(Read Luke 18:9-14.)
Jackie Drinan was up early on Sunday
morning. He had rolled over and pushed
the “Snooze” button on his alarm clock.
But the summer sunshine set the soft pink miniblinds ablaze, and his
mind was already beginning to grind on the details of Sunday Services at Smith
Memorial Church. So, he arose and
started for the downstairs bathroom of the Parsonage. But then he heard the growling snore at the
rate of eight or nine per minute coming from the guest bedroom. He turned back to the bedroom and put on a
robe to cover his body, naked except for briefs. He had forgotten that Ed and Cindy were
here. He luckily remembered to reset the
alarm before it went off again—an event sure to set his wife, Millie, in a bad
mood. A short time later he was in the
kitchen fixing his coffee, cereal, and toast for breakfast.
After he had eaten, Jackie enjoyed
the peace of the morning a few extra minutes by sipping on his coffee and
reflecting on his visitors. Cindy was
his sister, born to Charles, who was killed with his left hand on the wheel of
a ’51 Ford and a fifth of Jack Daniel in his right. Cindy was twelve and Jackie was one when that
happened. Two years later Mother married
Corban Drinan.
Brother Drinan was a fiery preacher,
sang tenor in a gospel quartet, and owned a small publishing house that
custom-printed gospel tracts. Brother
Drinan had taught young Jackie when he was four years old what a modernist is
and what a conservative theologian is.
By six, the little guy was on the road with Brother Drinan, singing
solos and giving his testimony. Jackie
understood congregational government and episcopacy, Calvinism and Arminianism,
law and grace, demonology, Christology, soteriology, ecclesiology, One-ness,
Pentecostalism, tongues and interpretation, discernment, Scofield Bibles, and
every other aspect of the American religious scene by the time he was sixteen
years old.
Cindy was another story. Cindy did not like Corban. She ran away three times in her junior high
and high school years, ending up each time in the house of one of the brothers
of her deceased dad. Her mother wept for
Cindy because she knew “She is just Charles all over again.” After high school, Cindy went through three
husbands in fifteen years. Finally, she
landed with Ed. By that time, Jackie was
ordained. She asked her little brother
to marry them. Jackie was torn between
marrying his thrice-divorced sister to this sure loser and losing her entirely
from the family. He finally decided to
bite the bullet and performed the wedding on the sly in his mother’s home.
But Jackie had to admit that Ed was
good for Cindy. He had a steady job as a
mechanic at a new-car dealership. Cindy
had her youngest child, Shandra, by him, and Ed was a proud father. And Ed kept Cindy’s other two—Hank and
Wade—in line. So, now the five of them
were on vacation: the old Travelall was
loaded down with camping and fishing gear.
They decided to pop in on Jackie and Millie on their way to Lake Texoma.
Typically, they arrived at eleven on
Saturday night. And Cindy wanted to talk
until one. But Jackie reminded her that
he had services and left them with Millie.
Jackie wondered if they would be going to the service that morning. He doubted it. He wondered when the last time any of them
had been in church.
His thoughts were broken as he
noticed the time. He had to shower,
shave, polish his shoes, dress, check his Sunday School lesson, make sure
everything was ready for the service.
The details grabbed possession of him, and he quickly went to work.
It was an hour later before Ed and
Cindy were up. Ed slipped out on the
back porch with a cup of coffee and went through two cigarettes. He was in a particularly foul mood. Cindy had made a big deal in the bedroom
about his going to church that morning.
Cindy had always acted like she owed Jackie something big-time for
letting her marry Ed and for performing the ceremony. Ed was really anxious to get to the lake and
get the tent set up and find out where they’re biting. But the pleasant, clear morning and the
smooth, warm coffee and two cigarettes changed his mood for the better.
He stepped back into the house to
find Cindy fighting with the kids.
“Now we are going to go to
church. And we are going to behave
ourselves,” she said.
“I just don’t see why we gotta
go.” Wade was being ugly.
“To hear your uncle Jackie preach,
that’s why!” Cindy looked at Ed for
help.
