Why Do I Do It?

Let me qualify this epistle by quoting the late and great philosopher, Dizzy Dean. (For you who have no idea who Dizzy Dean was, I regret that you were born in a time so less vibrant than mine. You should ask your grandfather to tell you about this purveyor of the ins and outs of baseball and life.) Dizzy Dean said, “If it is true, it ain’t bragging.”

So, it ain’t bragging when I tell you I may very well be in the top ten pastors who have ever served the Farmville United Methodist Church. And I must say, with apologies to my seminary professors, that this elevated status I hold has nothing to do with the ability they gave me to read the Old Testament in Hebrew and New Testament in Greek. It has nothing to do with the fact that I not only can spell “hermeneutic”, but I actually know what it means. It has nothing, either, to do with the fact I have an uncanny ability to tailor my sermons in such a way as to allow my people to receive my benediction long before the Baptist get even a whiff of the aroma of the food at the local restaurants.

Actually, the unique abilities I possess that endear me to the congregation are more pedestrian.

This past Friday the gates to the Northwest Georgia Regional Fair opened. More than a few people streamed onto the grounds of the fair. And there, you see, is the root of the esteem in which I am held by the members of that congregation.  The gates opened at five. So did the food booth, known to all as the Dinner Bell, operated by that group of assembled saints. The fair and booth, as I said, opened at five. I arrived at two.

Prior to the opening of the fair, it was I, dear reader, who sliced with uncanny precision four dozen tomatoes, each slice of which was precisely the same thickness as the one before and each assembled with the others in an ordered precision in the serving bowl.

It was I, who in celebration of being allowed to pastor these wonderful people, in an act of self denial, peeled, sliced and chopped approximately four pounds of onions. And let me give a witness here to the fact the tears that ran down my cheeks were not from breathing the fumes from the onions but from the joy that comes from the wonderful privilege of serving this unique parish.

There were other sacrifices I make for the opening of the fair. I could go into considerable detail about the hauling of ice, the shredding of cabbage, the cooking of barbecue and hamburgers and hot dogs, the scooping of ice cream, and …  well, as I previously alluded to, I have talents that go far beyond a seminary education.

One would think, would one no?t, that the people of a parish who are the recipients of such devoted service would be falling all over themselves to dramatically increase the annual financial acclamation of such talents. One would think. But one would be wrong. Why do it then?

Have you ever seen a Ferris wheel reflected in the eye of a fascinated child? Have you ever seen two jaded married couples riding the swings together? Have you ever watched a teen’s pride when her goat comes in first place or smelled the mingled aromas of cotton candy and animals and various foods and people? Have you ever experienced the joy of the fair? I have. You should.

Comments

[Larry]

nice picture