After many hugs and goodbyes and a few tears (mostly mine), I walked alone across First Boulevard toward the staff parking Lot. These past six months had gone by so very fast. I remembered sitting in my parked car that first day not knowing what to expect. I’m ashamed to admit it, but back then I was intimidated and uncertain—not only about the internship, but also about my future. I had deep, unanswered questions in my soul about ministry and those who made a living doing it. But to my surprise, quoting Forest Gump here, “God showed up,” and over the last six months, my cynicism about the “church” had gradually turned into hope.
I got excited seeing lives changed for the better! To see families reconciled. To see people pull together in time of great need. To see strangers with little in common become good friends. The church is a place where these types of things really happen. Sure, there’s still some politics and posturing, but those are just minor sideshows to what happens under The Big Top then floods out into the community each week.
As I walked, I felt a rekindling of those feelings that led me into ministry training in the first place. This is what I wanted to do.
Slipping onto my front seat, I shut the car door. I sat there for a moment pondering events from the last six months.
BAM! Something whacked the roof of my car.
“Yo, Elmo!” Eddie Hughes hollered. “You coming or going?”
“I’m on my way home.” I yawned. “Today was the last day of my internship, and it’s been exhausting trying to wrap things up.”
“You coming back for the Singles function tonight? I’m in charge of the entertainment. I’m headed there now to set up my Karaoke machine. I’m giving it a special twist. Everyone has to dress up like the original artist of the song they’re singing. I call it ‘Eddie-oke.’ He beamed. “I’m doing Elvis. Already had the outfit.”
“Somehow I just knew that would be your choice. Just a wild guess. Sorry, Eddie, but I can’t make it tonight. I need to spend some time working on my speech for my graduation ceremony. Bonnie will be there tonight, of course. She’s in her office now working on the nametags or something.”
“Bummer. Your loss, man. Well, y’know what—wise men say . . .” Eddie started singing (badly). And with that, he was on his way toward the church, the white jumpsuit with gold embroidery slung over his shoulder.
I’d picked the best possible night to skip the Singles get-together, but Bonnie would fill me in on the details. We had a late dinner date at the Roadhouse Grill. Somehow I knew she would skip her turn at “Eddie-oke,” much to Eddie’s chagrin.
Bonnie dragged her bones into the restaurant about 10:00 after a thirteen-hour work day. I know that seems late for dinner, but hey—it’s Friday night; we’re singles in our mid-twenties with no place else to be, and we have tomorrow off. So why not?
The way I see it, the older a person gets, the earlier they “call it a night.” Folks in their twenties don’t get started on Friday or Saturday nights until at least nine or ten o’clock—unless, of course, they married young and have several children to tend to. By the time you turn fifty, you’re getting ready for bed by nine or ten o’clock. And since most senior adults eat dinner at four in the afternoon—the always popular Blue Plate Special—they’re ready to hit the sack at seven.
“Hey, hun. I bet you’re tired, I know I am.” I gave her a kiss on the cheek, and we sat down at a booth.
“Not too bad,” she said, pushing her hair back from her face. “Laughing at some of those singles making total rear-ends of themselves jolted some life back into me. Juliann even told me that Eddie had his chest waxed today so he could wear that hideous Elvis outfit! Oh my gosh, if only somebody had the foresight to video his performance and upload it to YouTube, it would go viral in a flash. With the support of all the Elvis wackos in the world, Eddie might just become the next William Hung.”
“Please—whatever you do, don’t encourage him along those lines. He’s already insufferable as it is.”
“What? I would have thought for sure you’d want to be his manager/life coach/wardrobe mistress—”
“Stop the madness!” I pleaded mockingly, cutting her off.
I sat there quietly watching her laugh. I loved it when she laughed, and she laughed a lot. She was so much fun to be around. I mean, she had her off moments, we all do, but Bonnie was special. And then it hit me. Right there in that noisy restaurant I realized it had really happened. I’d fallen in love, and I was completely undone by it. Like the lines from the Benjamin Moody song, Back to You . . .
