Saturday, July 28, 2012

The Most Hilarious Church Service Ever

This weekend the people at Mount Republic Chapel of Peace in Cooke City, Montana are celebrating the church building’s 40th anniversary.  The log chapel was constructed in the summer of 1972, but the Church, as in the group of people who make the church The Church, had already been meeting for about ten years. Their services started at the Rusty Spur Saloon, where the owner would close down shop for a couple of hours to enable to group of worshippers to gather. To my dismay, I couldn’t join in the celebrations this weekend, but in an effort to allow those of us not physically present to join in the festivities, the board members requested people such as myself to share memories or reflections on how the church has influenced us, or how we’ve seen the church impact the world around it. Naturally, there’s no one memory that fully expresses my appreciation for this church, so I debated sharing either a reflection on the characteristic about the church that I appreciate the most, namely the fact that it is truly interdenominational, or my memory of The Most Hilarious Church Service Ever. In honour of the church’s anniversary, I went with the reflection. But also in honour of the church’s present identity, these 40-50 years later, I share with you here the story of the very memorable church service one November morning. (Keep in mind that things are never as funny if you weren’t there, and especially if you don’t know the people involved. But, even if you weren’t there that day, if you’ve ever attended a service at the chapel and especially if you know any of the characters, and characters they are, you can place yourself in the room and get a sense for the hilarity of the situation!)

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Before turning to the events of that day, allow me to set the stage for you.

start to winter activities 077Several weeks previous to that Memorable Sunday Morning, Jeff intimated to me that Donna had grand notions of whisking him off to Colorado or Wisconsin or some foreign land where he would be held prisoner for six or seven months days. She seems to think she has powers of persuasion with him… just like she does Santa!  Poor Jeff.

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This is okay in the summer (well, not for Jeff anytime!), when there is a plethora of musicians about, but in the winter it means finding someone to lead music for the Sunday service. For those of you who have never had the honour of participating in a winter service, what you must realize is that there is no choir with which to fill Jeff’s shoes for the day. Gina T. and Vern O. are happy to help to lead the music for the service when Jeff is away, but only when they themselves are not; and on this particular weekend, neither Gina nor Vern were going to be in the area. And, of course, there was not yet a gifted pastor’s wife! That meant that the duty would fall to the vocal chords of the twenty winter congregants. But here again, believe me when I tell you that, while these twenty vocal chords were perfectly capable of producing sound over a rowdy game of cards, on the softball field, five minutes before the start of the service (yak, yak, yak) and immediately at the end of the service, for some reason they cease to function when it comes time to producing the sounds of the hymn written and held in their hands before them. In other words – the winter people refuse to, struggle to, pretend to sing, and a cappella was simply not an option.

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We had exhausted our options... all except for one. Jeff and I were forced to pull out the wild card in the congregation, known to you as Jerry T. I had been exercising my pastoral obligation of challenging Jerry to play piano for a service for many months, suggesting that it was a wonderful opportunity for him to share his musical gift with the church. He denied my requests time and again.  Me!  His sweet, innocent, encouraging and loving pastor! Didn’t he know that I was only asking him for his own good? Jerry had not played piano in church since he was a wee, frail and sensitive boy of 14 years, which makes it understandable that he would be afraid of a grand debut in front of an audience such as the Mount Republic Chapel winter crew. So Jeff and I plotted considered how to get Jerry to play piano for the service that morning. Since he obviously had no problem rejecting me, we decided that Jeff would give it a try and see if he couldn’t muster all his powers of persuasion. To this day, I think Jeff must have offered to build him something, because for reasons unknown to me, Jerry agreed. He would play piano for the service that would become The Most Hilarious Church Service Ever at Mount Republic Chapel of Peace. Had he known what he was doing, I dare say he would have rejected even the likes of Jeff.

That fateful Sunday rolled around, and I hadn’t mentioned even a word to Jerry about his agreement. I figured that the less I said, the better off we would all be – at least until the end of the service! Now, up to this point, the story has revolved around finding a musician for the service, but from here forward everything about what should make a service ‘normal’ spiraled out of control. Our first clue that the service was going to be memorable, other than the fact that we were soon to be awed by Jerry’s performance, was the fact that as the clock struck 9:30 a.m., Matthew 18:20 came to mind: ‘For where two or three have gathered in my name, I am there among them’. Well, Jesus was there with us, but not including him or myself, there was a total of seven people in the congregation that day. Our weekly bible studies were bigger than that and we all sat around a table! I should have suggested that we put the chairs in a circle and just talk about what I had written out for a sermon. But I wasn’t particularly bright that morning, and with all awkwardness as seven heads bobbled before me, we forged ahead with the service.

