Ordained Irreverence

by McMillian Moody

  Upon hearing the words “. . . move your membership,” Harry Simpkins would spring to his feet, simultaneously whirling toward the choir in one fluid motion. He would signal them to stand, signal the organist to begin playing, then spin back around just in time for the first downbeat to lead the congregation in the first, second, and fourth verses of Just As I Am or I Surrender All. I always felt sorry for those poor third verses of hymns . . . all dressed up and no place to go.

  If Dr. Jorgenson was the master of the closing summation, Harry was the royal wizard of the closing song. Always in total control, he would wind down everything just in time. If they were running way behind, he’d cut a verse of the hymn. If they were running just slightly behind, he’d pick up the tempo of the song. If they were slightly ahead, he would merely repeat the chorus one more time at the end. This was a fine art, and Harry was the artiste most excellenté.

  During the invitation, Dr. Jorgenson would stand at the head of the center aisle and greet folks coming forward. He would then pass them off either to Tom Applebee or Louis Estrada, who would walk them over to the counseling room door and turn them over to Erlene Markham. Erlene would then escort them into the counseling room, where trained counselors waited to get their information and answer their questions.

  These last ten minutes ran like a well-oiled machine. With just one minute left, Harry would bring the music to a close, and Dr. Jorgensen would close in a brief prayer. By the time the members turned to leave, The Countdown was complete. The Clock simply flashed Have a great day!

  I found myself tossed into this tightly-orchestrated intrigue one autumn Sunday morning. Louis Estrada had been called out of town for a family emergency, so Tom Applebee informed me that I would be doing the announcements in his place.

  “Elmo,” Tom began, putting his hand on my shoulder. “The time has come for you to move up to the next level.”

  I knew immediately what that meant. “What will I be doing under The Big Top?” I asked with a nervous smile.

  “You’ll be giving the standard announcements and also acknowledging the winners of our Sunday School High Attendance Day. I’ll provide you with all the necessary details.”

  “I’ll be there, and I’ll be ready,” I asserted, acting more confident than I felt.

  “Just remember that even though there’s some license to vamp off your notes, time control is critical on Sunday mornings. Any overage on our part up front in the service means that Dr. Jorgensen and Harry have to tap dance at the end.”

  No pressure. “I fully understand, and thank you for this opportunity, Tom.”

  One of Tom Applebee’s responsibilities at First Church included overseeing the Sunday school program. The preschool, children, youth, college, and single ministers and coordinators all ran their respective Sunday school classes, and merely reported their attendance numbers to Adrianne Figghie each Sunday morning. Adrianne then compiled those numbers along with the attendance figures from the forty or so adult classes that met regularly on Sunday mornings at First Church. The Final Number would be totaled at the last possible minute to allow time for stragglers, then sent to Tom Applebee’s Blackberry just in time for him to make the Sunday School Report at the beginning of the worship service. I would liken his announcement of the Final Number to the closing bell of the New York Stock Exchange. Though most members rarely attended Sunday school, the savvy First Church membership knew that a good Final Number meant all was well at the church.

  Legend has it, one year a redeemed bookie named Benny “Quick Hands” McDonald who attended First Church, fell into temptation, taking bets on the Final Number each week. But this side game came to a screeching halt when it was discovered he’d been manipulating the Final Number by sending carloads of his old drinking buddies to Sunday school classes each week in order to pad the total. Benny had put a whole new spin on Sunday school evangelism, but alas, in the end it didn’t pay off . . . too much of a gamble.

  The Adult Sunday School Department at First Church operated under the leadership of a volunteer named Alex Leichhardt. In my opinion Alex was a full-blown schizophrenic. First clue? By day he worked at the Corp of Engineers; by night, he became a used car salesman. On one hand he was this precise, pragmatic, logistical genius; on the other hand, he’d sell a full-sized Hummer with spinners and the ultimate tow package to a widowed grandmother with only one arm. He was supposedly married, but no one had ever seen or talked to his wife. If he had any kids, he never mentioned them. This unique mix of personality traits made Alex the quintessential Adult Sunday School Director, and he excelled at it.

  First Church held to a well-accepted set of church growth axioms. They believed:

  1. A growing church is a healthy church.

  2. The best growth comes through the Sunday school.

  3. New groups or classes grow much faster than existing ones.

  To Alex Leichhardt these meant one thing: the more new adult Sunday school classes, the healthier the church. So he set his face like flint to the task of creating new “units” as he called them. It’s always amazed me how the church growth gurus can somehow use mathematical formulas to accomplish spiritual goals. I wonder if that’s why the book of Numbers is in the Bible. Just a thought.

  Every autumn, First Church would have a Sunday School High Attendance Day. The goal—to bring in as many people as possible to attend Sunday school on that given day, with the intent that some might just stick around. The planning meetings began in late summer. Several lay members, along with Tom, Alex, and me, comprised a special committee to come up with this year’s Sunday School High Attendance Day theme. Alex would come up with a list of ten possible themes and bring them to our first meeting.

  After introductions and a few general comments, Tom jumped right in. “Alex has prepared a list of ten themes for us to consider. Our goal tonight is to select one of these ten for this year’s theme. Alex, how did you come up with these themes?”

