I remember one Sunday morning service in which I was
attempting to unwrap a sour- ball. These candies should come
with a warning to consumers stating that it is absolutely
impossible to silently unroll the clear, brittle paper that
envelops these treats. I worked diligently for about five
minutes, taking the cellophane off one centimeter at a time, and
covering up any errant crackling sounds with a dry cough or
two. At last the tart, orange candy was free! I lifted it to
my mouth, triumphant-- and then dropped it. It hit the floor
with near-religious fervor, and then had the audacity to roll
down over the smooth hardwood floor, navigating between several
pairs of well-dressed legs, until it came to rest down front,
behind the organ. If I'd had the presence of mind-- if I'd been
SMOOTH-- I would have imitated my fellow parishioners in front
of me, who turned around and glanced back over their shoulders.
But it was too late to attempt to shift the blame to a
worshipper in the pew behind me. I was already red-faced, with
an idiotic smile on my face that quickly graduated to a broad
grin. It took longer for me to regain my composure than it had
to unwrap the sour-ball.
Another episode of poorly contained hilarity
occurred one summer when my cousin Holly was visiting and we
were attending a mid-week service. A visiting missionary was
the guest speaker, and he was sharing some slides of the South
American country in which he labored for the Lord. My memory is
a bit hazy on this first point, and so I am choosing to
believe that it was my favorite cousin who accidentally let a
healthy burp escape her lips. I don't feel any overwhelming
guilt at putting the blame on her, so it very well could have
happened that way! Anyway, that wasn't outrageously funny, but
it became so when my dear friend Maurice leaned back towards us.
With a twinkle in his eye, he drawled in his solid Maine accent,
"Mustn't burp in church, girls." We girls looked at each other,
and lost it.
Cousin Holly and I loved to sing together as teens,
and sat at the piano for hours, "wowing" ourselves with our
dulcet tones. We decided we'd like to share our tremendous
talent with the congregation of her little church in
Willimantic, Maine. We chose the hymn "Heaven Came Down," and
proudly walked to the front of the chapel. I sang the melody,
and Holly sang alto in accompaniment. We were fine until the
second verse, at which time I started singing the words to the
third verse, instead. Several words into it, I realized
my mistake, and stopped singing. Once I stopped, I couldn't
seem to start again, since my ears were ringing, my neck was
turning red, and my lips were quivering. Brave Holly forged
ahead, but she sounded somewhat idiotic, singing the alto part
all alone. At the very moment that I coaxed my voice back into
obedience, she switched to the melody, too, and I couldn't help
myself. I snorted. That snort was like a dam breaking, and the
two of us laughed idiotically until the pianist finally took
pity on us and ended the music. We staggered back to our pew,
and were aghast as we realized that our duet was to be
immediately followed by the Morning Prayer... a time when all
was quiet, save for the pastor. I know that my blood pressure
soared as Holly and I tried to contain our laughter in the
silence of that tiny sanctuary. Equilibrium had almost been
restored when we heard the reverend giving thanks to God for the
"songbirds" that had lifted his heart that day. Bless him for
mentioning us, but that set us off-kilter once again!
One Easter morning at my own Baptist church, the
congregation was in for a treat. One of our favorite soloists
was going to sing a well-loved song, and we were looking forward
to it. She was introduced, and the lady stepped into the middle
aisle and made her way to the front. Unfortunately for her, she
didn't realize that during her most recent trip to the lady's
room, she had pulled her panty hose up over the back of her
dress, “girding her loins” in her own special way. I was
astounded by the sight! That's not to say I didn't get a
charge out of it, but there was a measure of empathy for
her, as well! A friend of mine made a valiant leap from her
seat and plucked the dress from its place of bondage. I wasn't
the only one to make odd choking noises from the pew that day,
but I'm almost positive that's not what the Bible means when It
says, "Make a joyful noise unto the Lord."
