TRUTH FROM AN ASS

The Reverend Henry Wordsworth Goodfellow concluded his sermon. “And so we see that even from the mouth of an ass we can learn great truths.” His text this morning had been the 22nd chapter of Numbers, the story of Balaam and his ass.

Balaam had been recruited by the king of Moab to curse the Israelites who had come into the land from Egypt. As he made his way to accomplish this, the ass Balaam was riding could see that the angel of the Lord was blocking the way, and kept trying to avoid the angel. Balaam could not see this angel and became very upset with the ass. Finally, the ass spoke to Balaam and explained what was happening. Balaam was then able to see the angel.

As Pastor Goodfellow stepped away from the pulpit, a few guttural “Amens” could be heard. These were good conservative Protestant “Amens” that were often misunderstood as a simple clearing of the throat. People didn’t hear any
charismatic “Amens” at First Second Church, also known as Second First Church, of Branch Creek Village.


Pastor Goodfellow had not exactly jumped for joy when he had been assigned to this small rural congregation upon his ordination. Still, he was young, and no doubt greater things lay ahead. He had been pleased when notified of assignment to his synod’s Beatification Committee, but when the final orders had been printed, the word had been misspelled, and he instead was assigned to the Beautification Committee. So now he found himself making decisions about roses rather than saints.


After Pastor Goodfellow had greeted each of his congregants following the service, he headed home to the parsonage about 100 yards from the church building itself. He liked the fact that all the sidewalks between the church and the parsonage were parallel and perpendicular to each other. There were no curves. As he entered the parsonage, the first thing he noticed was the clock on his altar table. He was something of a tinkerer, and he had adjusted this electronic clock so it always read “11:11.” He liked all those "1s", so straight up and down, so straight and narrow. He hated numbers like 3 and 5 and 8 that went all over the place. One candle had been placed on each side of the clock, adding even more to the straight and narrow effect. Often when Pastor Goodfellow was involved in prayer or meditation, he would kneel at this table in front of the clock.

And so day passed into night, and Pastor Goodfellow was relaxing at home when he began hearing some sort of hum. Although no words were understandable, the sound was like that of numbers of people engaged in simultaneous conversation. The noise continued to grow louder, and eventually Pastor Goodfellow could no longer contain his curiosity. As he opened his door, he saw that a crowd was gathering at the church building, and the crowd was still growing. He began walking slowly toward the church, until one of his younger congregants came and took him by the hand. "Pastor,pastor, come and see, come and see." As he approached the church, he saw that while many people stood and watched, others stood in line and took their turn walking up to the church and touching, some even kissing, the outside wall. "I am healed," said one.


Pastor Goodfellow recognized this as Jeffrey Jenkins, a middle-aged member of his congregation. He was glad to know that Jeffrey was healed, although he had not known him to be sick. “I feel the Spirit,” said another,
as she touched the wall and fell back. Pastor Goodfellow became concerned. Judy Jasmine, another of his congregants, came to him
and said that people had seen the image of Balaam’s ass on the wall and were now being healed or filled with the Spirit when they touched or kissed the image. The idea that people were being healed by kissing Balaam’s ass was a little too much for Pastor Goodfellow to take. Indeed, he saw no image of any sort. Obviously, the light shining through the trees was creating a pattern on the wall many were seeing as Balaam’s ass. He could not let this go on. He yelled out, “Stop this. This is blasphemy. This is heresy. This is sin.”


And no doubt if Pastor Goodfellow had been in his pulpit making such statements, he would have been heeded. But out here, he was just another face among many. So while some turned to look at him momentarily, after noticing his countenance, they turned back to take their places in the crowd. In defeat, Pastor Goodfellow retreated to the parsonage. In anger, he determined that he would put this matter to rest when he took to the pulpit next Sunday. He would tell these people how they were resurrecting the golden calf the Israelites had built and worshiped when they became impatient because Moses was taking too long to come down from the mountain with the law of the Lord. He would tell them how they were rebuilding the tower of Babel by trying to create their own way to God. He would tell them that their faithlessness was like that of Lot’s wife, and no doubt God would have turned the entire village into a massive block of salt if he did such things today. He would tell them how God had found only eight people worth saving in Noah’s day, and he feared God might not find those eight now here in Branch Creek Village. He would lead his people back to
God.

And so the week wore on, and the crowds grew each night. Sunday came, and Pastor Goodfellow was anxious to get into the pulpit and begin his sermon. He tried to avoid contact with everyone, saying only a perfunctory "Hello" when he was forced to say anything. He tried to maintain a stern look, wanting everyone to know he was not happy and intended to let them know why. When it came time for him to step into the pulpit, he did so and looked down at his sermon notes. "Seduced by Superstion," his title read.

He looked out over the congregation. He caught the eye of the widow Dickinson – who liked to joke that she was the poet’s twin sister. Pastor Goodfellow thought he noticed a twinkle in her eyes he had not noticed before, as though she had been awakened by some marvelous new discovery.


Then noticing Billy Bob Smith, the young grocery sacker at the local supermarket, Pastor Goodfellow noted that Billy Bob was sitting on the forward edge of the pew this morning, leaning toward the pulpit as if in great anticipation. Pastor Goodfellow recalled that Billy Bob usually had a difficult time remaining awake to this point in the service. Then Pastor Goodfellow’s gaze shifted to Joe Barton, whose permanently grease-stained hands testified to his daily work as an auto mechanic. Joe’s mouth was open, as if something was on the tip of his tongue and he was about to speak. Pastor Goodfellow feared that if he didn’t begin his sermon quickly, Joe might burst out with one of those charismatic “Amens” even though there was nothing to be “Amen”ed just yet.


He again looked down at his sermon notes, saw that title "Seduced by Superstition," looked up and prepared to speak. But the words wouldn't come. Now he noticed something else. There were new faces in the crowd this morning - some of which he recognized as being from some of the other small towns around Branch Creek Village, others he did not recall ever having seen before. Again he looked down, and looked up, and still the words would not come.

Finally, he said “Please excuse me for a moment,” and to everyone’s surprise he walked down out of the pulpit and out the front door. Through the church windows, many in the congregation watched as he walked across the grass to the parsonage, avoiding the sidewalks. He went into the parsonage, and came back out after only a few seconds, carrying something in his hand.


When he had gotten about halfway back to the
church, someone yelled out, “It’s a clock.” And so it was. Pastor Goodfellow walked back into the church, up the center aisle and resumed his place in the pulpit. He tinkered with the clock for a few seconds, then plugged it into an outlet there on the dais. Only he could see the clock face, and he watched as the light in the clock turned on and he could read “11:11.” And he continued to watch as the clock next read “11:12,” then “11:13.”


Pastor Goodfellow again looked down at this notes. "Seduced by Superstition." As he again looked out over the congregation, he slowly closed the notebook containing the notes for that sermon. There would be plenty of time to revise and preach that sermon another day. Now he opened his Bible and began reading the text for what would be today's sermon:

"Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled."



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DAN J. MCDONALD