  Alex straightened in his chair “Well, Tom, I sent out a survey to all of our adult Sunday school teachers and department leaders asking for their suggestions for this year’s theme. I received back forty-three suggestions. After removing the prank entrees and the downright silly suggestions, I ended up with about twenty useable themes. Several of these had been used before, or were similar to previous themes, so I culled them out, leaving about fifteen on the list. I then ordered them in a ‘best-to-worst’ list and kept the top ten for our discussion this evening.” He then gave each of us a copy of the list:

  1. Choose to honor God by being in Sunday school this year.

  2. Sunday school at First Church—there’s no better place to be.

  3. Let’s set a new world’s record in Sunday school this year.

  4. Do you attend Sunday school at First Church? If not, why not?

  5. Make friends, meet needs, attend a Sunday school class!

  6. Sunday school: one small step for man, one giant step for First Church.

  7. Sunday school—it’s the place to be!

  8. You can do better. Go to Sunday School.

  9. Sunday school. Just do it!

  10. What the world needs now is YOU in Sunday School.

  Alex gave everyone a few minutes to look over the list then added, “These are in random order, just so you know.”

  “Well done,” Tom said smiling. “I see several great possibilities for us on here. Let’s each pick our top three favorites by putting an X in front of them, and then we’ll total them to find a winner.”

  Personally, I thought they were all pretty lame with the exception of number nine, but then again I’m a big Nike fan. We ended up with, Sunday school: one small step for man, one giant step for First Church. I envisioned Tom Applebee promoting this by climbing down the pulpit in a space suit. He could have wires attached to simulate the low gravity on the moon, and they could alter his voice to make him sound as if he were speaking on a low wattage transistor radio.

  “Now t
hat we have a theme,” Tom said, “all we need is a numerical goal. Remember, it needs to be big enough to present a challenge, but not so big that it’s self-defeating.”

  I wonder how many times he’s used that line in the past. Somewhere out there Peter Drucker was smiling.

  Tom continued, “We’ve been averaging between sixteen and seventeen hundred in Sunday school so far this year.”

  Several numbers were bantered around until someone suggested two thousand, a number we could all agree on. I suggested making it “2001” to stay with the space motif created by our theme. They loved the idea. I noticed Tom looking off into the distance as if in deep thought. I just knew he was picturing himself in that space suit climbing down from the pulpit.

  Alex took over from there, and ran with it from that day forward. Other than sitting in on a few more meetings, I wasn’t very involved in the campaign. But I could see Alex really kicking up some dust. He may have been a competent engineer, but when it came to sales, he kicked into a whole new gear. He designed and posted slick four-color posters all through the church buildings for the High Attendance Day. He used an actual photo of an Apollo lunar module with the campaign theme spelled out in stars streaking across the sky and the American flag in the background. It inspired even me. He put together a phone tree to make sure every member at First Church received at least two calls to invite them to Sunday school on High Attendance Sunday. Each member also received two postcards with a big 2001 printed on the front and the theme on the back. He held several meetings with his teachers and directors, most of them resembling those Amway rallies with all the whooping and hollering, and gift giveaways, and special awards, and standing ovations. They too were inspiring. I’d been told that First Church had never failed to hit a high attendance goal since Alex had become director. I made up my mind that if I ever owned my own company, the first person I would hire would be Alex Leichhardt.

  The excitement and intensity built for weeks. By the time the Sunday School High Attendance Day arrived, the whole church was abuzz with expectation. And somehow, it had fallen upon my shoulders—the lowly church intern—to announce the Final Number and the winning adult class with the biggest increase.

  That Sunday morning, as I sat down in one of the throne-like chairs on the platform, Tom handed me my list of announcements. He whispered a reminder that he would cue me when it was my turn. I’d watched Louis do the announcements numerous times, but it’s totally different when you’re sitting on the platform looking out at three thousand plus faces. Shifting uncomfortably in the big chair, I glanced at the list in my hands. There were the two standard announcements; one about the tear-off prayer request flap in the bulletin, and the other about the correct parking lot protocol.

  And there it was. The Final Number for this year’s Sunday School High Attendance Day. My hands began to tremble. At this moment, only three people in the world knew this number: Adrianne, who had tabulated it; Tom, who had just received it on his Blackberry; and now me. I felt like Ryan Seacrest. As I regained my composure, I realized Alex had really outdone himself. Yet again I was impressed by this unique man’s superhuman ability.

  While I waited nervously for my turn behind the big oak pulpit, Miss Geraldine Fitzsimons O’Leary wowed the congregation with her boisterous rendition of His Eye is on the Sparrow. They always wheeled out the rotund Miss O’Leary on important Sundays. Not only because she was the undisputed queen of the money note—able to hold a high C for minutes on end—but also because she was Smitty Fitzsimons’s other sister. Meaning, she was Annette May Jorgensen’s sister and thereby, the Pastor’s sister-in-law. You get the idea. Nepotism at its finest.