“Get your ______s ready and let’s go
to church!” No more was said.
About an hour and a half later,
Millie Drinan stood in the foyer of the church.
She had caught a glimpse from her Sunday School class of her in-laws
coming up the walk. She had hurried
around to greet them as they entered the front door of the church. The acolytes were about ready to light the
candles.
An usher handed them each a
bulletin. He could not help noticing
that Ed had missed a patch of beard under his left jaw. Ed wore his only jeans that were not
oil-stained. He had on his favorite
cowboy shirt and cowboy boots with the jeans stuffed inside. Cindy wore black jeans with silver buttons
down the seams. Her jacket matched her
jeans and partially covered the halter top that revealed her navel. The boys were in sneakers, jeans, and
T-shirts. Little Shandra had sneakers,
shorts, and a T-shirt.
As they opened the heavy, swinging
doors into the sanctuary, Ed could feel the bass notes of the massive
organ. Millie led them down to the pew
where she usually sat. Jackie was
sitting on the platform. His face was a
mask as he hid his amazement that Ed and Cindy were really coming. He noted the bulge of the cigarette pack in
Ed’s left shirt pocket.
Ed watched with curiosity as the
candles were lit. He studied the
bulletin. He tried to follow what the
guy up there was telling everybody.
Suddenly, everyone was standing up.
Cindy had found the hymnal page and shoved the book in front of
him. He could not figure out where people
were singing. After a while everyone sat
down. His eyes now had time to look more
carefully. He noticed the sweeping curve
of the frame of the huge window at the front.
The wood was exquisitely sanded and stained. The glass was cut into little sections of
different colors, maroons and blues and browns and blacks. It formed a giant picture of a long-haired man
with a mustache and beard and blue eyes.
That was Jesus. Underneath, it
said: “Come, all ye who are weary and
heavy-laden.”
After a while, Jackie stood up and
started talking. Ed tried to follow what
he was saying. Jackie was wearing a
black pin-striped suit and a fine-looking tie.
He really looked slick up there.
He told some good jokes and a couple of stories. Ed was beginning to like it in there.
Finally, everybody stood up and sang
another song. Jackie prayed and then
everybody started to leave. Jackie made
his way back to the swing doors, shaking everybody’s hand, laughing and really
enjoying himself. Slowly, Ed followed
Cindy, Millie, and the kids toward the center aisle and then up the aisle to
the swinging doors.
Just as the family reached the
doors, Jackie, seeing that there were no more hands to shake, disappeared down
the hallway to his office. An usher was
closing the doors as Millie, Cindy, and the kids entered the foyer. The usher hesitated and waited for Ed to come
through. But Ed had stopped in the
middle of the aisle, ten feet from the doors.
The usher shrugged and closed the doors.
Ed was alone in the sanctuary. He
turned back and looked at the stained-glass window with Jesus looking down at
him.
“Come, all ye who are weary and
heavy-laden.” Ed read the words. “Dear Jesus, I guess I am like that. Please help me.” He found himself saying the words out
loud. Suddenly, he felt a rush of
something. It started in his mouth and
rushed to the top of his head and down his spine and then into his chest. Then, he knew something. He did not understand it, but he knew
something. He knew that Jesus had helped
him. He knew that he was different.
Across the vast expanse of pews, at
the front right of the sanctuary, just off the chancel area, Jackie Drinan
stood in a narrow doorway. He could see
Ed looking at the stained-glass window.
“There’s Ed,” he thought. “I
suppose he’s looking at the window. Oh,
no, he won’t see the baptistery, the communion table, our new candle-sticks. Why is he such a hick? Forgive me, Lord, I know I sound
judgmental. But why did Cindy marry this
character? And now she’s just like
him. I think he must drink. And the smell of that smoke. Well, thankfully, I am a patient man. I guess going down to the jail once a month
has helped me to deal with some of this kind.
Look at him. I suppose he thinks
he’s having some religious experience.
He probably didn’t comprehend anything I said in my sermon. Oh, well, I guess we need to go home and eat. I really am getting hungry.”
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