Larry's Petition is for the Birds in Several Ways

It's a Monday morning in Riley's Diner. Me and several deacons from Unity First always get together for breakfast on Mondays and Thursdays. I'm normally the first one here. It gives me time to chat with the people who work here, like Millie, who makes these heavenly muffins, and Riley, who owns the place, and Jake-O, this young fellow who's a short-order cook for Riley, and Dee, one of the waitresses, a feisty gal that I'll tell you more about next time.

Anyways, I'm hoping Larry's gonna be the first one here because I really gotta talk to the guy. He's one of our younger deacons, only in his forties, and can get angry -- he calls it righteously indignant -- over the craziest things. Anyone that doesn't agree with him has gotta radical liberal agenda. That's what he gets from listening to too much Bill O'Reilly.

The thing is, after Unity First's morning worship service, I go out to my car and spot this flier on the windshield. It's from Larry. He's rustling up signatures for another petition drive. As if the last one wasn't embarrassing enough. Anyways, it turns out Larry's the first one to show this morning. He joins me at the same two tables we always push together. I don't know how soon before the other guys'll start to wander in so I don't want to pussyfoot around.

I pull the flier, folded up, from my shirt pocket and hold it up for his inspection. "Mind telling me about this petition drive you got going?"

"You gonna sign it?" he asks, waving over to Dee to bring him a cup of coffee. You can't miss Dee. She's got this big head of strawberry red hair. From a distance, you'd swear her head was on fire. She looks like a chubby Olympic torch.

"Depends," I tell him. "You remember the other ones, don't you? You sure the guys at your work aren't yanking your chain again?"

"This one's different."

"They made up that story about someone planning to open a tavern with an all-night daycare center. Instead of thinking about it, you went to the next city council meeting to raise a stink. And it ended up in the paper."

"I checked it out myself this time," Larry said as Dee filled up his coffee mug.

"Like the time you started that petition drive to complain about the movie theater?" I held my cup out to Dee for a freshening-up and asked her to bring over some more cream packets. You can never have too much cream.

"Honest mistake. That's all," Larry said. "I thought they was gonna start showing those dirty sex movies."

"Until you found out 'X-Men' wasn't a dirty movie."

"I thought it was the rating. You can't be too careful with those Hollywood liberals forcing their values on us. Godless heathens."

I picked up Larry's flier and waved it at him again. "Tell me what this one's all about."

"The city council's gonna vote on putting up one of them wildlife sanctuaries on the south side of town. They say they're actually proud of it. Frankly, Unity's no place for these folks to feel free and come flaunt their wild ways."

"Larry, I don't think this wildlife sanctuary is what you're thinking. It's this place for all kinds of weird birds."

"Those pervs are some kind of weird, all right," Larry said. He ripped the tops off a couple of sugar packets and poured the contents into his coffee. "And not only that. They say it's a place for children. Family friendly, they're saying. Can you imagine? We gotta protect our kids."

"When I say weird birds, I'm talking about fowl."

"It is foul, ain't it?" He's stirring his teaspoon so hard I'm thinking he's gonna break the coffee cup. "Makes me wanna puke."

"Little birdies, Larry. I'm talking about birdies. With wings." To make my point, I start flapping my arms up and down. Dee gives me a strange look as she's carrying an order to Coop, this bearded trucker guy who pops in every week or so when his route allows. "This wildlife sanctuary is supposed to be a place for a bunch of them rare birds."

Larry starts to turn pale. The truth is finally sinking in.

"Larry, your heart's in the right place, but you just can't believe the first thing you hear or read. You gotta check out rumors and such talk. Use the mind God's given you. Lots of people say and believe things without finding out the facts." I'm getting through to Larry, but I can't help feeling sorry for the guy.

"Don't worry about it. Most of the folks at Unity are pretty good-natured. They aren't gonna make fun of you."

