Moses’ Big Stretch

There I was, unlike a hundred percent of nine year olds who have to be dragged everywhere, sitting in church, on my own, minding my own daydream, when it came to my attention that I was no longer paying attention to the voice at the front of the church, which was doing its darndest to save us all with a hard-worked-over sermon.

Seems he’d paid a lot for the fire in this one, and he was going to make sure we felt the heat in every word, whether we knew it was any good for us or not! Actually, this was my first time at this particular church. I tried to go to as many churches around my neighborhood, ’cause, well… just because. I mostly went alone because… well… just because. Simply put, I wondered what the differences were between all those buildings I passed while cruising around the neighborhood on my bike. So, since my mom slept late on Sundays, and I had her permission to go, here I was, by myself, and it was this church’s turn to have me.

I didn’t know what to call the fella up front, because I didn’t know, or care, what kind of church I was in. I just knew everyone was supposed to be in one on Sunday mornings. For all I knew, the fella could have been a minister, priest, parson, preacher or a rabbi. No, not a Rabbi. This was Sunday. I knocked my knuckles raw on the Temple doors, trying to get in Sunday after Sunday, with no reply. Never dawned on me to go around and try on Saturday. Nevertheless, this is why I called the fella up front “fella.” There was no disrespect meant or intended. I just didn’t want to insult any of the other titles, in case it was a sore subject between the other “fellas.”

Anyway, my going to different churches—by myself!—explains why I didn’t have someone to elbow me in the side when my mouth opened this time around. To tell you the truth, I was probably thinking about fishing the creek I’d spotted, out back of the church, on my way in. I could just see the perch all lined up along the banks tearfully wondering where I was. They could’a been bass, or even catfish. But more than likely, perch. It’s their custom to become all distressed over the absence of a kid like me. Whatever kind they were…

On some cue, I picked an unfortunate time to regain consciousness as the fella up front proudly said, “And Moses tied his ass to a tree and walked, forty miles!” Somewhat, and not entirely back from whereever I’d been, I offered out, from under a pinched brow, an astonished and un-shy, “He did what?” Being too young to know I needed to leave something alone, I drove the dagger in by adding, “Now that is a miracle!” Sitting there shaking my head in amazement at Moses’ accomplishment, I repeated the “tied his Ass to a tree and walked forty miles!” which was mostly said to myself, and those still too aghast to scoot down the pew away from me.

A deep quiet spread over the congregation as my words made their way to the pulpit. I was now fully awake and fully back from my fishing trip as the first snicker came forth. Then another. And another. Soon the entire congregation was skidding into it. This was cool, and I was enjoying the sudden fame. And, seeing this was the first time to this church, this was royal treatment. Until I happened to swing my eyes onto the only one not enjoying himself. The look on the boss-fella’s face stunned me a bit and made my best clothes kind of shrink, which in turn made me heat up some and start to sweat.

He looked frozen. So much so, I thought I’d killed him where he stood.

I smiled. He didn’t. And there wasn’t a hint that the same act of kindness I was showin’ was going to occur to him. After the snickering quieted, with a couple of individuals re-snickering and adding to my now unwanted fame, I broke from the fella’s stare and took a serious interest in the worn song book tucked in the slot on the back of the pew in front of me. My interest was so dedicated, I could’a memorized it. All of it.

Well. At some point, unknown to me, and probably some others, the sermon was over. Then, with a couple of standing-up songs being happily wrung from the said song book, we all made our ways out of the pews,and down the aisles toward the double doors of the exit. I was more than relieved to be going, until I saw Saint Peter guarding the door. How he got all the way from the pulpit to the door so fast, I’ll never know! But there he was, saying his good-byes, and shakin’ hands with all his friends. I did my best to side-step the event, behind a bunched-up group of folks, but, after a couple of “Bless-you-Brothers-and-Sisters,” he went and drew me out of the “saved” and up to his side. Then., when he wasn’t busy being so holy to folks, he leaned down all smiley-like and said, “Will you be back next Sunday?”

Having learned a lot this morning, and sensing a sudden desire to grow beyond my formative years, I thought it over, looked up at his tightened eye and said, “Not if we’re both lucky.” With that said, he smeared a smile across his sweating face and let go of my wrist, and the blood instantly started circulating back to my fingers.

To say the least, I was more than glad to be of service, seeing as I’d wrecked his.

Copyright Michael Dressler