jesus.
Paul rose from his chair and walked around it to small wardrobe in the corner of the room next to the only window that let light into it. He opened the wardrobe, reached inside, and extracted his pastoral robe. As he pulled it on, he faced the wall behind his desk. It was filled with a bookcase that held very few books, Paul was not much of a reader, but centered in another picture frame was his diploma from Central Methodist University and in another his pastoral credentials. He zipped the robe up to his chin and reached back inside the wardrobe, pulled out a stole that he placed around his neck and carefully smoothed it down either side of his robe. Determined now, he went to his desk, picked up the papers and the Bible, and left the room. Turning right and walked a short distance, he entered the narthex directly opposite the entryway into the sanctuary. He examined it and it thrilled him as it did when he first saw it. The room was of moderate size, the walls painted a light blue, the ceiling peaked mirroring the outside structure, and wooden pews, covered in long red cushions that fit each bench perfectly. They were placed into two sections with one aisle that split them. There were enough spaces to seat 150 people but these days only 25 to 30 worshipped there.
Six large windows were on either side of the seating space that allowed natural light to spill into it. On the wall behind the altar, a large cross with the insignia IHS centered in the middle, was mounted. The altar itself held a small vase of flowers on the left side and a large Bible, open to Psalm 23, was center stage. Two pulpits were in front of the altar, placed carefully on either side of it. The pulpit on left as you look at it from the listeners point of view, was where he stood to speak his message every Sunday and the one on the right was the for the liturgist. Behind the liturgist seat were three rows of chairs where the choir was positioned when they sang their anthems every Sunday.
As he stood looking into the sanctuary from the narthex which was nothing but a large hallway meeting place where the congregation could gather before and after the service to meet and greet each other. Two tables were placed there and on one of them the Worship bulletins stood in a neat stack, waiting for the ushers to pass them to patrons as they entered the sanctuary. The second table held pamphlets and items for people to learn about a variety of social services available throughout town. A new pamphlet was available announcing a speaker, Rachel Musgrove, who was invited to discuss end of life services on Thursday morning at 10:00 a.m. and it was sponsored by the United Methodist Women of Candlelight.
The sound of a door opening to his right caused him to turn to see who was entering the building. It was the head usher, Gene. He climbed the ten steps of the stairway to the narthex. If he had chosen to go downstairs, he would have gone down to enter the Fellowship Hall and the rooms that were used for Sunday School classes.
“Good morning, Pastor,” Gene extended his hand and Paul grasped it in response. He nodded as the handshake ended.
“Is everything ready to go?” Gene asked.
“Yes, yes, it is. Well, at least I think so, now that you are here, Gene.”
They both laughed at each other and Paul walked into the sanctuary, not stopping until he was at his pulpit. He set his papers of his sermon on top of it and his Bible on top of them. He opened his Bible to Isaiah, chapter 52, verses 7 through 9. It was a good way to start the Advent season and he wondered how many would listen to its message. Oh, he shrugged to himself, they will hear it, but they won’t listen. He left the Bible open as he sat down in the chair that was placed beside the wooden podium. The chair faced the choir loft and the twelve empty chairs that were waiting to be filled with the cast of its members. They would be empty today as the Sunday after Thanksgiving, the choir, traditionally took the day off. The reason was simple as many of them left town to visit family outside of Candlelight.
He looked at his watch and read 7:45. In fifteen minutes, the service would begin. He looked at the cross above him to his left and he began to silently pray. As he stared at the cross, a voice interrupted him.
“Pastor Paul,” the voice said. “Pastor Paul, are you all right?”
He smiled as he recognized Marvel Johnson. She was to be his liturgist for the morning. She was the current manager of Mary’s Memory Care Center.
“Good morning, Marvel,” he began to apologize to her. “I was just thinking about my sermon.”
“I am sorry,” Marvel smiled back at him. “I just want to go over the service agenda with you. I am assuming that I will do the usual stuff, the welcome, the hymn introductions, invite the ushers to collect the offering and you will do the prayers, the sermon and the benediction, right?”
He nodded in agreement and she smiled and crossed the few steps to her chair that sat opposite him. He then looked out at the congregation for the first time . The usual people were in their every Sunday seats; the Jones family in the fifth pew on the left, the Jenkins’ family, all seven members stretched across the second pew directly in front of him, Lynn and Lynette sit on the end of two pews opposite of each other with their walkers standing in the aisle beside them. Gene and Mark Smith stood at the entrance with worship bulletins in their hands, waiting to greet people. Several more people arrived and spoke briefly to the two ushers and walked down the aisle to sit down.
The pianist, Marsha Erbst, began to play a tune to inspire everyone to prepare to worship. He was getting ready, too. He smiled and nodded to people as they waved to him. He heard the door open and someone step up the stairway. He watched as Gene and Mark smile to greet the person when he spied a yellow jacket. He could see the men, one reached out to help a woman take off her coat and the other hand her a bulletin. It was her. She was wearing a bright red dress, long sleeved, and she wore work boots that were loosely tied. Her blond hair bounced as she walked down the aisle to the very front pew where she sat right in front of him. She looked directly at him and smiled.
His mind was swirling, and he was both surprised that she actually came and terrified that she actually came to hid worship service. Marvel stood as the last note of the prelude echoed around the sanctuary and began.
“Good morning!”
“Good morning,” the congregation responded in unison.
“This is the day that the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it,” Marvel continued. “Welcome to Candlelight United Methodist Church…”
Paul returned to his thoughts and tried to regain his focus.
“I see that we have a visitor this morning. Would you mind introducing yourself?” Marvel just asked the woman in the front row. She smiled at Marvel, rose to her feet, and turned to face the others in the room.
“My name is Kristy and I was invited to worship with you today by Pastor Paul. Thank you for being here.”
As she sat down again, he smiled at her.
“Thank you, Kristy,” Marvel continued and readdressed the congregation. “Let’s stand together, as we begin the Advent season, and sing “Pass It On” as printed on the insert of our bulletin.”
“Good song!” Kristy exclaimed and jumped up at the same time. “I love that one!”
The crowd giggled as they stood to join her, and Marsha began to play the introduction to the tune.
Paul stood with them, but he was watching Kristy, who was not using the printed lyrics in the bulletin , and they began to sing, “It only takes a spark to get a fire going. And soon all those around can warm up in its glowing…”
As the song progressed, it became clear that one voice rose above the rest of them. It was coming from the visitor. It was joyous! It was uplifting. It was beautiful. Paul had stopped singing as did the rest of the congregation until, at last, they were listening to a solo. Kristy sang as Marsha continued to accompany her. She was in the last stanza, “I’ll shout it form the mountaintop, Hey World,” she shouted and continued. “I want the world to know the Lord of Love has come to me and I want to Pass It On.”
When she finished singing, the congregation still standing, simply grinned in response. Paul began to clap, and the others followed his lead. Kristy looked at him and her smile was brighter than the sun as she stood up and down on her toes.
To be continued…
My First Stories 