Free Home to Harmony by Philip Gulley Page A

a deep joy, almost a sacrament. During worship she would sit in the sixth row and scribble furiously. At first I thought she was taking notes, but what she was doing was gathering evidence. She’d phone the office every Monday morning and complain for ten minutes. She’d start with the prelude and work her way through to the benediction. I used to listen to her entire harangue. After a while I learned to set the phone down, do my paperwork, then pick up the phone ten minutes later just as she was winding down.
    She complains about the hymns and the sermon andabout people sneaking in church announcements during prayer time. Bill Muldock is notorious for that. He stands during prayer time, bows his head, and intones, “Lord, we just ask Your blessings on our men’s softball practice this Tuesday night at seven o’clock at the park.” Fern glares at him from across the meeting room.
    Then one Monday I wasn’t at the church office, and Frank answered the phone. He listened to Fern for one minute, then hung up the phone, and she hasn’t called back since.
    It’s like Frank told me, “Once you’ve been to war, you learn what’s important. A good war would do wonders for Fern.”
    Frank has a sign over his desk that reads:
    I can only make one person happy each day.
    Today is not your day.
    Tomorrow doesn’t look good, either.
    I suspect Dale hired Frank to spite me. He thought Frank would be a burden, but that hasn’t happened. People are so afraid to call the office on the off chance Frank will answer—my workload has dropped considerably.
    People call and ask me to visit someone in the hospital. Frank asks them, “Why can’t you go? Are your legs broken? Why do you want Pastor Sam to do your Christian work for you?”
    Dale Hinshaw was the worst offender. Fearing I might have a spare moment, he would phone me daily with suggestions of things I could do. Frank put up with this for one week, then said, “Dale, if you spentas much time doing the work of the Lord as you do fishing, we’d all be better off.”
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    F rank’s greatest contribution to date came during the August meeting of elders. Miriam Hodge opened with prayer, read through the old business, then asked if I had anything to say.
    I turned to Frank and asked him to read my to-do list. Frank squinted at the list through his thick glasses.
    â€œIt says here you need to talk with Dale Hinshaw about sex,” he said.
    The room grew quiet. The elders raised their eyes and looked down the table at Dale, wondering why Dale needed to be talked to about sex. What had he done? Was there something they needed to know?
    I asked Frank to hand me the to-do list.
    â€œNo, Frank, it says for me to talk with Dale about a secretary. I abbreviated the word secretary . That’s s-e-c, not s-e-x. I needed to talk with Dale about a secretary.”
    Dale looked vastly relieved.
    Frank said, “Maybe you ought to talk with Dale about sex just the same. Everyone’s talking about sex these days, except for the church. Maybe that’s why we’re so messed up about sex. The people who should be teaching about it, aren’t. Maybe we ought to teach about sex.”
    Then he paused and said, “Golly, I sure miss sex. I miss the holding part.”
    Dale reddened and Miriam blushed. I was relatively certain that in our hundred and seventy years of existence, sex had never been the focus of an elders’ meeting at Harmony Friends Meeting.
    Dale sat bolt upright and said, “I think Frank is right. Someone needs to talk about sex to our teenagers. Just the other day I saw two of our kids kissing in the church parking lot. Pastor, why don’t you talk with those kids?”
    Frank said, “Dale, how come you want Pastor Sam to do everything? Why can’t you talk with the teenagers?”
    So that’s how Dale Hinshaw came to talk with the youth of Harmony Friends