I mouthed the words but did not sing. It was my way of being kind to the world. I had a terrible singing voice. Since she couldn’t hear me, I got a few side glances from my grandmother as she screeched along to the music. I couldn’t remember if I’d ever heard her sing before, so I had no idea if that was really her voice. It might have been someone nearby.
Then, a homily was read by an awkward, teenaged girl named Bekah Springer, who remained red-faced throughout. “Genesis, 38:7-10 ‘And Er, Judah’s firstborn, was wicked in the sight of the Lord; and the Lord slew him. And Judah said onto Onan, Go in unto thy brother’s wife, and marry her, and raise up seed to thy brother. And Onan knew that the seed should not behis; and it came to pass, when he went unto his brother’s wife, that he spilled it on the ground, lest that he should give seed to his brother. And the thing which he did displeased the Lord: Wherfor he slew him also.”
After that the collection plate was passed. I peeked around trying to figure out if anyone else’s head was spinning after that homily. I mean, seriously? God slew Onan for not wanting to have a baby with his sister-in-law? And were we supposed to think that any woman, any widow, would be like, ‘Hey bro-in-law, hubby’s dead come knock me up?’
I’ve met some horny girls but, like, wow.
Nana Cole elbowed me yet again when the collection plate came by. I reached into my jeans pocket and pulled out a few coins. They made a loud, clanging noise when I dropped them onto the metal plate. People turned around and looked at me. Okay, so most of what was in the plate was paper money.
Even before the collection plate made its way completely around the church, we were up singing another hymn. Thankfully, it was not about screwing your brother’s wife. Instead, it was about how loving and kind God was. I couldn’t help but think it was at direct odds with the homily we’d just heard. I felt sorry for Er. What had he done that was so wicked he had to be struck dead? Wicked is such a subjective idea. He might have done almost nothing. Certainly, I’d had my wicked periods and thankfully was never smited, smoted, smote… whatever.
After the hymn ended, Reverend Wilkie invited Dottie Hamlin to come up and read the week’s announcements. There would be a bake sale on Thursday to benefit the Hessel family and help with the funeral expenses.
“And wasn’t that a wonderful funeral service last Tuesday! A big thank you to those of you who attended.”
Then she asked that we pray for Herman Echevial—she took two tries at his name—since he had prostate cancer, Wanda Berry whose mother in Grand Rapids had had a heart attack, and Linda Geiger whose beloved cat, Caboose, had been diagnosed with the feline leukemia. When Dottie was finished, Sue Langtree stood up at the organ and turned around.
“I just want to say…”
From the reactions of people around me, I could tell this was not how things were usually done. It was also the first chance I’d gotten to really look at her. Other than the white hair, she looked to be a very healthy, strong-featured woman in her early seventies. Her skin was wrinkled but a robust looking pink.
“I just want to say how nice it is to have Reverend Wilkie back again. He should never have retired. He’s too young and vibrant. Some of us have missed him very, very much.”
There was a smattering of applause before Reverend Wilkie stood up again at the lectern, and said, “Thank you for coming today. Please join us for fellowship in the community center.”
“Community center?” I whispered to my grandmother. “Does he mean the pole barn out back?”
“Shhhhh.”
A pole barn, for the un-initiated, is a metal building sitting on a concrete slab held up with a frame of poles. Hence the name. The ‘Community Center’ did have several upgrades. There was indoor/outdoor wall to wall carpet with a noticeably thin pad underneath and sheet rock on the walls, so it looked sort of like a regular room—except cheap.
The walls had been painted white and there was nothing on them except for a few scuff marks toward the bottom from moving furniture around. There wasn’t even a picture of Christ.
A folding banquet table had been set up for fellowship with an industrial sized coffee pot, two trays of sugar cookies and a gigantic jug of lemonade all set out on a plastic ginghamtablecloth. Scattered around the room were half a dozen folding chairs.
Most of the congregation had trickled over. I’d tried to get out of it, questioning whether Nana Cole had the energy to stay. She snapped at me, letting me know she’d be staying for fellowship even if it killed her. Then I tried to get her to sit in one of the folding chairs but that didn’t work either.
Giving up, I got us both a lemonade and then asked, under my breath, “So what was that thing Sue Langtree said all about?”
“I don’t know. I thought everyone loved Reverend Hessel. He was nothing but wonderful to me.”
“People liked him more than Reverend Wilkie?”
“Much more. Reverend Wilkie is sloppy, I guess you’d say. Like today. The homily should really go with the sermon. They should support each other. I don’t know why he’d choose Genesis for a homily.”
“Maybe the girl chose it.”
“Oh she couldn’t have. Didn’t you see her? She was so embarrassed. Mortified, really.”
“I heard Sue Langtree backed out of directing the choir suddenly.”
Nana Cole nodded. “There was a rumor going around that she had cancer.”
“She doesn’t look like she has cancer.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
“She seemsveryhappy to be back.”