"I'm not so worried about that," Larry said. He pulls the petition out of his back pocket. "I just don't know what I'm gonna do with these 142 signatures."
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Claude’s Fear of a Little Dirt Keeps Him at Bay

I just finished having breakfast with the boys at Riley’s Diner not long ago, and I had to run a few errands. My first stop was the old Scrub-A-Dub-Dub, Unity’s do-it-yourself carwash about a half-mile down the road from Riley’s.

I don’t go here to wash my car. Real guys don’t use places like the Scrub-A-Dub-Dub. We wash our cars in our driveways, with a bucket, a sponge and a plastic bottle of Joy dishwashing soap, the way God intended it to be done. We don’t need high-powered hoses from the ceiling that dispense your soap, wax and tire cleaner all with a few clicks of a knob. I’m just here for the quarters.

I been collecting them state quarters for some time now. Pretty soon I’ll have all fifty, and one day the whole mess of them will be worth at least twelve dollars and fifty cents. The fastest way for me to get a hold of stack of quarters is to head to the Scrub-A-Dub-Dub and drop a twenty into the change machine. For some reason, the attendant don’t cotton to this. So I try to pull into one of the bays on the far end while he’s busy helping customers on the other. I’m nothing if not considerate.

So I’m hurrying back to my car with my pants pockets filled with quarters, wishing I had buckled my belt a notch tighter, when I hear this voice come out of Bay Four.

“Hey, Brother Carl, you wash your car here, too?” Turned out it was Claude Aycock, one of our deacons at Unity First. He’s standing in the bay next to a sparkly clean deep blue Lincoln Town Car. Looks like the newest model as far as I can tell. Claude’s manager of the parts and service department at Nova Ford here in town, so he gets a break when he buys a new car there.

“Nah, I just like to collect them state quarters, and this is a great place to grab a bunch of change quick,” I tell Claude, “as long as the attendant don’t see me. Used to go to Handy Randy’s, but the manager won’t let me make change anymore.”

“So that’s why your picture’s posted behind the service desk,” Claude said. “I thought maybe you was taking more than one newspaper out of the machine again.”

“That was all a misunderstanding. I never saw anything that said you couldn’t take more than one. Anyways, I finally started coming here because you wouldn’t believe how long it took me to find the right quarters buying one pack of Doublemint at a time. I don’t even care for gum.”

Claude was using a chamois to wipe some lingering water spots from his windshield. “Never knew you was a numismatist.”

“I have trouble sleeping now and then, but what’s that gotta do with collecting quarters?” Claude didn’t respond so I plowed on. “So why’re you hanging around here? Your car looks all clean.”

“That’s just the thing,” Claude said. “It’s perfect. Never looked better. If I drive it back to work, it’ll just get all dirty.”

“All cars get dirty, Claude.”

“But the Lincoln Town Car, it’s a good car. Actually, it’s more than good. It’s about the greatest car ever made,” Claude said. “I want everyone to own one. And not just because I get a referral bonus. If people see the dirt, they may think the whole car’s inferior.”

I was growing a bit agitated here. “Just because you get some dirt on your car don’t mean people think the manufacturer makes a bad product. People know that sooner or later, a car’s gonna get dirty.”

“Think of all those people, driving around aimlessly in their cars and not knowing all the benefits that the Lincoln Town Car has to offer,” Claude said. “To think they might look at this car and decide not to buy one because of some dirt, it’s more than I can bear.”

“Claude, for breakfast this morning, did your wife sprinkle an extra scoop of stupid on your cereal? When your car gets dirty, you wash it. People know this life’s full of dirt. What really turns them off is when others try to hide the dirt. Pretending it’s not there and acting like everything’s real perfect.”

I felt like I could make my point better with an object lesson so I scooped up a handful of dirt and flung it on the hood. If Claude could of moved fast enough, I think he would of thrown himself in front of it, sacrificing himself.

“Now leave that mud where it is, and go drive around with pride.”

It was about this time that I realized that when I stood back up, my pants – weighted down with all them quarters – decided to stay down. So there I was, standing there in my boxers. The green ones with the golf clubs on them. On display for all to see.

