The congregation regularly had the preacher for lunch even if lunch
were the church school class immediately following worship when the
class teacher, a wannabe preacher, ate the preacher alive for standing
in the wrong place at the wrong time in the chancel and reading from the
lectern when that Gospel reading should have been read from the pulpit even
though the preacher had his doctorate in liturgics.
Young women had the preacher for lunch actually during lunch weekly in
the town’s greasy spoon with the preacher’s wife in attendance and they
thought nothing of it.
One day, the preacher encountered an army vet who had served in Viet Nam and
the preacher said, “Thank you for your service to the country,” even though the preacher had been a war protester during that era, but, of course, never judging
the poor guys who went when the old guys in Washington said so.
“You a vet?” the man asked.
“Of a different sort. I followed another calling,” said the preacher. “I went into the ministry.”
“Holy Cow, preacher. That’s what I call hazardous duty. I’ll take the army any
All the preacher could do, was to mutter, “Amen.”