WHO CAN JUDGE?
I was talking to Rev. Reggie Potentate the other day and he was whining as usual about people in his congregation.
Poor fellow, he's now past retirement and still hanging on to a church in a small town near here.
I think Reggie has always wanted to be in charge of the world. He raises chickens - bosses them; "Get out of my way. Eat this junk, you skinny fowl. Get fat, lay eggs. Mess with me and I'll get the ax" - stuff like that.
Mortality is his favorite theme. For instance, he preached the other day on the New Testament story of the Good Samaritan, and he got locked into the pathetic slobs who wouldn't help the victim. He preached hard that morning, condemning to Hades all slackers, sluggards and lazy swine. The people loved it.
His people listen to those sermons because they always think Reggie is talking about somebody else. When they pass by the preacher on the way out of church, they praise his words.
"Good job, pastor. Those people deserve it."
"I think you really said it today, Pastor. Give 'em heck, I say. Yes sir!"
Two weeks ago, after the good Samaritan sermon, he got the ultimate compliment from Bertie Flutterball, the congregation's trusted critic. "Best sermon I ever heard," she said.
Of course, that sent Reggie into a fit because it was Bertie he was preaching about. He regards her as the most selfish and snobbish woman he has ever met - the kind of person who wouldn't stoop to help her own mother.
He stomped home to the parsonage next door and ranted at his wife, Gudrud (Guddy) Potentate, the rest of the afternoon. Then they went out for dinner, and just before dessert, Reggie vowed to write Bertie a scathing letter. But he never did.
It's probably too much - a well placed sermonic punch to the congregational gut. When they see Reggie winding up to take a jab, they throw up their hands to ward it off.
But then just the other day, Bertie Flutterball telephoned to say her sister Florence was in the senior care center and she was dying. Reggie grabbed his portable communion set and hurried to the home.
He sat there most of the afternoon waiting for Florence to awaken so they could celebrate the Lord's Supper. She never did and about eight in the evening Florence died holding Reggie's hand.
Then Reggie went to Bertie's house and told her the sad news. She fell into his arms and they hugged - in desperate and mutual affliction.
Clark D. Morphew
Posted For 5-1-02