“So, Claude, want some Doublemint?”
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Jesus Don't Get What's Important to Churches

We was having our Wednesday night meal at Unity First. The ladies had put together a great dinner of spaghetti, garlic bread and seven-layer salad with your choice of ice tea or lemonade. It's not a meal at Riley's Diner but it was still awful good. Anyways, I was sitting with Tab Summers. He's our church clerk. Keeps track of who's here, who's left us, who's just joined and who's left us. He was picking at the mayo-drenched peas in his salad, so I asked what was on his mind. He pulls out this folder with charts and graphs that showed how attendance was going at Unity First over the years. Seems we lost quite a few members the last couple of years, and he was fretting about it.

"Reminds me of a story I saw on some guy's blog," I told him. "Seems these archaeologists found this ancient manuscript about a conversation between Jesus and a few of his disciples."

"You found this on a blog? How do you know it's true?"

"Well, what kind of person would make up stuff like that and lead people to think it was true?"

"Carl, just because it's on the inter--"

"Do you wanna hear this story or don't you?"

"Go ahead."

"Good. See, this conversation takes place right after John 6:66. That's where it says, 'From this time many of His disciples turned back and no longer followed Him.' "

Now here's how the story goes that I told Tab about:

It seems Jesus was praying under a tree in the heat of the day when this familiar voice greeted Him.

"Jesus, we need to talk."

Jesus looks up and sees Peter strutting over, with Matthew and John not far behind. "Sure, Pete, what's up?"

"It's about the people."

Jesus smiles. "What about them?"

"You haven't noticed?"

"Noticed what?" He opens this pouch with a few dried figs and offers it to Peter.

"Our numbers are down," Peter says, waving his hand to decline the morsels. "Way down."

"And this worries you?" Jesus inspects one of the figs and holds the pouch out to the other men, shaking it. "Matt, John. They're really good."

Matthew shakes his head, but John quietly steps forward to fish out a couple figs.

"Something's gotta be done," Peter says, trying to regain control. "Judas says our cash flow is really tight. We'll be lucky if we can afford to buy a single fish from the market to feed all of us."

Jesus sighs. "You do know," He tells him, "I only need one."

"Yeah, right, but You haven't done that in a while. You need to do more of that fish-and-bread multiplying stuff. The crowds ate that up."

"They were hungry."

"I mean, they liked it. They thought it rocked. You do more of that flashy stuff to pull in the crowds, and our numbers are bound to go back up. Raise somebody else from the dead. That kind of thing."

"Numbers are important to you?" Jesus asks.

"How else can we tell how effective we are? Not long ago we had 5,000 men listening to us, but lately they've been dropping like locusts. What I'm saying here is someone's gotta take responsibility for this loss, and since You're at the top and all ..."

"Perhaps it's the ones who left you should talk to."

"Oh, we have. And we found out some disturbing news."

"Really? What was that?"

"Some of them are saying your messages, well, they've gotten kinda dry."

Matthew chimes in. "Depressing, too ... I mean, they say that. Not me. I wouldn't, y'know, I wouldn't say that. ... Can I still have a fig?"

"Sure thing, Matt," Jesus says, holding out the pouch as He turns to John. "And what do you think?"

John boy's been staring at the ground all this time, shuffling his feet in the dirt and tucking his hands in the pockets of his outer garment. "I just want us all to get along. Can't things be the way they were when we were all so happy?"

Peter frowns. John's always been kind of a wimp as far as he was concerned. "We have to look forward. You can't dwell on the past. This ministry's in jeopardy if we don't make a course correction. Matt, tell Jesus what you've learned."

"Yes, certainly." Matthew pulls this abacus from beneath his tunic. "I've been running the beads. It seems that giving is already down 54 percent. And the crowds are down by 64 percent compared to this time last month. My calculations indicate that we could well lose some of our biggest contributors if something doesn't change."

Jesus studies Matthew's abacus. "So what kind of course correction did you have in mind, Pete?"

Peter kneels beside Jesus, glad that He was finally starting to listen to reason. "You gotta do more stuff that gets people talking. They'll spread the word through the villages. That water to wine thing? Great stuff. Oh, and remember that time You walked on water?"

