sermon, Reverend."
"I don't know when I've enjoyed a sermon more."
"Wonderful. Simply wonderful"
Everyone had something nice to say, and they were sincere besides. Why not? They felt good, clean, washed in the blood of the lamb. I answered each compliment with the reminder, "I'll see you tonight at the evening service."
After the last member had departed, Dr. Jensen lingered and congratulated me warmly. "Inspiring, Reverend Springer. Your sermon was a joy to behold and listen to. Would you like to come home to dinner with me?"
"No thanks," I said. "I'm exhausted, and believe I'll take a little nap. But thank you very much."
"All right, sir. But there's plenty, in case you change your mind. I'll talk to you tonight."
I was exhausted. Every muscle in my body ached. As I walked across the lot, my coat over my arm, I staggered slightly with weariness. Ralphine had not put in an appearance at either the house or the church, so I assumed it was her day off. Under a faulty trickly shower I let cold water pour over me for fifteen or twenty minutes, slipped into my shorts, and flopped on the bed. My head missed the pillow; I reached for it, and fell asleep before my hand touched it.
The sound of feminine voices filtered into my head, and I sat up suddenly, looked at my watch. Five o'clock. I had slept through the entire afternoon, and I could hear women talking, their muffled voices coming through the closed bedroom door. I had a headache from not eating, and my stomach growled. I slipped into my shirt and trousers, and padded barefooted into the study. Mrs. Kern, Miss Rosie Durrand, and a woman I identified as Mrs. Linsey from an introduction that morning, were grouped smilingly around the kitchen table which they had brought out into the study. A clean, white tablecloth, a candlestick and lighted candle, and a small blue bowl of tiny red pintas decorated the table, and by a single place setting there was a foot-high heap of fried chicken, a bowl of potato salad, and a glistening cut-glass cupful of lemon-colored jello.
"Well, now," I said pleasantly. "What's all this?"
"We brought you some dinner, Reverend," Mrs. Linsey said, following up her statement with a short happy laugh.
"That's very nice of you ladies," I said, and I sat down at the table. Miss Durrand pushed the chair under me a little bit closer to the table.
"Thank you, Miss Durrand," I said, grabbing a chicken thigh and salting it, "I wanted to see and talk to you before the evening service anyway—about the music." I smiled at the other two women.
"I done wrote out a list and put it on your desk, Reverend," Miss Durrand said.
"Thank you. Thank you very much."
"We'd better go on out and let the man eat." Mrs. Kern said sharply. "The coffee's on the stove, Reverend."
The three women left by the front door and I did as well as I could by the chicken and the potato salad, which was very well indeed, poured a cup of coffee, and smoked a cigarette. It was time to be thinking about the evening sermon. I moved over to the desk with my coffee, opened the Bible to Revelations and began to make notes.
It hardly seemed possible, but if anything, the evening congregation was larger than the crowd that had attended in the morning. In the face of good Sunday evening television programs such attendance was remarkable. But I was far from being overjoyed. After performance like the one I had given that morning would lay me out for a week. And I didn't intend to go through that experience again, not until next Sunday morning anyway.
Clyde Caldwell was sitting in the front row with his wife and he looked at me eagerly and expectantly as I entered the pulpit, so I nodded to him and announced: "Brother Caldwell will lead us in an opening
"I don't know when I've enjoyed a sermon more."
"Wonderful. Simply wonderful"
Everyone had something nice to say, and they were sincere besides. Why not? They felt good, clean, washed in the blood of the lamb. I answered each compliment with the reminder, "I'll see you tonight at the evening service."
After the last member had departed, Dr. Jensen lingered and congratulated me warmly. "Inspiring, Reverend Springer. Your sermon was a joy to behold and listen to. Would you like to come home to dinner with me?"
"No thanks," I said. "I'm exhausted, and believe I'll take a little nap. But thank you very much."
"All right, sir. But there's plenty, in case you change your mind. I'll talk to you tonight."
I was exhausted. Every muscle in my body ached. As I walked across the lot, my coat over my arm, I staggered slightly with weariness. Ralphine had not put in an appearance at either the house or the church, so I assumed it was her day off. Under a faulty trickly shower I let cold water pour over me for fifteen or twenty minutes, slipped into my shorts, and flopped on the bed. My head missed the pillow; I reached for it, and fell asleep before my hand touched it.
The sound of feminine voices filtered into my head, and I sat up suddenly, looked at my watch. Five o'clock. I had slept through the entire afternoon, and I could hear women talking, their muffled voices coming through the closed bedroom door. I had a headache from not eating, and my stomach growled. I slipped into my shirt and trousers, and padded barefooted into the study. Mrs. Kern, Miss Rosie Durrand, and a woman I identified as Mrs. Linsey from an introduction that morning, were grouped smilingly around the kitchen table which they had brought out into the study. A clean, white tablecloth, a candlestick and lighted candle, and a small blue bowl of tiny red pintas decorated the table, and by a single place setting there was a foot-high heap of fried chicken, a bowl of potato salad, and a glistening cut-glass cupful of lemon-colored jello.
"Well, now," I said pleasantly. "What's all this?"
"We brought you some dinner, Reverend," Mrs. Linsey said, following up her statement with a short happy laugh.
"That's very nice of you ladies," I said, and I sat down at the table. Miss Durrand pushed the chair under me a little bit closer to the table.
"Thank you, Miss Durrand," I said, grabbing a chicken thigh and salting it, "I wanted to see and talk to you before the evening service anyway—about the music." I smiled at the other two women.
"I done wrote out a list and put it on your desk, Reverend," Miss Durrand said.
"Thank you. Thank you very much."
"We'd better go on out and let the man eat." Mrs. Kern said sharply. "The coffee's on the stove, Reverend."
The three women left by the front door and I did as well as I could by the chicken and the potato salad, which was very well indeed, poured a cup of coffee, and smoked a cigarette. It was time to be thinking about the evening sermon. I moved over to the desk with my coffee, opened the Bible to Revelations and began to make notes.
It hardly seemed possible, but if anything, the evening congregation was larger than the crowd that had attended in the morning. In the face of good Sunday evening television programs such attendance was remarkable. But I was far from being overjoyed. After performance like the one I had given that morning would lay me out for a week. And I didn't intend to go through that experience again, not until next Sunday morning anyway.
Clyde Caldwell was sitting in the front row with his wife and he looked at me eagerly and expectantly as I entered the pulpit, so I nodded to him and announced: "Brother Caldwell will lead us in an opening
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