The Brussels Post, 1976-07-21, Page 2i311 82:83811804MO 83803E81
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by Karl Schuessier
Moving people
When I preach, I move people.
Now don't get me wrong. I'm not talking
about my oratorical eloquence. I don't mean
women grab their handkerchiefs and dab
away a tear or two. Or men reach into their
back pockets and put in a few extra dollars in
the collection plate.
No. I'm not talking about that.
I mean I just move people. That's it. Thk's
all.
Before the' service begns, I come out and
ask them to move. "Would the people sitting
way in back come forward - toward the front?
And would all• those people way up there in
the balcony come down?' Join us in the front
rows of pews?"
You see, I have this thing about preaching
to a congregation that's all huddled in the rear
of the church. That's the way they sit out here
in the, country.
Here I am - down front on the altar. With a
whole sea of empty pews in front of me: And
wa-aaa-y, way out there in the rear, sit the
summer faithful - all crowding the back doors.
I try to reassure them. I'm no Moses
standing on Sinai where the Children of Israel
had to fence themselves off from the holy
mount and the holy man and the holy. God.
Now, I know. Holy does mean "separate."
But do we have to live that far apart? that far
away?
' I want to see them. Watch them. See if
they're with' me. I want to speak to you and
with you - not to a mess of boards nailed
together and called pews.
I want to see if. you're reading. If you're
listening. Preaching - even though it's done
by one person - is a two way communication.
We're sending messages back arid forth all
the time.
I need to see you - see the colour of your
eyes. Or at least I hope I do.
'Cause up front I can see your lids getting
droopier and droopier, and then finally shut.
No colour or whites at all.
Then. I know I'm in trouble. My coniniuni,
eating is breaking down. Same way when. I see"
you fuss and fidget. Look out the window or
glance at your Watch.
I need to see your. face scowl or I.
need ycitir dyes as well as your ears. Lots of
listening goes on with those dyes.
It's only when we're close together can we
communicate.
And honest. I promise I Brushed my teeth
this morning, and took a bath.
Honest. I'm not going to make an altar call.
I promise I won't yell at you.
And honest. I have no pretensions about the
words I preach. I don't need to have a listener
like a priest once did. She'd always sit right
below the pulpit, one of those high crow's nest
pulpits. And every time he preached, she
waited for a bit of his spray to fall down on
her. He seemed to spray it = more than say it.
And then she'd cross herself and say, "Oh, a
blessing from God!"
But I do need listeners close up.
Our closeness says something more than
we're just together. It says we're one. We're a
communion, a community of believers. We're
participators - net observers of some religious
ritual up front. We worship together - as one
body. It means we're with one another. We're
for one another.
Who can participate and celebrate over long
distance?
One pastor smiled when word got to him
how I'd moved his congregation when
vacation supplied for hini. "They'll be
hugging the back pews again next Sunday,
just wait and see."
That's what I like about supply preaching. I
don't have to wait and see:
I can keep on moving the next congregation,
I can live under the deltision I'M doing them a
favour.
Whenever people go to a play, they pay the
highest prices for the tip-front seats, don't
they? And if they're in the badk, they'll "scout
Out empty seats during act one and move up
closer after the first intermission.
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Serving Brussels and the surrounding community.
Published each Wednesday afternoon at Brussels, Ontario
by McLean Bros. Publishers, Limited.
Evelyn Kennedy - Editor Dave Robb - Advertising
Member Canadian Community Newspaper Association and
Ontario Weekly Newspaper Association
41 CNA
Subscriptions (in advance) Canada $6.00 a year. Others
$8.00 a year, Single Copies 15 cents each.
WEDNESDAY, JULY 21, 1976
What's a little town?
A little town is where everybody knows what everybody else is
doing .. But they read the newspaper to see who got caught at it.
In a little town everybody knows every neighbor's car by sight
and mostly by sound — and also knows whne it comes.and where
it goes.
In a little town there's no use anybody lyin' about his age or
his ailments or exaggerating about his ancestors or his offspring.
A little town is where, if you get the wrong number, you can
talk for fifteen minutes anyway — if you want to.
A little town is where there's hardly anything to do and never
enough time to do it.
In a big town, the hundred are uncomfrotable.
In a little town, the "one" is.
A little town is where the businessmen struggle for survival
against suburban shopping centers ...
When they dig deep to support anybody's worthy cause
...though they know "anybody" shops mostly at city stores.
Small-town gossip tends to cut down anybody who's up ...help
up anybody who's down.
The small-town policeman has a first name.
The small-town schoolteacher has the , last word.
The 'small-town preacher is a full-time farmer.
The small-town firemen — take turns.
Why would anybody want to live in one of these tiney
"blink-and-you-miss-it towns?"
I don't know. Maybe because in the class play there's a part for
everybody....
In the town jail there's rarely anybody.
In the .town cemetery, you're still among friends.
4,1f you did milting around here,. I'd replace yOtirl'