"That was the first time I ever did it. I was just getting My feet wet." Jesus laughs, but Peter don't find this funny.

"Picture this. We organize this big lakeside revival. Get some press releases out to all the scrolls. Prepare some direct marketing papyruses."

John interrupts here. "Don't you mean papyri?"

"Whatever," Peter says, clearly ticked off. "The thing is, on the big day, we send You out on a boat, like a hundred yards out. Then with the crowds gathered around the shoreline, You get out of the boat, walk straight to the shore on top of the water and start preaching. What an entrance!"

"So let me get this straight. You prefer that I have thousands of shallow followers, instead of a handful who are willing to follow Me wherever I send them?"

"Exactly!" Peter says. "Now we're getting somewhere!"

Jesus sighs again and places His hand on Peter's shoulder. "I know you mean well, but I have a different path to travel. And when it's all done, even more people are going to leave Me."

"But," Peter's struggling to find the right words here, "that's not -- It doesn't make any sense."

"It never has," Jesus assures him. "And it never will."
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That Cantata Incident Was Music to Victor's Ears

All right, I finally got this post written up again. Dang computer ate it or something a few days back. I was wanting to answer some of you who’ve been asking what it is I like about Riley’s Diner so much. In a word, lots and lots of privacy. You don’t think of a restaurant as a private place, but it’s not so much about who’s here as who isn’t.

See, I’m pretty involved in my church, Unity First, where I serve as head deacon emeritus. That’s a fancy title, but the truth is I was deacon chairman for a long spell until what folks at Unity refer to as “that cantata incident.” Suppose I oughta get around to telling you about that. For the record, I was only trying to help. Everyone loves a candle-lighting ceremony and everyone loves a banner procession in church Christmas musicals. Why not put the two of them together?

Let’s just say chaos ensued. First off, you would of thought they’d make Ned’s angel costume outta flame-retarded material. Apparently not. Ned’s a large fella, and he don’t handle stress all that well. So when he realizes his wings are on fire, he starts running like a mad man around the sanctuary, passing most of the sopranos’ banners in the process. This started an unfortunate chain reaction, with the sopranos waving their banners to put them out. Didn’t do no good.

Fortunately, the baptistery was filled up that night. Ned made his way back up front and did a cannonball right into it. The resulting splash soaked the sheep in the manger scene, all three of them, sending them stampeding over Mary and Joseph and baby Jesus. But that’s okay cuz he was just a doll that night. The Millers’ baby daughter got sick that night so we had to substitute at the last minute. No harm done.

For the record, most of the sopranos’ eyebrows grew back in time. We went ahead and finished out the cantata, and several of the firemen said it was the most beautiful thing they ever heard. One of them even got saved so the whole thing musta been providence.

Anyways, that’s all Victor Stern needed to convince the rest of the church that it was high time for me to step down as deacon chairman, a job he’s been craving a long time. So Victor becomes the new deacon chairman, and he convinces the church to create this position for me of head deacon emeritus. That’s their way of saying it was time to put me out to pasteurize.

Sorry. Got sidetracked there. It all still sticks in my craw, you know? Bunch of baloney sauce. Anyways, I was telling you about the people at Riley’s. Lots of different folks eat here from all over. Riley gets over-the-road truckers, traveling business folks, college kids pulling all-nighters, most everyone you can imagine. What he don’t have is a lot of people from church, and that’s the way I like it.

It’s not that I don’t like the people at my church. They’re good people, but I see them two times on Sundays and once on Wednesdays. And that don’t count the potlucks, revivals and all the other happenings. That’s enough Christian folk for even a Christian. Sometimes we forget what real life is like when we spend all our time at church. Truth be told, we start to thinking we’re better than most other folks. That’s why I like all these new faces at Riley’s. They’re refreshing. Real.

