Chapter 2: Covering

“Get it, will you?” Jen called from the bathroom. Get what? Oh, yes. The phone was ringing. Since the phone was never for him, David had learned to ignore it. And it was especially unlikely to be for him on a Saturday.

“Independence United Methodist Church.”

“Professor David Blake, please.” It was for him.

“Speaking.”

“This is Terry Metzger. I’m superintendent of the Northern District.”

“Yes, Reverend Metzger.” Jen came out of the bathroom and looked a question to him.

“Bob Lawrence,” said Metzger, “the pastor of Aldersgate UMC in Evanston, just had a stroke.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Just a moment.” He took the handset away from his face and covered the mouthpiece. “For me. Bob Lawrence just had a stroke. Know him?”

“Not really,” said Jen. “I’ve heard the name.”

“Stick around.” Jen would anyway. She was sympathetic to the ill. “Yes, Reverend Metzger,” he said into the phone.

“Your name is on a list of Garrett professors who might substitute-preach. I know Saturday is late notice, but could you cover for him?”

“Well, actually, you’d have to ask my wife. ‘Love her, cherish her, and attend her worship services.’ Isn’t that part of the standard service for the marriage of woman pastors?”

“Not when I perform them.”

“Strange. Campbell told me it was. Anyway, you can ask her.” He handed the phone to Jen and nodded vigorously.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Jen. “Of course I will. I’ll keep him in my prayers, too. No. Well, you can ask Reverend Campbell, but David’s like that. Don’t ask him about St. Paul’s recipe for chili.” She handed him the phone.

“She says that she’ll permit you,” said Metzger. “Do you know the address?”

“I probably could find it.” He’d seen the church. Metzger gave him the address anyway, and the phone number of Bill Pierce, the chairman of Staff-Parish. “Does he know?”

“He knows that Lawrence was hospitalized with a stroke. He doesn’t know about you.”

“Thanks. I’ll call.”

He did. Pierce expressed concern about his pastor and thought there was nothing distinctive about Aldersgate’s service David should know. This might be accurate; on the other hand, Pierce might just be so used to the pastor’s standing on his head to deliver the sermon that he thought every pastor did it. “There is a bulletin; and Ralph Jenkins, the organist, gets there early. You probably should talk with him. I’ll get there at ten, if you want. I have a key.”

“Fine. Meet me outside?”

“I’ll be standing at the door,” Pierce promised. Then he changed the subject. “Look, your name sounds familiar. Were you ever involved with INFACT?”

“Yeah. You were at the Chicago meetings.” David could remember him.

“Still am.”

“I married and my wife serves a church way west.”

“Kind of you to come all the way to help us out.”

“Not at all. Glad to be of service -- just sorry for the occasion.”

“And just why,” Jen asked after he hung up, “did you give Metzger that cock-and-bull story about needing my permission?”

“I do need your permission -- need your permission to do anything. I’m terribly henpecked.” When she looked dubious, he continued, “Well, why should I do a favor for a DS? I’ll never need a favor in return. You, on the other hand, will be up for appointment by the cabinet every year he’s on it. Know how long that will be?”

“I could look it up. David, you are devious.”

“Devious enough to trap you into marriage. I’ve got to go prepare a sermon.”

“Want me to cook dinner?”

“It would take as long to hand over the details.” They tended to cook different things on their days in the kitchen. Together with the takeouts he sometimes brought home and the Sunday dinners at her parishioners, it made for a varied cuisine.

“And do you want to skip Chronicles tonight?”

“Well, you don’t skip ‘cause you’re going to preach in the morning. I’ll be all right. Remember, we had the study last Sunday.” And that would be a help. He’d been reading a chapter a night of the Old Testament since before he’d proposed to Jen. He would read the whole chapter, focus on some part, and ask himself what address that had for him. After their marriage, he suggested doing the same routine for her on the three Lectionary passages, one a night, starting the Sunday before. In return, she’d offered to take over leading the discussion of his chapters. They didn’t always have time for it, but they both got an in-depth understanding of the Scriptures that way. And he was certain that he would never understand the New Testament in the way that his profession required until he understood the Old Testament in the way that the New -Testament authors had.

