Cybercolumn by Brett Younger: You’re at church now_72604

Posted: 7/16/04

CYBERCOLUMN:
You’re at church now

By Brett Younger

The rain started before we left Fort Worth and continued almost all the way. At Texarkana, I optimistically switched to “intermittent,” but we spent most of the day on the fast end of the wiper speed dial. I announced several times—to no one’s amusement—“The last time it rained like this Noah built himself a boat.”

At Hope, Ark., the wiper blade on the passenger’s side decided it had had enough and started unraveling. By the time we got to my parents’ house, the wiper was almost completely gone.

The next morning we drove through the rain to the Texaco in Mantachie, Miss. They only had one blade in stock (it was for a pick-up), but they helpfully pointed us to Jerry Pitts’ Auto Parts.

Lines in Mississippi are short, but move slowly. The person in front of us talked to Betty Pitts about the weather (“wet enough for you?”), somebody’s cousin (it was never clear whose) and a lively debate over who fries the best catfish (the consensus is “the place in Centerville, but it’s overpriced at $6 a dinner”). I don’t think the person in front of us bought any parts.

When it was our turn, Betty and my father discussed at length how good Amy, Betty’s daughter, was in the Tupelo Community Theater presentation of “Annie, Get Your Gun.” When we finally got to the reason for our visit, Betty suggested we replace just the wiper blade rather than the whole assembly, because “that will be cheaper.” I took the thin piece of plastic and a borrowed pair of pliers, and promptly broke the thingamajig that holds the wiper. (I use non-technical terms so as not to confuse lay readers.)

Betty then gave me a metal dilly that she assured us “would snap right on.” The rain was coming down hard. I held a borrowed umbrella as my father tried to get the assembly to “snap right on.” After awhile, he held the umbrella, and I tried. Finally, we sheepishly asked Betty for help. She knew far more than we did, but—and this made me feel better—she couldn’t get it on either.

Betty summoned an innocent bystander who had the misfortune to be in the area. I tried to keep the umbrella over as much of him as I could, but Douglas is big, and it was pouring. By the time he announced, “I got it,” the stranger who replaced my wiper was soaked.

Betty said, “I’m real sorry that the assembly costs more than just the wiper.” She explained with concern that my bill would be $5.44 rather than the original $3.74.

I asked, “How much do I owe for installation?”

Betty smiled as she said, “I don’t know where you’re from young man, but you’re in Mantachie, Mississippi.”

Wouldn’t that be a great line for us to use in our churches?

When a poor person says, “I was surprised that people made me feel so welcome,” we can reply, “I don’t know where you’re from, but you’re at church now.”

When a hurting person says, “I’m not used to people caring for me,” we can respond, “I don’t know where you’re from, but you’re at church now.”

When anyone says, “The people here seem to be having such fun,” we can smile when we say, “I don’t know where you’re from, but you’re at church now.”

Brett Younger is pastor of Broadway Baptist Church in Fort Worth and the author of “Who Moved My Pulpit? A Hilarious Look at Ministerial Life,” available from Smyth & Helwys (800) 747-3016.