I got a few deacon buddies that meet me here for breakfast every Monday and Thursday morning. You heard about Larry last time. He’s a good boy, but gets a burr in his bonnet now and then. He claims he don’t get angry cuz that’s a sin, just gets righteously indignant. I mentioned Ned a little while ago. He’s kind of an accountant, which automatically makes him a member of the church's finance committee. Gets real nervous. Right now, he's the chairman. When he gives the monthly financial report to the congregation, he wears his suit jacket so you can’t see the big pools of sweat building up under his armpits. I’ll tell you about the other guys some other time.

Now what I was meaning to tell you about in the first place happened on a Wednesday morning at Riley’s so the other deacons weren’t due in for breakfast. It’s just me. On these days, you’ll find me at the counter, having my steak and eggs with my coffee – double cream, no sugar – and chatting with the customers. Riley’s got himself this little silver bell on top of the door at the main entrance so you know when someone’s coming or going. It starts to ringing so I turn to have a look. My eyebrows shoot halfway up my scalp. It’s Victor Stern and a couple of his cronies.

Vic is always all smiles and courteous-like. He’s a bald fella, except around the ears, with this neat little charcoal gray moustache. He’s always looking up slightly, chin raised, like God’s talking to him and he wants to pay careful attention. Most folks think he’s a nice guy, but they forget that nice don’t always mean good. Vic spots me and glides over to the counter.

“Morning, Carl. Delightful to see you,” Vic said. “Isn’t that right, brothers?” He was talking about Claude Aycock and Sid Weimer, both of them deacons at Unity First. They’re two of Vic’s most popular groupies so they’ve clearly gone to the dark side. These two don’t have a thought they don’t run by Vic first.

“That’s the truth,” Claude said. “Amen,” Sid chimed.

“What brings you hear, Vic?” I asked.

“Victor,” he corrects me, smiling. Since he was named deacon chairman, he started going by Victor.

“I thought we’d stop in for some coffee. We’re on our way to a new men’s prayer meeting. It meets once a month. It’s a time for men of Christian faith to unite in prayer and discuss the pressing moral issues of the day. We can no longer remain silent.”

“Amen,” Sid said, followed by another “That’s the truth” from Claude.

“Silence’s never been much of a problem for you, Vic.”

“Victor.”

“Whatever.” I take a sip of my coffee. “So what pressing moral issues of the day will you be discussing?”

“Cloning. It’s past time man stop playing God.”

“Preach that, brother,” Claude said. “Amen,” Sid responded.

“Funny thing,” I said, looking at Claude and Sid. “I would of guessed you was all for it.”
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Some Things Just Ain't Worth Fighting Over

This is my first time doing one of these blogs so here goes. It was a couple days back when I’m enjoying my steak and eggs at Riley’s Diner. So far at the table, it’s just me and Larry, he’s one of the younger deacons at Unity First. The other deacons ain’t got here yet. Anyways, Larry breaks the news to me.

“Well, I’ll be. Brother Wright’s here, Carl.” Just when I thought nothing was gonna ruin my breakfast.

Brother Wright, now he’s the assistant pastor at Unity First. Been there for five years, which is sort of a miracle. For some reason, most of our senior pastors – you know, I don’t know why we call them that cuz nearly all of those boys have been half my age. Anyways, they don’t last more than a year. That’s when they announce from the pulpit that God has called them somewhere’s else – anywhere. God always seems to call these boys to larger churches with bigger paychecks. Just once, I’d like to see one of them say that maybe God’s called them to, I don’t know, some dirt-poor country church where a handful of old folks need some ministering. Or maybe some place in a big city helping people who don’t know where their next meal’s coming from. God’s plan for these kind of preachers always seems to be an upwardly mobile career path. Go figure.

Anyways, back to Brother Wright. He ain’t a bad guy. He’s done a lot of good at the church. He really cares about our folks. Made them part of his life. My big problem with this fellow is he’s one of those types that act like he’s never made a mistake. There’s a pretty popular phrase whispered in the hallways around our church. “Brother Wright. Never wrong.”

Me and Larry give Brother Wright a friendly wave while he makes his way up to the counter for a juice and one of Millie’s fresh-baked muffins. That’s one of the things you can count on in our little town of Unity. We’re friendly folks, whether we want to be or not.