Back in the beginning,
Love was overwhelming,
Feeling for the first time . . .
This was all a new experience, and I liked it.
She turned serious, “Are you sad your internship has come to an end?”
“Yes and no. It’s been super fun and a great learning experience. But it’s part of my seminary training, and I’m ready to move on with my life.”
“So then, what’s next?” she asked.
I took her hand. “Now that you’ve had a while to think about it, what’s your opinion concerning the position I’ve been offered by the church? Would it be weird to have me there on staff full-time? What if we ever broke up—would that be too awkward?”
She looked right into my eyes. “I hope we never break up, Elmo. I like you that much—no, I love you that much. I really do. I’m just not going to give you my opinion about the job offer because I don’t want to sway your feelings one way or another. Though I will fully support whatever decision you make. I believe you’ll succeed wherever you decide to work.”
“I respect that,” I said, squeezing her hand. “I’m going to take the rest of the weekend to think and pray about it some more, then finalize my decision. I’ve promised Tom I’d let him know Monday.”
I pivoted. “Now to the really important stuff. Let’s order some food.”
The Decision
“The disciple who abides in Jesus is the will of God, and what appears to be his free choices are actually God’s foreordained decrees.” Oswald Chambers
True to my word, I spent the weekend alone. I did attend the Sunday morning worship service and sat with Bonnie, but after lunch I came back to my apartment. I allotted plenty of time for reading the Bible, particularly Proverbs, trying to glean some insight from one of the wisest men whoever lived. I also devoted quite a bit of time to prayer, earnestly looking for some direction. How to know God’s will in a decision is one of the great spiritual questions of all time. This question has been answered in a variety of ways by some very intelligent men over the centuries, most way smarter than me. Mostly, I was just looking for some peace—no burning bush, no sun standing still, just some peace. By Sunday night, I’d found it, ready to forge ahead.
When Monday morning rolled around, I couldn’t have been more excited or anxious. My parents drove in for the ceremony, and I could tell they were very proud. Especially my mother. The bratty kid she’d prayed over for all those years was going into the ministry. She positively glowed.
I spotted most of my new friends from First Church in the audience, cheering me on. Before the ceremony began, I had just a minute with Dr. DV who shared that he and Pastor Snooker had spoken briefly and would be meeting for lunch after graduation. He thanked me for my diplomacy, and I have to admit, I felt gratified. I also met up with Tom Applebee and gave him my decision about the church’s job offer. He seemed to understand and took it well.
Bonnie pulled me out of line to encourage me and give me a kiss. Thankfully, she didn’t tell me to “break a leg” because I probably would have done so, trying to please her on some subconscious Pavlovian level.
I sat with my 137 fellow graduates at the front of the middle section of the auditorium, positioned dead last in the lineup. Not because I was the dumbest or the smartest, thank you very much. But since I’d be speaking at the close of the program, this would place me on the platform at the appropriate time.
If y
ou’ve ever gone through a graduation ceremony, you know it can be quite tedious waiting for your turn to walk the platform and grab your diploma. As last in line, I had some time to kill, so I took out the envelope Dunston had given me for a graduation gift. I’d promised not to open it until I graduated, but I reasoned that technically I’d already graduated. The “walk” just symbolized the achievement, right? Then again, with that type of reasoning, perhaps I’d be better suited for a career in politics . . .
Opening the envelope, I pulled out a handwritten note along with a gift card for $10 at the Bait & Tackle Shop on Stone Lake. I guess he planned to take me fishing after all. His note read:
Dear Elmo,
I know the secret to the black toe thing. I’d been told ‘bout it way back when I first started at the church. It’s just some stupid thing started by the janitors long ago.
