The Conversion
Stories
Lectionary Tales For The Pulpit
62 Stories For Cycle B
She hadn't intended to speak. In fact, she had thought she could sneak quietly into the church after the service began, sit in an inconspicuous place, and leave before it ended. She had no way of knowing before she got inside how open and exposed all of the seats in the small sanctuary were, not at all like the huge churches they showed in TV shows and movies. All she had meant to do was sit quietly and somehow communicate to God her thankfulness that her son had been spared. But she had felt exposed ever since she sat down. She was afraid everyone was looking and wondering, "What is she doing here?" And then the pastor had asked if anyone had concerns and celebrations to share, and before she could control herself she found her hand raised, just like she was in grade school again.
The pastor nodded at her, as nearly every eye in the church turned to look at her in the back pew. She swallowed to try and wet the inside of her mouth, where her tongue felt as if it were glued down. But, as she pulled herself to her feet, she saw the kind, welcoming eyes of the woman from the hospital several rows ahead, and she knew what to say.
"Most of you know my name is Mary Paul. I've lived in this town all of my life, and this is the first time I ever set foot in this church. My brothers and I have run the Whistle Stop tavern ever since our dad died. Our family never had anything to do with church. Dad used to say it was a conflict of interest."
A smile twitched the corner of her mouth, but she kept it from fully forming. The friendly woman nodded, though, and Mary kept going.
"I came in here today because I wanted to say thank you to God for the life of my son. I think you all know that Steve smashed up his car out on Highway 33 last Tuesday night. He's been in intensive care ever since, and they didn't give me much hope that he'd pull through. This morning at 7:00 they said he turned the corner, and they think he'll live. Up until Saturday morning, I would have only thought to thank the doctors that he pulled through. But on Saturday, a member of this church called on Steve and me at the hospital."
Some of the eyes of the congregation turned away from Mary at that point, and rested on the friendly face that still smiled softly at her. Mary pushed onward.
"I never met this woman before Saturday. I think she said her name is Eleanor, and I see her sitting over there. Well, Eleanor came into the waiting room when all my family and the people I call my friends had gone, and talked to me just like I was her friend. She said how sorry she was about Steve, and how she heard that the accident wasn't his fault, which is just the opposite of what everyone else was either saying or thinking. She asked if we could go into his room in the ICU together so she could say a prayer for him.
"I'm not one for praying. What my life has been like is no secret in this town. But she was so nice, and her caring was so real, that I said yes, and when she touched Steve's hand, with all those tubes and needles hooked in it, and prayed to God that he would be all right, well, I prayed that, too. I prayed for the first time I can remember in my whole life. And this morning they tell me Steve is going to pull through."
The lump in her throat, that had taken the place of the dryness, choked off most of her last words. She looked down, embarrassed, when tears escaped from her eyes and began to run down her face and nose. It just wasn't like her to cry over anything. Then she remembered the point she was trying to make, ignored the tears, and looked directly back at the congregation, most of whom now looked surprised.
"Anyhow," Mary said, "on my way home I saw all the cars here, and I just felt like I should come in and say thank you to God for my son's life. And while I'm at it, thank you, Eleanor, for being there at the right time for me and Steve. People like you are what goodness is really about. If there were more like you, maybe I would have been brave enough to come in here and say thanks to God sooner."
Then Mary Paul reached for her purse and keys on the pew and stepped out into the aisle to leave. But when she turned, Eleanor was standing beside her, and took her arm and led her forward to the pew where she had been sitting. And through the rest of the service they shared a bulletin and a hymnal and Christ's peace.
The pastor nodded at her, as nearly every eye in the church turned to look at her in the back pew. She swallowed to try and wet the inside of her mouth, where her tongue felt as if it were glued down. But, as she pulled herself to her feet, she saw the kind, welcoming eyes of the woman from the hospital several rows ahead, and she knew what to say.
"Most of you know my name is Mary Paul. I've lived in this town all of my life, and this is the first time I ever set foot in this church. My brothers and I have run the Whistle Stop tavern ever since our dad died. Our family never had anything to do with church. Dad used to say it was a conflict of interest."
A smile twitched the corner of her mouth, but she kept it from fully forming. The friendly woman nodded, though, and Mary kept going.
"I came in here today because I wanted to say thank you to God for the life of my son. I think you all know that Steve smashed up his car out on Highway 33 last Tuesday night. He's been in intensive care ever since, and they didn't give me much hope that he'd pull through. This morning at 7:00 they said he turned the corner, and they think he'll live. Up until Saturday morning, I would have only thought to thank the doctors that he pulled through. But on Saturday, a member of this church called on Steve and me at the hospital."
Some of the eyes of the congregation turned away from Mary at that point, and rested on the friendly face that still smiled softly at her. Mary pushed onward.
"I never met this woman before Saturday. I think she said her name is Eleanor, and I see her sitting over there. Well, Eleanor came into the waiting room when all my family and the people I call my friends had gone, and talked to me just like I was her friend. She said how sorry she was about Steve, and how she heard that the accident wasn't his fault, which is just the opposite of what everyone else was either saying or thinking. She asked if we could go into his room in the ICU together so she could say a prayer for him.
"I'm not one for praying. What my life has been like is no secret in this town. But she was so nice, and her caring was so real, that I said yes, and when she touched Steve's hand, with all those tubes and needles hooked in it, and prayed to God that he would be all right, well, I prayed that, too. I prayed for the first time I can remember in my whole life. And this morning they tell me Steve is going to pull through."
The lump in her throat, that had taken the place of the dryness, choked off most of her last words. She looked down, embarrassed, when tears escaped from her eyes and began to run down her face and nose. It just wasn't like her to cry over anything. Then she remembered the point she was trying to make, ignored the tears, and looked directly back at the congregation, most of whom now looked surprised.
"Anyhow," Mary said, "on my way home I saw all the cars here, and I just felt like I should come in and say thank you to God for my son's life. And while I'm at it, thank you, Eleanor, for being there at the right time for me and Steve. People like you are what goodness is really about. If there were more like you, maybe I would have been brave enough to come in here and say thanks to God sooner."
Then Mary Paul reached for her purse and keys on the pew and stepped out into the aisle to leave. But when she turned, Eleanor was standing beside her, and took her arm and led her forward to the pew where she had been sitting. And through the rest of the service they shared a bulletin and a hymnal and Christ's peace.
