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Authors: Charles Willeford
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Funerals and weddings were left to my own discretion, but the previous fees charged for these important services, Dr. Jensen reminded me, had been ten dollars for weddings and five dollars for funerals. I could plan the elaboration of my services accordingly.
To relieve me from money worries, Brother Caldwell explained, the board of trustees always took charge of the morning and evening offerings and administered all funds collected. They also paid the bills of the church and the utilities on my house. Any expenditures I desired to make had to be cleared first by the trustees, and I was assured that no restrictions were meant or implied by this ruling, but that the rule had proved to be sound in the past, and at the present time there was no reason to change it that any of them could see.
I agreed wholeheartedly, thanked the board for the consideration of my time, and told them that I appreciated their kindness in refusing to load me with time-consuming administrative details. Such time was much better spent in visiting the sick and in the preparation of sermons, I informed them.
We parted amicably, and Dr. Jensen drove me to the Church of God's Flock. The building was a square clapboard box on a small lot next to a Do-It-Yourself laundry. A false-front steeple had been added to the church in front, but there was no bell because there was no belfry. Inside, the church contained benches enough to seat two hundred people, and there was an ancient upright piano next to a choir-box large enough for a choir of ten. A rough cross fashioned from undressed pine logs was nailed to the wall behind the altar, and on the altar itself there was a pewter loving cup, and two pewter candelabra holding six candles apiece. The pulpit was a crude affair put together with unpainted knotty pine boards, and there was a large Bible chained to the slanting lectern inside the pulpit. There were six windows on each side of the church, badly in need of cleaning, and overhead light was furnished by a dozen exposed 100-watt bulbs dangling at the ends of cords from the low (for a church) fourteen-foot ceiling.
"At one time, our church was a garage," Dr. Jensen offered, lighting a cigarette.
"No smoking!" I said sternly. "Not in God's house!"
Dr. Jensen left the church immediately and I followed him out, switching off the lights before I closed the double doors behind us. I accepted a cigarette from him and we took the short well trodden path across the unkempt lot to the residence provided for the minister. It was quite dark by this time, and Dr. Jensen cautioned me before I climbed the steps to the porch.
"There's a hole in the gallery, Reverend, so watch your step till I get the lights turned on."
After Dr. Jensen opened the door with his key and switched on the lights I followed him into the house. The light streaming through the front window revealed where several boards had been stripped off the porch leaving a space large enough for a rocking chair to fall through. But I was pleasantly surprised by the size and the appearance of the inside of the little house. There were four rooms, all of equal size; a bathroom-dressing room, a kitchen, a bedroom, and a study, all of them furnished with well-worn bargain furniture. The kitchen contained a small refrigerator as well as an electric stove. I examined the bedroom, tested the single Hollywood bed and found it comfortable, and then returned to the study where Dr. Jensen waited for me.
"Well, sir?" he asked apprehensively.
"I am amazed at such opulence," I reassured the president of the board of trustees, "after the severity of my simple monastery cell."
"Good!" Dr. Jensen expelled his breath. "I would like to say something to you, Reverend." The dentist pursed his lips in an enormous pout, and frowned. "For myself, I want to say that I am glad you are
To relieve me from money worries, Brother Caldwell explained, the board of trustees always took charge of the morning and evening offerings and administered all funds collected. They also paid the bills of the church and the utilities on my house. Any expenditures I desired to make had to be cleared first by the trustees, and I was assured that no restrictions were meant or implied by this ruling, but that the rule had proved to be sound in the past, and at the present time there was no reason to change it that any of them could see.
I agreed wholeheartedly, thanked the board for the consideration of my time, and told them that I appreciated their kindness in refusing to load me with time-consuming administrative details. Such time was much better spent in visiting the sick and in the preparation of sermons, I informed them.
We parted amicably, and Dr. Jensen drove me to the Church of God's Flock. The building was a square clapboard box on a small lot next to a Do-It-Yourself laundry. A false-front steeple had been added to the church in front, but there was no bell because there was no belfry. Inside, the church contained benches enough to seat two hundred people, and there was an ancient upright piano next to a choir-box large enough for a choir of ten. A rough cross fashioned from undressed pine logs was nailed to the wall behind the altar, and on the altar itself there was a pewter loving cup, and two pewter candelabra holding six candles apiece. The pulpit was a crude affair put together with unpainted knotty pine boards, and there was a large Bible chained to the slanting lectern inside the pulpit. There were six windows on each side of the church, badly in need of cleaning, and overhead light was furnished by a dozen exposed 100-watt bulbs dangling at the ends of cords from the low (for a church) fourteen-foot ceiling.
"At one time, our church was a garage," Dr. Jensen offered, lighting a cigarette.
"No smoking!" I said sternly. "Not in God's house!"
Dr. Jensen left the church immediately and I followed him out, switching off the lights before I closed the double doors behind us. I accepted a cigarette from him and we took the short well trodden path across the unkempt lot to the residence provided for the minister. It was quite dark by this time, and Dr. Jensen cautioned me before I climbed the steps to the porch.
"There's a hole in the gallery, Reverend, so watch your step till I get the lights turned on."
After Dr. Jensen opened the door with his key and switched on the lights I followed him into the house. The light streaming through the front window revealed where several boards had been stripped off the porch leaving a space large enough for a rocking chair to fall through. But I was pleasantly surprised by the size and the appearance of the inside of the little house. There were four rooms, all of equal size; a bathroom-dressing room, a kitchen, a bedroom, and a study, all of them furnished with well-worn bargain furniture. The kitchen contained a small refrigerator as well as an electric stove. I examined the bedroom, tested the single Hollywood bed and found it comfortable, and then returned to the study where Dr. Jensen waited for me.
"Well, sir?" he asked apprehensively.
"I am amazed at such opulence," I reassured the president of the board of trustees, "after the severity of my simple monastery cell."
"Good!" Dr. Jensen expelled his breath. "I would like to say something to you, Reverend." The dentist pursed his lips in an enormous pout, and frowned. "For myself, I want to say that I am glad you are
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