Jen called the Watsons to tell them that he wouldn’t be coming to dinner the next night. None of her parishioners ever seemed to serve a meal which wouldn’t feed an extra dozen if they happened to drop in. Still, it was only polite to warn the cook that the guest list would be shorter.

He went back to read all three passages from the Lectionary, but he’d already figured that he would preach on the Gospel. That was John the Baptist’s recognition of Jesus as recorded by the other John. They’d had half an hour on that passage Sunday night, and he’d prepared beforehand for leading that discussion. Then, he’d listened to Jen’s rehearsal of her sermon Thursday night. He wasn’t what he’d call prepared, and Metzger hadn’t given him much notice. Still, he was better prepared than most would be at that notice.

He decided to ignore the statement that the Baptist hadn’t known Jesus, when Luke had him as a cousin. That would make a good class-discussion topic, but this was a sermon. He’d concentrate on John’s recognizing Jesus and end on “take away the sins of the world.” He had an approach in mind by the time he went to prepare dinner. He thought about ways of expressing it while cooking; Jen was quiet during the meal to let his ideas percolate.

“Still want to do Chronicles?” she asked after the meal was over. They did Chronicles, although some sermon ideas intruded on contemplating the entry of the Ark into Jerusalem during his contemplation time. She chased him off and cleared the table by herself. Normally, that was his job Saturday night; but her sermon had been finished Thursday.

He typed the sermon out, read it over aloud and made some corrections. He typed it out again triple spaced and recorded a cassette of it.

Jen curled against him in her sleep, as usual. He woke with his erection pressed against the crack in her seat. This was even less appropriate than it was on most Sunday mornings. He took his bathroom time before hers, as if this were a teaching day.

She kissed him at the door after breakfast. Then he got into the car with his sermon on paper and on tape. Weekdays, he took the train in to Chicago and bus and El from the station to the seminary. This morning, he drove straight to Evanston. Traffic, mostly trucks, flowed smoothly. It was a bitterly cold day, but clear and dry. He listened to his sermon as he drove, pulling over twice to rewind.

When he got to the church, he had to circle twice to find a parking space. Pierce got out of his car when he saw David climbing the church steps. They had to go around to a side entrance. “I don’t even know if the main door can be opened from outside,” said Pierce.

The bulletin presented no great surprises. They had a lector and called him a ‘liturgist.’ Pierce opened the service with an announcement of their pastor’s illness and an introduction of David. The congregation, no great crowd, straggled in late enough that half of them missed it. The lector read the Gospel and Epistle, using ‘inclusive language.’ David wondered briefly what Queen Elizabeth would think of the opinion that ‘kingdom’ was sexist language; she was monarch of the United Kingdom, after all. When it was time for his sermon, he repeated the reports of their pastor’s illness.

He got through the service, and people were friendly in the line going out afterwards. More concern was expressed for Lawrence’s health than gratitude for his filling in, but he’d have been shocked if it had been otherwise.

Despite having lunch at a diner before getting on the interstate, he got home before Jen did. “You missed a fine meal,” she said.

“What I really missed was a fine wife. Service go okay?”

“Except that I didn’t hear your voice on the hymns and the responsive readings. Yours?”

“They had a service. Most were expressing concerns for Lawrence.”

“You always say that,” she said. “I bet not many people could preach from the Lectionary on less than 24 hours’ notice.”

“Not many people could produce a good sermon on 24 hours’ notice. Most preachers could produce some sermon on one hour’s notice.” Jen used to write her sermons on Saturday, after all. “Anyway, I’m married to you. I had the advantage of the Lectio Divina and hearing your sermon.” Not that these were high on his list of reasons he was glad to be married to her.