  Geraldine had been briefly married when she was quite young. But the marriage ended tragically when her husband, an older foreign gentleman, died suddenly in his sleep. Her sorrow was tempered by his billion-dollar estate which she inherited upon his death. She never remarried and kept his legal name, though she insisted on being called Miss O’Leary. When her mother Lady Estella passed away, Geraldine assumed her role as matriarch of the Fitzsimons family. She made sure her much younger siblings Smithson and Annette attended the finest universities and were given every opportunity to succeed in life. Smithson, affectionately known as Smitty to all his friends and family, proved to be gifted in the area of business, and assumed responsibility for managing the Fitzsimons’s numerous enterprises. This freed up Geraldine to attend to all the necessary social duties befitting her station in society, a role in which she both delighted and excelled.

  As Geraldine hit the last refrain high and hard, the congregation rose for the obligatory standing ovation. Tom reached over and touched my arm.

  “Elmo, you’re up next as soon as the music fades down.”

  I cleared my throat, swallowed, and sat up on the front edge of my chair. Then, as Geraldine took a subtle bow and glided off the platform, I stood and quickly approached the pulpit with my notes firmly in hand.

  Standing there surveying the sanctuary while the crowd was settling back into their seats, I had a calm spirit come over me. I quietly thanked the Lord for it. Sticking to the script, I asked everyone to find their bulletins, then explained about the tear-off prayer request form. Next, I encouraged them to patiently follow the correct parking lot egress procedures, thus assuring the quickest and safest possible exit for all.

  Then it was time for the big announcement—the Sunday School High Attendance Day Final Number. I asked Alex Leichhardt and his leadership team to stand. Then I asked all of the Sunday school department directors and teachers to stand. Finally, I asked everyone who had attended Sunday school that morning to stand. I guessed about sixty to seventy percent of those in attendance were standing. Alex, Tom, and even Dr. Jorgensen all beamed. As the excitement continued to build, I reminded everyone of this year’s theme and our goal to have “2001” in Sunday school attendance.

  I paused briefly for dramatic effect, then took a deep breath and said, “And the Final Number for this year’s Sunday School High Attendance Day is—2,764!”

  Audible gasps arose from both the congregation and the choir loft, followed by a spontaneous outbreak of cheering and hugs throughout the sanctuary. Alex was beside himself. He worked the crowd like a man who’d just won a seat in Congress. In a most unusual and out-of-character gesture, Dr. Jorgensen gave a very surprised Tom Applebee a big hug. It was a special moment, and I let it continue for a minute or two, even though The Clock glared at me the whole time. Harry Simpkins will just have to tap dance later at the end of the service. I smiled at the thought.

  Finally, I quieted everyone down and asked them to take their seats. Time had come for the announcement of the adult class with the biggest increase in attendance for the day. The entire membership of the winning class would be treated to dinner at Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse. Another one of Alex’s ideas that had apparently paid off—big time.

  I held up my note card and as the room grew quiet I announced, “This year’s winner is—the Young Married class!”

  An outburst of screams and laughter to my left erupted as about three dozen twenty-something’s jumped up and started “high-fiving” each other. The rest of the congregation gave them a nice courtesy applause.

  And then, for reasons I still do not fully understand, I tagged on an ad-lib, saying, “And we all know how hard it is to get the Young Marrieds out of bed!” Of course, I meant to add “on Sunday mornings,” but in the excitement of the moment, I left off those three critical words. I didn’t even realize my gaffe.

  The organ kicked in with the prelude to the next hymn, and I strolled off the platform glad it was over, but generally pleased with my presentation. That was until Thurm grabbed me in the hall and repeated what I had just said, between his outbursts of laughter. After my initial shock wore off, I had to laugh too. It was an honest mistake. What could they do to me anyway? Move my office into a closet?

  I told Thurm to take a hike, then I headed off to find Bonnie for an affirming
hug. Maybe even a kiss if I were lucky.

  The Hospital Visit

  Monday, Monday, Monday, it’s already Monday again. Church work is basically a six-day work week. You work Monday through Friday like everybody else, but then you also work Sunday. Yet it’s generally accepted that Sunday doesn’t count as a work day, based on the theory that even if you didn’t work at the church, you’d be there anyway. Forgotten in this assumption is the fact that Sundays are easily the most demanding day of the work week for those in ministry, often lasting from seven in the morning until nine at night. Our High Attendance Sunday had been one of those long, grueling Sundays, so Tom Applebee told the entire staff to take Monday morning off. I knew I liked him.

  Swinging by the church at noon, I picked up my hospital visitation slips. Typical Monday, meaning I had ten visits to make, spread out over three different hospitals. Since I’d been making these visits for months now, I’d become rather efficient at getting in, getting it done, and getting out. Ten visits would take a little over two hours. No sweat. That gave me more than enough time to make my weekly appointment with Dr. De Villa at 3:30.

  Things were moving along briskly as planned until my last visit. The hospital slip listed the patient’s name as Justin Kryder, age 23. His name had been turned in by a friend who attended First Church. A notation indicated he’d been hospitalized due to severe chest pains. Wow, I thought. He’s kind of young to be having heart problems. Still, I planned to pop in, introduce myself, pray with Justin, and slip out. But even before I found his room on the fifth floor, I sensed God laying the groundwork in my spirit for something else.