Chapter 19

Jerry surveyed his congregation from the pulpit. There were about 150 of them scattered about, most in the back rows, most in the sunset of their lives, dreams behind them, eternity ahead. Indeed some of these people were probably part of the church’s heyday when 1,000 or more packed the place. He spotted Jack in the back, ramrod straight, in a navy blue blazer. Beside him sat Helen from the interview committee. She smiled up at him and waved. Close by were Jane and Tom also from the interview committee. Hmmm, power couple.

He launched into his sermon with a joke. “At a clergy convention, a minister started his sermon. As many of you well know, a sermon is usually twenty minutes. The other preachers from his district sat behind him in the choir section, giving him moral support and throwing in an occasional ‘Amen’. He preached his twenty minutes. Then 30, 40, an hour and still going. A brother sitting on the front row took a song book and threw it at him. The preacher saw it coming and ducked. The song book hit one of the ministers sitting in the choir section. As the man was going down, he cried, ‘Hit me again, I can still hear him preaching!’”

A few parishioners laughed.

“I promise you, I won’t be preaching for an hour, but here’s another joke.

“Jesus, hanging on the cross, spots Peter down below and calls out to him: ‘Peter, come up here, I have something to tell you.’ Peter claws and scratches his way through the packed crowd to get closer to Jesus. ‘Yes, Jesus,’ he says. ‘Peter, come closer, I have something to tell you.’ Peter pushes and shoves and reaches the cross Jesus is nailed on. ‘Yes, Jesus.’ ‘Come closer.’ Peter shimmies up the raw post, suffering ugly splinters. ‘Yes, Jesus, what is it?’ ‘Peter, I can see your house from here.’”

Jack just about spat out his teeth. The rest of the congregation also loosened up.

“A little seminary humor.”

OK, he thought, time for the three point stuff.

“I recently watched the movie Champions: A Love Story. Alone. I know. I lead an exciting life. It’s a hokey film, yet it stayed with me.

“It’s about a girl with a gift for figure skating. Her coach thinks she’d do better in partner skating. Enter talented hockey boy who just got tossed from his team, has a huge attitude problem and needs something to do. At first the two just fight and get nowhere. Gradually they learn to trust each other and experience success. And, of course – remember, I said hokey – they fall in love. 

“They’re headed towards the Olympics, nothing can stop them. Then tragedy hits. A plane carrying the boy to visit his mother crashes. The boy dies. The girl is crushed; she ceases to skate. After awhile, her coach asks her is that what Tony, her partner, would have wanted for you, just hang up your figure skates? Her spirit to compete reignites and burns hot, motivated by Tony’s encouraging spirit. 

“When she is about to go on before the Olympic judges, she closes her eyes and hears ‘Routine.’ You see, that’s what Tony would whisper in her ear each time they were about to perform. It relaxed her. ‘Routine.’ Magic takes over. Her nervousness melts away, and a confidence courses through her veins. It’s the best skating of her life, and she wins the gold medal. 

“Many of us have lost partners. 

“Jesus too is perhaps a lost partner. He’s waiting for you, with unconditional love, ready to whisper support into your ear. 

“In this hectic world it’s hard to hear that whisper. Yet in the quiet of the morning, in the break during the day, in the stillness of the night, he can be heard. He is always there and always will be there. Let us draw close and breathe in his very breath. 

“Routine. Amen.”

Helen elbowed Jack in his ribs, and he jerked awake. People shifted and riffled through their bulletins. 

Jerry scurried down the stairs from the turret-like pulpit and resumed his seat. The organist kicked into “A Mighty Fortress is our God.” With the choir of ten gray-haired women warbling along, the congregation followed, far from the rallying cry of the students back at Miller Chapel.

Jerry stood outside and greeted everyone. They all wanted to get a good look at their new pastor. Jane, with the Modigliani face, shook Jerry’s hand a bit too fervently and invited him to lunch, then she moved off and lit a cigarette. 

After the many smiles, welcomes and thank you’s, Jerry sought some way to celebrate his first service. The morning fog had cleared revealing a squeaky clean sky. Autumn leaves skittered along the sidewalk. He wandered across the street. 

He noticed two women in tight shorts and sequined t-shirts roller skating, laughing and sparkling. “Routine,” Jerry whispered to himself. 

Within minutes, in his jacket and tie and gray dress pants, Jerry was tightening up some rented skates and getting ready to propel himself down the sidewalk. 

Jerry stood like a new born fawn. He held on tight to the bicycle rack in front of the store. Saying routine again, he pushed off and headed towards the park. He repetitively pushed off one foot to gain speed. He laughed as he imagined this being his Olympic routine. As he plodded along, he drew sympathetic smiles from passersby. 

No matter. Jerry beamed right back at them. 

After the skating he wandered about downtown. A red brick coffee house named Witherspoon’s called to him. He purchased his first ever cappuccino, floral pattern carved into the foam. After his second cappuccino, he contemplated rereading the Bible…all of it… now. His hands shook; his heart pounded.

He speed walked back to the church. On the way, he passed by eye-catching Victorian and Craftsman homes that gave the downtown area a genteel feel. Modern condo structures added a hip vibe. And then there were these monuments to fraternal organizations, monoliths for the Moose, Masons, Elks, Shriners and V.F.W. Jerry reminded himself that it wasn’t only the Presbyterian church that was losing members. All these groups were dying.

Jerry spotted a co-op grocery story and stepped in. He perused its aisles, appraised its organic produce. Wouldn’t it be great to make this quality food available to the homeless, he thought; wouldn’t it be great to have a farmers’ market that accepted food stamps. That’s a fantastic idea. I’m going to make that my first project, he decided.

As Jerry fondled a voluptuous white peach, he heard “You poke ‘em, you own ‘em,” said with a New York snarky tone.

He swiveled. A petite woman with short auburn hair stood before him with a gotcha smile. Her large brown eyes danced, yet betrayed a deeper sadness.  

“Gotta be fresh. How else can I know,” quipped Jerry.

“Smell.” She took one with her slender fingers and brought it up to her nose. “How many do you want?”

“I guess just one. I’m just checking the place out. Not really shopping.”

“And you’re new in town and don’t know your way around.”

“Exactly. Is there a sign on my back?”

“You’re wearing a tie and jacket. Nobody wears a tie and jacket in California unless you’re going to a funeral.”

“Well, we from the East coast dress up for everything, including grocery shopping.”

“OoooKaaay then,” she said.  “Anything else I can get you?”

“No, thank you.”

She turned to go.

“Unless,” Jerry, uncharacteristically kept yapping, “you’d like to share a most amazing coffee drink. Something called a cappuccino.”

She spun around, “And you got it from Witherspoon’s.”

“Exactly. Popular place?”

“The only place.”

“And so…”

“Sure, why not. I can help an out of towner. Come back around 5pm. I’m Chloe, by the way.”

“I’m Jerry.”

OK. This day just got better, he thought. He raced back home, showered and put on something a bit more Californian, like a t-shirt, then hopped back to the Co-op.