What they didn’t teach pastors-to-be at Perkins School of Theology, Joy came to discover, was that the head pastor of a large congregation must be a politician, an administrator, have stately grey hair, be somewhat of a rock star, and give uplifting sermons for the older generation that never exceed 18 minutes. It’s a no-brainer -- let the head pastor have center stage and work backstage on what’s equally important, but more fun. The youth pastor’s job is to keep the kids engaged so there’ll be a next generation of United Methodists. Less pay, but nobody goes to seminary for the earning potential.

The hiring of a youth pastor -- one with seminary credentials, at least -- doesn’t require all the institutional rigmarole. A congregation puts out the word, interested candidates apply, there’s a visit, and if the match seems right, it’s done.

Joy liked what she’d read about Trinity United Methodist, and there she was, giving -- as even a youth-pastoral candidate must do -- a Sunday sermon “so we’ll get to know you.” No problem, as Perkins produces preachers who can preach, and that’s with a capital P.

What almost made her lose her place in the 2,056-word sermon -- pared last night from 2,645 -- was looking from the pulpit and seeing Alex. It had been years, but no question about it; it was Alex. He’d looked just as startled at seeing her, but in the meet-and-greet in the foyer, there he was again, cool as a cucumber.

“Joy! What a surprise!” as he shook her hand. “This is my wife, Nora,” introducing her to a bright-eyed woman at his side, the pair seeming what a denomination having too-many members with bluish-white hair needs these days. They’d discussed the challenge a great deal at Perkins.

“Joy and I overlapped at Wesleyan,” he explained to his wife, and then back to Joy, “I didn’t catch it in the bulletin because your name’s different. We’re so pleased to have you,” the latter sounding to Joy a bit formal for the only guy she’d ever slept with, other than Phil. “Your sermon was great.”

Then there were more parishioners to meet, all of whom said her sermon was excellent.

Alex, after all these years, but now everything was different.

They’d “overlapped” at Wesleyan? They’d met at freshman orientation and within that same week lost their virginities. She’d been so unsure of herself and he was the first boy ever to ask her out. He’d never really dated either, he later admitted, but was determined to act like a college boy. She knew it wasn’t about love, of course -- them having just met -- but maybe it would develop. Freshman optimism.

They’d gone to the choir room in the music building and done it on a piano cover.

She’d never before touched a penis, but when she realized that he didn’t understand how the rubber was rolled, she’d taken over. She’d been somewhat relieved how quickly he’d done it, it being rather uncomfortable.

But then for a while, things got better.

She could remember all the places they’d discovered -- not really discovered, as Wesleyan had no locations unknown to couples. They’d take a blanket behind the hedge by University Hall, whispering ahead in case the spot was already occupied. The first time she actually orgasmed was in the storeroom where he did his work-study. One late evening they’d gone to the top of the stadium. Another time they rented a canoe and found a bank with a currant bush. They’d done it 43 times, as she’d kept count. She still remembered the number.

She remembered the relief when her period would come, as she’d heard about boys pinpricking their rubbers to get you pregnant. Except for her roommate Bets, who didn’t return the next year for perhaps that reason, none of the others knew that she was having sex. That was good, as a story that follows you can derail your chances in ministry.

But by the time she was a sophomore, she was involved with Agape House and Alex would have canceled why she was involved with Agape. Why not be better, she’d told herself, but it was more related to just not knowing what to do.

And now here at Trinity UMC, Alex!

A new life, she’d promised herself her first day at Perkins School of Theology. Preparing for one’s calling was how you were supposed to think of it, but the way she saw it, a career helping Methodist youth discern theirs might be more realistic.

Perkins was how she’d met Phil, not a seminarian like herself, but he worked in the bank where she had her account. Friendly guy. Smart. Methodist, even, though SMU.

“Great seminary you’re at, Perkins. You went to Wesleyan, though?” with a dramatic grimace, Methodist academic rivalries being lively.

“Didn’t your SMU get arrested for cheating at football or something?”

“That coach wasn’t a Methodist.”

She’d laughed and said her Battling Bishops could demolish SMU’s horse any day in trivial pursuits, to which he said what category?

This looked like a guy worth getting to know.

Dated just two guys -- a bit of a drought between, perhaps -- but she’d found the right one. The other being prehistory Phil didn’t need to know about.

As it might have seemed odd to Phil on her triumphant candidating return, her not mentioning that one of her to-be parishioners she’d known at Wesleyan, she mentioned it in passing before describing Trinity’s work with the homeless. Nothing about him being “an old friend,” nothing like that.

All now here they were at Trinity, doing what she’d trained to do. Phil stepped right in as loan officer at a branch. Next step, manager. Double incomes, no kids -- not for a few years anyway -- and then she could go half-time,

Once Phil met Alex and Nora, he’d told Joy that she should recruit them for Methodist Youth Fellowship sponsors. “They’re fun and our future’s with our kids.”

“They’re in the choir and they play bridge,” Phil noted, “and get this -- she’s SMU!”

Phil would sit with Alex and Nora during the service -- Joy being upfront -- and she’d find them at coffee, afterward. The first time Alex, unasked, brought her two Splendas, no cream, -- How’d he remember? -- she hoped no one would ask how he knew, but it slipped by.

That Phil didn’t associate Alex with her days at Wesleyan -- she appreciated AAlex’svagueness regarding which years he was there -- was for the best, but should Phil ever make the connection, she could always remind him she’d told him when reporting on her candidacy visit.

It wasn’t often that she and Alex might exchange a recollection about Wesleyan -- Phil and Nora had SMU to look back on -- but not regarding their particular relationship. Prehistory.

It was impossible, though, not to remember the rest. Two of them looking at Wesleyan’s recruitment poster in Trinity’s foyer, she’s counted the ways they’d done it -- four.

His foot bumping hers under the table at Trinity’s Game Night was surely accidental, but for some reason it brought to mind the time she’d come twice. Probably a fluke, but so what?

In loading the chair carts, he’d brushed against her, but accidentally? Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so close. Perhaps he, too, was remembering things.

She was just being silly, her undone button at the Christmas Festival, no one but Alex seeing. He’d grinned.

He was just being silly, himself, the mistletoe, again nobody seeing. Had he actually touched her breast, or had she imagined it? It had been so fast.

Trinity’s youth would have voted to have the MYF conference be in Orlando or San Diego, but the UMC high-ups who weigh budgets selected Oklahoma City. The convention center would be air-conditioned, their promise.

The event would include a concert by SonRise, now riding the Christian charts with “You’re my Rock.” Joy had their CDs so she could identify with the kids.

Trinity had the budget to send Nora and Alex as MYF sponsors, and Joy because of her job. As Phil four could fit in the car and Joy’s room cost the same, single or double, he’d help out.