One Saturday, just three days before Christmas, the oldest church house in town burned to the ground. No one knew how the fire had started but once the flames took hold, the century-old wooden structure went up like a stack of dry kindling. One thing was for sure. Christmas at Locust Grove Baptist Church was canceled.
Pastor Blake sat on a nearby rock watching flames dance across the black slate roof and shoot out the windows. Dark brown smoke swirled in thick eddies around firefighters as they desperately tried to save the building. Then there was a tremendous crash. The heavy roof had caved in. Showers of sparks and tongues of flames stabbed into the sullen sky. "Why?" the pastor cried to Heaven. "Why?"
By now, most residents were aware that the church was on fire. Cars began arriving, mostly members. They watched in horror as the church of their fathers and grandfathers evaporated in flames. Some immediately ran over to the preacher. "What happened?" they shouted. "How did it start?" "Was anyone in the church?"
Pastor Blake could only shake his head. The words wouldn't come -- only the tears that coursed down his cheeks. Some of the church members tried to comfort him, a strange reversal of roles. For almost 30 years, Pastor Blake had always been there in times of trouble to comfort his flock -- now the congregation was comforting him.
He felt a tug at his elbow. It was his wife. "Come into the parsonage, John, and get out of the cold," she said. "You can't do anything out here. I made some hot coffee for you and anyone else who wants it."
Mrs. Blake, who loved Christmas more than any other time of the year, had already decorated the parsonage with her usual flair. Greenery hung everywhere. Sweet-smelling candles graced every table. A big tree, glistening with lights and ornaments, stood at the front window. Beyond that, across the barren field and in tragic contrast, was a clear view of the burning church.
"What are we going to do now?" one of the men asked the pastor.
"With God's help, we rebuild," Pastor Blake answered.
"How? If you collected all the money in this church, we still wouldn't have two nickels to rub together. Besides, we had to cancel our insurance -- remember? We couldn't afford it."
"What about the Sunday School pageant?" another woman asked. "The children..."
"What about anything?" Pastor Blake replied quickly. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I reckon we'll have to hold services elsewhere for awhile? Maybe the high school."
"I have an idea." It was the excited voice of a child. "Let's have church outside."
"Not now," hushed her mother.
The pastor smiled for the first time. "Actually, that's not a bad idea. Why not?"
The idea caught on quickly. "I can build a makeshift pulpit," said one of the men who was a carpenter. "We can hold the pageant outside if someone will build us another manger," said the Sunday School teacher. "No problem," replied the carpenter.
"What about the service tomorrow?" another asked.
"We'll just have to let tomorrow take care of itself," the Pastor replied.
The church's congregation all worked overtime to prepare for the Christmas service. The weather man was calling for snow and, for once, he was right. On Monday morning, Locust Grove woke up to two inches of white stuff.
A half hour before the service was to begin, a small delivery truck pulled up outside the parsonage. The driver was Matt Canon, who owned the local music store. Pastor Blake met him just as he was opening up the back doors of the truck. "What's this?" the pastor asked.
"Just making a delivery for some folks," Matt answered. Then he called around to the passenger side, "Come on, Tom. Get out here. We only have a little while to set this stuff up."
"Set what stuff up?" the pastor inquired, wrinkling his forehead.
"A PA system. We rent it out for outdoor rock concerts, but today it belongs to you."
"We can't pay for that!" the preacher protested. "Besides, what do I need with a PA system. I only have about 60 members of this church."
Tom grinned. "Sez you." He was then joined by his brother, Tom. "Got somewhere to plug this stuff in, Preacher?"
By the time the Canon Brothers set up their equipment, the first worshipers had started to arrive. In a few minutes, about 30 of them were present, including the full cast of the Christmas pageant. The makeshift pulpit was already in place, a piece of plastic draped over to protect the Bible from the snow. "Maybe this is going to work out after all," the Pastor thought to himself. Then he turned to go into the parsonage to get ready for the service.
Ten minutes later, his wife appeared at the bedroom door. "I think you'd better see this," she said.
"I'm only half-dressed," he protested.
"Nevertheless, you should come to the window. You're not going to believe it."
She was right. The field beside the burnt-out church was black with people, and lines of cars were still arriving. Some of the local police were even directing traffic.
"What the..." Pastor Blake ran back to the bedroom and quickly finished dressing. Then he ran out into the snow where a group of the town's clergy were gathered around the makeshift pulpit. "What's going on here?" Pastor Blake shouted.
"It's about time you showed up," joked the Rev. Dr. Smith, the rector of St. Annes Episcopal Church. "We brought you some congregation this morning."
"This is really neat," remarked Pastor Mitchell of First Methodist Church as he looked up at the falling snow. "I would have never thought to have a Christmas service outdoors. Easter is one thing, but this...."
"But what about your own Christmas services?" the puzzled pastor asked.
"Oh, we canceled those," answered the pastor of big Baptist Church downtown. "We all decided to come out here instead."
"Father Napier! You, too?"
The Catholic priest grinned. "Yeah. Me, too. Just don't tell the Holy Father. I wouldn't want to be excommunicated for leading my flock into a 'sinful' Protestant service. One day I want to be a bishop, you know."
"B-but, I've never preached an ecumenical service before," Pastor Blake sputtered.
"Relax, John," Rev. Thomas of the Locust Grove Church of the Redeemer said, putting his hand on Blake's shoulder. "I don't think anyone really cares what you say as long as you stick to the script."
"How many do you think showed up, Ben?" Fr. Napier asked Rev. Thomas.
Rev. Thomas grinned broadly. "There are a thousand if there is a dozen. I wish I could have a turnout like this for one of my sermons!"
The service went off without a hitch. The sifting snow added immeasurably to the beauty of the children's pageant. Rev. Blake was so happy with the proceedings that he almost forget to take up collection. But the ever-practical Pastor Mitchell reminded him and handed him three large plastic salad bowls that he had brought for the purpose. When they were returned, they overflowed with money and checks.
Pastor Blake was overcome with joy. "I don't know how to thank you for all this," he said.
"John," said Pastor Mitchell, "Praise God for his mercy toward all of us. And all of us praise Him for bringing you to this community. At least half of us here this morning have been a recipient of your kindness and your counsel. And most of your congregation give selflessly of their time and talent to this community." Then he smiled. "So, Merry Christmas from Locust Grove to you and your Church, and God bless all of you."
"By the way," Fr. Napier said as he was turning to leave. "One of my parishioners, Mr. T. Stanley Jackson, wants you to meet him at his bank on Wednesday at 9 a.m. Something about a loan for a new church. In the meantime, I'd like to invite your congregation to hold serves in the basement of St. Marys until your new church is built."
"Thank you," Pastor Blake said.
"No problem," Fr. Napier said winking. "Just don't tell the Holy Father. As I said, I want to be a bishop someday."
For the Son of Man is going to come in his Father's glory with his angels, and then he will reward each person according to what he has done. (Matthew 16:27 NIV)
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Copyright © 2000-2002 by Ed Price