Early morning rain had kissed the freshly mowed grass and enveloped the surrounding with the sweet fragrance of rural living. The little stream bordering the property gurgled its way over rocks and laughed with delight from the squeal of barefooted children splashing between its banks. Under the shingled roof that sheltered the fifty foot table of Georgia marble that formed the center piece for the traditional dinner-on-the-grounds, women were beginning to wrap leftovers in aluminum foil or place them in plastic containers. Garbage was being place in bags to be hauled to a nearby dumpster.
The parson sat with a beautiful woman, forty-five years old, on the wall bordering the pavilion. Together they watched children in the creek and playing on the playground. Off in an area beyond the parked cars more children were playing baseball.“Do you remember that?” the woman asked.
“Do you mean do I remember when you were playing in the church yard?”
“Yes, I hope you remember, because I remember it well. It’s really a happy memory.”
“Those were happy times.”
“They were.”
The parson and the woman watched the joyful and careful frivolity punctuated by giggles and shouts of excited glee.
“Do you know that little girl?” the woman asked, pointing.
“Yes, her name’s Kathy. She goes to my church. Today’s her birthday. She’s eleven.”
The woman sat in silence, staring at the children for a long moment. Finally, she said, “I was eleven back then.”
“You were,” the parson said.
“Do you remember Weird Wednesday when we’d all get together and you’d spend the whole day with us and usually you planned some crazy thing for us to do?”
“I do. We did some wild things.”
“You know, parson, I actually couldn’t wait until school was out so we could come to the church for Weird Wednesday.” A smile broke over her face. She turned and punched the parson playfully on his shoulder. “Remember that day you hiked us across the fields and we rolled Uncle Roscoe’s barn. You must have given us a hundred rolls of toilet paper.”
“I hope you know I cleared that with Roscoe before we did it.”
“Well, I know it now, parson, but back then we all thought the pastor had helped us get away with something. None of us told anyone because we didn’t want to get you in trouble.”
The parson smiled at the memory. His eyes glanced around to see her daughter walking across the parking lot. She slipped behind the wheel of a car and drove it back to the church kitchen door. The parson felt an aching in his bones realizing the woman he was talking to was five years short of being old enough for a driver’s license back when they enjoyed Weird Wednesdays.
“Look at those kids, parson,” she pointed. I can count on my fingers the number that go to church. The rest are here because it’s Homecoming. Normally, they don’t go to church, anywhere.”
She got up and began gathering plates from the table. The parson rose to help her.
“It’s sad, parson,” she said. “It’s sad.”
“What’s sad?” the parson asked.
“They’ll never know what it’s like to spend Wednesdays in the summer with a weird parson. Pastor’s today aren’t that weird.”
She leaned over and kissed the parsons cheek. “Thanks for all the Wednesdays, parson. See you next year.”
Graphics by subscription with Clip Art Dot Com
I am anticipating a call to serve a church that is going through a transition.nbsp; One of the things needed is to find ways to get people back to the church and to remind them just how much joy there is in being God's children.nbsp; Weird wednesdays might be one such way, at the very least a start.
Posted by: David | June 03, 2008 at 04:35 AM
Weird Wednesdays sounds like a lot of fun. dbm :o)
Posted by: Anonymous Visitor | June 03, 2008 at 05:42 AM
If you are willing to share some Weird Wednesday ideas, there are still a few of us around. Originality may not always be my forte, but borrowing appropriately is a trait I have well-honed.Peace,http://revcamp.blogspot.com
Posted by: Anonymous Visitor | June 03, 2008 at 02:30 PM