When Brother Wright was called … That’s a preacher word for “hired” cuz a lot of preachers don’t like to think they work for the church, just God. That way when they say God told them to do such-and-such, a lot of church folk feel like they can’t question it cuz they’d be arguing with God. I ain’t never been one of those folks. Sorry, I’m drifting off course. Anyways, when Brother Wright was called to Unity First, we brought him on as minister of music, youth, senior citizens, education, outreach and maintenance. All the stuff our pastor don’t wanna do. Brother Wright still does all these things since we made him assistant pastor. We just needed to make it easier to read his business cards.

Now here’s something that’ll give you an idea of how hard-headed Brother Wright can get. When we made him assistant pastor, he insisted at the business meeting – that’s when folks at Unity First get together once a month to vent their frustrations – that he needs to be called associate pastor. Or better yet, executive pastor, which is what a lot of them bigger churches are doing. Either title, Brother Wright tells us, is more consistent with New Testament teaching. Unfortunately for Brother Wright, the voting church members weren’t swayed by his hermeneutics. Fact was he had to spend 15 minutes explaining to us what hermeneutics meant. To me, it sounded kinda communist.

Brother Wright’s working his way over to our table cuz he can’t just wave back at us. He’s gotta one-up us, you know, and make some small talk. “Brother Carl,” he tells me with a smile that looks like it don’t belong on his face. “What a surprise to see you and Larry here.” He’s lying, of course, cuz he knows me and four or five other deacons meet here every Monday and Thursday for breakfast. But it’s just a little lie, not one of the big lies, like “I didn’t have sex with that woman” or “Iraq’s got them weapons of mass destruction.” God kinda tolerates little lies cuz it’s so popular in churches. If He did deal with them, half our churches would be empty. And if He dealt with gossip, that would take care of the rest of them.

It’s about this time that Brother Wright looks at the steak and eggs on my plate. “I’ve been doing an in-depth study in the Word, Brother Carl.” Here it comes. Whenever Brother Wright shares his insights from the Bible, it involves how the listener ain’t right with God. “It was God’s will for all of us to be vegetarians. It wasn’t till Adam sacrificially followed Eve into sin and was ejected from the garden that God had created for him, that mankind began to eat meat. Clearly, a byproduct of sin’s entrance into the world.”

I looked at Brother Wright’s smile for a moment. I pushed my plate away from me. “Maybe you’re right.”

This was more than Larry could handle. The boy’s been known to fly off the handle now and then. He misses those days of the Old Testament when God would get real good and angry and do a lot of smiting. It’s not that he don’t like the New Testament. He does. He just thinks God mellowed out a little too much by that time. “I never heard something so foolish. It don’t say anywhere in the Bible that we can’t have a good hamburger.”

“Just listen to the man, Larry. Maybe he’s right.”

Brother Wright’s smile, hard to believe, got even bigger. “Thank you, Brother Carl. I’m only the messenger. My calling is to tell you what God has shown me in His Word. I don’t expect everyone to understand the nuances involved in rightly translating the Word. It’s up to you, Brother Larry, to decide whether you obey God or not.”

“That’s mighty Christian of you,” I said. And with that Brother Wright made his way out of the diner. Watching him go, I could feel Larry’s glare burning into the back of my skull.

“You’re not going to tell me, Carl, that you buy that manure for one minute.”

“You gotta know what battles are worth your trouble,” I told Larry. “Sometimes, you gotta tell someone that maybe he’s right cuz it ain’t worth all the air you’re going to waste on an argument that don’t matter.”

“If you let him take an inch now, next thing you know he’s gonna have the church serving nothing but fruits and vegetables at all the potlucks. He’ll have the bacon removed from the seven-layer salads. Who wants a six-layer salad? Where’s it all gonna end? Someone’s gotta stand up to that kinda arrogance.”

“Larry,” I said as I pulled my plate closer and dragged a piece of steak through a yolk puddle. “Maybe you’re right.”

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