The way I heard it, old Deacon Smith used to have a nickname for one of the janitors whose real name was Joe Thomas. Deacon Smith called him “Black Joe.” Joe was a black man, and that’s just how they did things back then. Fact is, Joe and Deacon Smith was good fishin’ buddies. Good friends. One day, Deacon Smith had him a bad stroke and couldn’t walk or speak right no more. Mrs. Smith, she was sickly herself, so on Sunday mornin’s Joe would pick ‘em up in his car—help ol’ Deacon Smith into his wheelchair and even sit with ‘em in church. Then after the service, he’d take ‘em back home and have lunch with ‘em. He did that pretty much ever’ Sunday ‘til the old man died.
See, after his stroke, Deacon Smith would mumble when he tried to speak, and people just didn’t realize he was tryin’ to say “Black Joe.” All’s they heard was “black toe.” Somehow it got all tangled up with that snow storm story, and then some of them fool-hearted janitors decided to have a little fun with it. They started hidin’ those stupid messages. Then the dang thing kinda just took on a life of its own.
It be the janitors’ special secret, passed on from generation to generation with one of them guys taking turns to “stoke the fire” ever’ now ‘n then with a new note or some such.
I never had much use for all that shenanigan, but I kept those feelin’s to myself. I figured now, being as I’m retirin’ with the cleanin’ service takin’ over, it’s time to spill them beans about that whole black toe thing.
So there you goes. Now you know. Happy graduation.
—Dunston
P.S. I saw you was lookin’ into this stuff, so I put that coaster in yo’ book hoping you’d catch on. I pulled it outta Pastor’s trash can. That message—that be my doin’.
I couldn’t believe it. First Aaron Spencer, then Fred Snooker, me of course, and a whole host of other folks—we’d all been totally fooled by the maintenance staff—and for decades and decades! A practical joke of gargantuan proportions! I could only imagine the laughs those janitors had shared through the years whenever they’d hear the different pastors and staff talking about The Black Toe mystery, or when that article in the city paper came out about it. Pastor Snooker would be beside himself.
I couldn’t help but smile.
The last row of graduates filed across the platform. My turn had come. I had just enough time for a final pre-speech Elmo checklist:
Notes in hand—check
Fly closed—check
Shoes tied—check
Voice clear—“Test, test.”—check
Nose clear—check
As I climbed the steps to the platform, Dr. McGregor began his introduction.
“And finally, our last graduate this morning is Ellington Jenkins. Ellington is receiving his Masters of Religious Education and has been chosen by his peers to deliver this year’s closing remarks.”
I walked up to the podium just a tad nervous. Cap and gown firmly in place, I looked out on the audience, so many of them I knew.
How did I get here?
Then I began my remarks slowly, deliberately.
“Thank you, Dr. McGregor. Nothing could’ve surprised me more than to be told I’d been chosen to give the final remarks at this year’s seminary commencement service. I am greatly humbled by this opportunity.
“Today’s graduates, those seated together here at the front of this auditorium, are the new world-changers. Some, you will become familiar with by name as they move into high-profile ministries and agencies of our world. Others will minister in total obscurity in the far outer reaches of our globe. But all of them will be of equal importance to the ministry of Christ. We celebrate their achievements today.”
A warm and extended round of applause arose spontaneously from those in the audience. Even some cheers.
As it died down, I continued. “When I came to Harvest Morgan Seminary, I came searching. Today I leave with purpose. When I arrived at the seminary, I arrived uncertain. Today I leave with a confidence anchored in faith. These changes did not happen overnight. In my case, it took the full force of the program and a huge portion of God’s grace to bring me to this place today. I’m sure many of my fellow graduates would admit to a similar experience.
“The Old Testament tells us, ‘Where there is no vision the people perish.’ As one representing all of my fellow graduates, I would like to thank the seminary staff, the faculty, the trustees, and all those who support the seminary for giving us the chance and the encouragement to seize that vision. To boldly become the world-changers God has called us to be.”
Another round of applause broke out, and some of the gowned graduates actually stood out of gratitude to the school and the faculty.
