FAITHFUL
The speed, the sounds, the smells, the exhilaration of constant activity, the sheer volume of humanity fascinated Smedley. There was so much to see and do, things that the parson and his flock only read about or heard about up on the Hog Back. Smedley figured he'd see more people in a day here in the city than he'd see back home in a year--even if you counted seeing the same folk more than once, which happened a lot up on the Hog Back.
The closing hymn of the last meeting of the Faithful Brothers Preaching Convention still rang in Smedley's mind. "What I wouldn't give for Flora Jean to have heard that, thought Smedley. "Maybe when I tell her about it she'll see in my eyes how it sounded." "It's so long since I've seen her. It's so far back Home."
Perhaps the lights of the traffic in the twilight had lulled Smedley to sleep--late night "bull sessions" had left him drained--or maybe he was so deep in thought he didn't notice when a stranger sat on the bench beside him. "Not all that far either." Smedley heard himself say the words at the very same instant that he saw the man beside him. The parson lamely tipped his hat and smiled at the bemused stranger who got up to look for a bench not inhabited by a man who spoke to the night.
This was Smedley's first opportunity to attend the preaching convention. He'd known about it for a long time; he and the Mrs. had been saving butter and egg and funeral money and such in an old mason jar to pay the parson's way. But the Morris family's cow died and with three little ones the Smedleys both knew they needed that $17.32 more than Smedley needed the convention. That was as close as Parson Smedley from the little white meetin' house up on Hog Back Ridge ever got to the Faithful Brothers Preaching Convention. That was until. . .
Just a couple of weeks before Smedley had just pronounced the benediction on a blessed Lord's Day's service when Hezekiah Radford stood and loudly, and lispily, announced, "I wont to athst you folk te thstay a few minith longer."
"I wonder what this is about," thought Smedley. "I cain't think of anything I've done to cause the people to want to run me off. I haven't even preached about tithing in six. . ."
The preacher's thoughts were interrupted as the church clerk continued to speak to a group of people who had the look of folk who know exactly what's going to be said and like what they know. "Ath you know, Preacher Smedley, (the effort to form the "s" showed on Hezekiah's face has faithfully preached God'th word to uth fer twelve yearth now." With this Hezekiah brought forth a piece of paper and squinted through his reading glasses. "In gratitude for faithful preaching of the Word of God, we, the congregation, give to our faithful preacher a trip to the Preaching Convention of the Faithful Brethren. Brother Preacher," Hezekiah now looked right at Smedley. "We love you and thank God for you. We have collected the money for your trip above and beyond our regular tithe. We want you to go with our good will."
A chorus of, "Amen." rang through the meeting house. Smedley was overjoyed, for once, quite literally speechless. Hugs, handshakes and mock warnings about "Not thinkin' a stayin in the big city," were heaped on the preacher. Smedley could have just about recited every "s"less word of Hezekiah's speech. He was so amazed, pleased, and grateful.
Smedley's Euphoria was soon replaced by a storm of activity that enveloped the parsonage. There was packing to do, and making sure that things would be covered for the services Sunday and Wednesday up at the Meeting House, and now here he was in the city, for one more night, as his badge proclaimed, "Official Delegate, Convention of the Faithful Brethren."
Flora Jean had washed and ironed and darned and given the preacher specific instructions about what to wear and not wear. "You may be from Hog Back Ridge," she had said, "but there's no need for you to look like it!"
Indeed, earlier that afternoon as Smedley sat in his blue suit waiting for the beginning of the discussion on "Contemporary Issues Facing Christianity" none of the other pastors would have guessed that he rode a mule rather than drove a car, or that he studied by light of kerosene lamp. "There's not much that's contemporary up on Hog Back ," Smedley commented to a new-found friend as they waited for the session to start. "I just don't want to miss the opportunity to find out what's going on in the rest of the world." Smedley didn't say any more. It was a lot easier to look like he wasn't from Hog Back than to sound that way.
By the end of the session Smedley's notes looked almost like a dictionary. Some of the Parson's entries included:
Alcoholism New name for drunkenness.
Spouse Abuse Back on Hog Back we call it “beating up on.”
Child Neglect What Grandma used to call “letting them grow up like weeds.”
Chronic
Unemployment No account.
Substance Abuse Seems to me like it's the substance that abuses them. Whether you smoke it, shoot it with
needle, or take it like medicine it's the same sorry business as drinking moonshine.
Integrity
Crisis, A whole pack of liars seems to be in charge.
From his bench as Smedley watched the world go by--a world that the folk on Hog Back didn't even know existed--a contentment settled over his heart. Earlier in the week he had found himself envying "these fella's who preach in these high class churches," but now the parson was actually eager to return to his little flock a couple of hundred miles and half a century away.
"Lord," Smedley said as he got up from his park bench, "seems to me that most folk are pretty much the same. Oh, some drives cars and some rides mules but that doesn't really matter. It's where they're goin' 'n' what they're doin' when they git there that really matters. Lord, it seems to me that most folk are goin' where they don't need to go and doin' what they don't need to do. Lord, whether it's up on Hog Back or down here in the city folk just need You. Lord, help me to tell that to the mule ridin' sinners, and help the brothers down here to tell it to the car drivin' ones. Amen."
Amen.
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