Per usual, the service was started with a greeting (which was forced since the eight of us had already stood around for the typical pre-service yack), followed by an opening hymn. On Lulu Fire 024this day, it was a tune on the piano produced by the masterful fingers of Jerry. Standing at his side was Lisa O., who had been coerced so graciously offered to help to lead the singing… of all eight of us. Nine…don’t forget Jesus! I don’t remember what the first hymn that day was, but I’m pretty sure that we made it through the fully planned three verses. There were some stifled giggles from all of us, lots of darting eyes, and robust attempts at taking seriously the rather humorous and awkward occasion in which we all found ourselves. Most winter services were intimate, but with no one actually singing so as to be heard, this was a bit too intimate. We contained ourselves for this opening hymn, but this forced stifling would not last.

There wasn’t much for announcements that day, seeing as though we had all thoroughly discussed everything happening in town in the minutes previous to the start of the service, so we made another attempt at flexing our vocal chords in tune with the notes on the page and the sounds of the piano. This time, however, we made it through only two of the three planned verses,. Two verses worth of the sheer awkwardness was all that we could handle. Our stomachs were tight from holding in laughter and I doubt that any of us had a clue as to what the words we pretended to sing actually referred to. And with Jerry happily and securely back in his seat next to Dene, I started my sermon. Why? I don’t know. Looking back, that would have been the perfect opportunity to come out from behind the pulpit, grab a chair, and say ‘gather round’. Alas…

About half way through, while inwardly congratulating myself on making it that far, pretending that I was preaching not to seven people but to a whole room full of dedicated listeners, I made a statement to the seven souls in front of me, to the effect of: ‘None of you has ever been in bondage to someone else.’ The statement was not meant to be an end in itself, but to carry us to deeper understanding of the original context of the passage at which we looked that day. But in that slight moment between making the statement and starting the next sentence, there came a clear and audible IMG_9955snort-like ‘hmpf’ from one particular man in the seats, the one and only, Jeff O.  What’s more, the responsive snort to my statement was accompanied by a rolling of the eyes and an intentional nodding of the head in the direction of his lovely wife Lisa, as if to indicate to myself and his fellow congregants, that he had, in fact, personally known bondage, and it was at the hands of his adoring wife. For the first time after starting the service that morning, laughter broke out… a laugher of release at just how silly this whole service was turning out to be.  Why were we putting ourselves through this?!  It took us a while to get focused again, but alas, we did regain control, thanked Jeff for his input and participation, and finished the sermon. Barely.

Jerry and I had agreed that he would only prepare three songs for his debut service, which meant that there was no music during the offering. Not that this mattered in the end, because what would normally take several031 seconds, took practically zero seconds. Dale was our usher that morning, and he did a fine job. Once he was at the back of the church (or halfway back, rather, seeing as though the congregation sat no further than ten feet from the altar), signaling to me that his duties were complete, I suggested to the congregation that we all stand and sing the doxology, per usual. This should be easy enough for the eight of us, or so I thought. Then suddenly, as if in a moment of inspiration, Jerry leaped from his seat, declaring to the congregation, ‘Hey! I know this!’ and landed himself at the piano. Just as he pushed down on the first key, Dene cried out from her seat with a hymnal in her hand, ‘Wait, Jer! I can’t find the page’! In stunned disbelief, I said, ‘Ah, Dene, it’s the doxology. I think you have it memorized’! Even Dene was thrown off for a loop by this very humorous service. Having been reassured that, yes, she did, in fact, know the words by heart, Jerry continued to play and the congregants again pretended to sing softly mumbled the words so as not to be heard.

As the people whispered the lyrics, ‘Praise God from whom all blessings flow’, Dale made his way to me at the front. I was really doing everything in my power at that point to not start laughing uncontrollably, having the humour of the last thirty minutes swelling inside me, and now listening, again, to these seven people in front of me forcing themselves to make at least a slight sound, knowing that if they didn’t there would literally be no singing. But when Dale got to the front of the church, and handed me the basket, I simply could not control myself any longer. As we praised God for his many blessings, which in this case, we intended by the words of the doxology to refer to his financial provisions, I looked at the basket and saw that, for the first time in my season there as the pastor, the basket had come back empty! I held it upright for the seven to see. And in that moment, I could withstand it no longer, and neither could they. We laughed and we cried. Our bellies hurt and our faces were wet. We ended the service with one final prayer, forgetting that Jerry had a final song prepared, and put an official end to the madness of the morning. And everyone, particularly Jerry, was relieved that it was over.

And now, these many months later, when I think about that service and I walk through the awkward and hilarious moments that formed a crescendo of hilarity, I can’t help but laugh. It was, by far, The Most Hilarious Church Service Ever, or at least during my time there. And from what I hear… Jerry has overcome his week kneed fear of playing the piano at Mount Republic Chapel of Peace. And he has Jeff… and me… to thank for it—his sweet, innocent, encouraging and loving former pastor who only had his best interests and character growth in mind.

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