“On a personal note, I would like to thank my family. Without your love and support, I would not be standing here today. And for all of you who have mentored me in the faith along the way, my victory today is your victory as well. A special thanks to Tom Applebee and my new family at First Church who took me in and changed my life. By the way, I said yes.” As I looked out at them, I couldn’t help grinning. “See you all in January.”
To my right, Harry Simpkins shouted out, “All right!” followed by Fran noisily shushing him. I smiled and continued.
“This has been quite a day for a young man like me. Not only am I graduating from seminary, but I’ve also accepted my first full-time church position. I’ve seen two dear friends start the process of reconciling their friendship after thirty years of feuding. And I have finally, finally found out the truth behind The Black Toe Enigma. For most of you that means nothing, but for others in this room, it represents the answer to a one-hundred-year-old mystery. Pastor Snooker, I’ll give you the details on that later.” He waved with a smile, obviously pleased.
“And now, if you’ll indulge me just one last item. Moments like this, full of confidence, adrenaline, and excitement are rare and must be maximized to their fullest. With that in mind, I share the following. One of the unexpected benefits of my internship at First Church was my acquaintance with Bonnie St. Hiliare. God took pity on me and brought this angel into my life, and I know now that I love her more deeply than life itself.”
I stopped for a moment, fixing my eyes on her beautiful face. “Bonnie, at the risk of rejection in front of all of these people, and with the deepest humility and resolute sincerity, I need to ask you a question today . . .” I stepped to the side of the pulpit and dropped to one knee, locking my eyes on Bonnie’s once again. “Would you be my wife?”
A sudden hush fell over the auditorium. Then Bonnie slowly rose from her seat, her eyes glistening, focused solely on me. For a moment, she said nothing. My heart pounded. She bowed her head briefly then looked back up at me, a tear escaping down her cheek. Then, with the sweetest smile I’ve ever seen, she quietly responded with three words I’ll never forget.
“As you wish.”
The room exploded with cheering and applause. Though I was tempted to do a jumping fist-pump, I chose instead to just blow her a kiss. I would wait for a real one later. A deep sense of accomplishment and of peace swept over me. So much had come to fruition in one grand moment. As I stood the
re drinking it all in, I’m pretty sure I felt God’s hand resting gently on my shoulder.
The crowd quieted down and returned to their seats. I had one more thing to say.
“I can see now this is going to be a day to remember.”
And it was.
In a well-furnished kitchen, there are not only crystal goblets and silver platters, but waste cans and compost buckets—some containers used to serve fine meals, others to take out the garbage. Become the kind of container God can use to present any and every kind of gift to his guests for their blessing. 2 Timothy 2:20-21 (MSG)
Thanks for reading Book One. You’ll find Chapter 1 of Book Two in the Elmo Jenkins series starting on the next page.
The Metaphor
A bell rang out over the murmur of the crowd as I tugged against the rope holding my hands behind my back, firmly to the stake. The air, thick with the stench of sweat and smoke, caused me to gag and cough. I’d been stripped to the waist, and the coarseness of the wooden pole gnawed into the flesh of my exposed back. The pain was excruciating.
The large pile of kindling beneath my feet elevated me high above the rabble. I surveyed their dirty faces, ten to fifteen people deep in all directions. All eyes were on me. They’d come for a cheap thrill, a visceral jolt, hoping to add a small portion of meaning to their meaningless lives.
A squire, wearing what looked like balloon culottes and tights, stepped forward and unfurled a parchment scroll. He shouted out to the gathering:
Hear ye, hear ye. By order of the First Council under the leadership of Cardinal Fitzsimons, we today bring judgment against one Friar Jenkins for sedition against First Church and its people. After exhaustive interrogations, we have concluded that this man sought to change our great church and its venerable way of life. His actions and words threaten the very sacred traditions by which our church was founded and is even to this day sustained.
Ordained Irreverence Page 21
