Free Heavens to Betsy by Beth Pattillo Page A

prospective church members move, the grimmer the future for Church of the Shepherd. People would rather worship in a schoolcafeteria than drive the thirty minutes to downtown to enjoy the Gothic arches of our sanctuary. And I can’t really blame them.
    “I’ll have to call Gus and get the property division working on it,” I tell Jed, hoping this is the right answer. There goes the new sanctuary carpet we’d all been dreaming of since a deacon fell down the chancel steps while carrying a tray of communion cups brimming with Welch’s Grape Juice.
    “If you think that’s best,” Jed drawls around his toothpick. He knows I’m passing the buck, and he doesn’t approve.
    “On second thought, I guess I’d better take a look for myself,” I say and stand up to follow Jed from my office to the sanctuary.
    I’ve learned in the past few years that I missed a few necessary courses in divinity school. Plumbing 101. Introduction to Catering. Basic Accounting. I thought that all I was going to need was a working knowledge of the Bible and systematic theology. Turns out there’s a lot more call for the ability to make meatloaf for a hundred or to replace PVC pipe.
    Jed leads me through the baptismal dressing-room area and then down behind the baptistery. It’s a large tiled tank at the back of the chancel with steps leading down into it from both sides. If you were sitting in the pews, you wouldn’t necessarily know it’s there. Behind the baptistery is a small passageway that allows the ministers and the organist to move from one side of the chancel to the other without being seen. A small door in the passage wall leads to the baptistery’s innards, so to speak.
    Jed opens the door, hands me a flashlight, and motions for me to crawl inside. “You can see for yourself.”
    I’m sorry now I took his bait. At least he has the good grace notto smile. With a grimace, I survey my clothes. I made something of an effort to keep up the makeover this morning—black pants, high heels, even a blazer. I run the flashlight around the crawlspace and shudder at the dust-and-cobwebs interior decor.
    “Um, I bet I could just take your word for it.”
    “No, no,” Jed says with false politeness. “I wouldn’t want you to doubt me.”
    So I’m caught. With a sigh, I sink to my knees and crawl inside. Quick as I can, I run my flashlight around the plumbing, and that’s when I see the problem, big as day. Everything around the drainpipe is crumbling. Jed’s right. There’s no way to patch something to nothing.
    With a resigned sigh, I switch off the flashlight and attempt to inch my way out of the crawlspace. Only I keep getting stuck. First my blazer gets hung up on a pipe. Then my hair gets caught in some wire mesh. By the time I finally extricate myself, I know I look as if I’ve been dragged backward through a hedge.
    Jed doesn’t so much as crack a smile around the ever-present toothpick.
    I brush my palms together to try to rid them of the dust and dirt. “You’re right, Jed. It’s hopeless.”
    A twinkle appears in his eye. “No, Reverend. Not hopeless. Just in need of some male know-how.”
    And I know he’s not talking about the baptistery. He means Church of the Shepherd.
     

    Well, my first encounter with Jed as interim senior minister didn’t go exactly as planned, but I’m definitely the wiser for it. I’m also the filthier.I figure I’ll pop into the restroom and freshen up, but to get there I have to cross the waiting room in the office area. And when I do, I find some folks waiting for me. The personnel committee, to be exact. Ed. Edna. The Judge. Even Marjorie, who’s the only one smiling.
    “Miss Blessing, there you are.” The Judge frowns, his jowls hanging down in parentheses around his displeased expression.
    “Good morning, Judge. Everyone.”
    I fight the urge to reach up and smooth my hair.
    “Is that dirt on your face?” Edna asks, aghast.
    “Well, um, yes. Just a bit of a problem with