GETTING A BIT MORE THAN WE BARGAINED FOR WITH THAT SOLO

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At one time ‘Robert Smithson’ (not his real name) had been, for all I know, a passing second tenor, but by this time my trained ears could not detect any substantiation for believing that myth. And yet, given the fact that a church of our minute size had just so many Mario Lanza’s or Andrea Bocelli’s upon which to draw, Bob was allowed to sing as often as ‘the spirit moved him.’

Well, apparently one spirit or another moved him to sing on that particular Sunday since he made his way up to the podium just after the offering was taken, and prepared to do what he’d done so many times before. However, what fell together next was unlike anything to which he or his audience had ever been exposed; (with the emphasis on ‘exposed’).

Well, it might be said that things proceeded nominally for the first few minutes. As a matter of fact, Robert managed to complete his less than world class musical repertoire, and as he was about to depart the immediate area, it happened.

Robert’s pants …hit the deck! (Well, at least they hit the floor). And thus, in place of his khaki trousers, he had unintentionally invited us to get a load of his green and red plaid boxer shorts!

My wife emitted an almost imperceptible ‘oohhh’, while my eyes grew ‘as wide as saucers.’ For ‘right in front of God and everybody’ Robert momentarily modeled his tartan boxer shorts, matching socks and knobby knees.

Needless to say, ‘Bobby’ quickly retrieved his khaki trousers from the area immediately around his shoes, and levitated them to the region on or about his waist.

Given the scenario which had just materialized, Robert made as graceful an exit as I think I’ve ever witnessed. Admittedly, he didn’t have to exercise his grace all that long since the door leading to the hallway, and adjoining bathroom was just steps away.

I imagined we had seen the last of Bob, at least for that morning, (and possibly for the duration of his natural life) since there was an outside door next to the bathroom. However, hardly five minutes had ticked their way around the face of the clock when… Robert strolled into the front door, and unobtrusively made his way back to his appointed pew.

As a counselor, I have often said, “There is a fine line between grace and stupidity.” Upon reflection, however, I like to think our friend, Robert, exercised a great deal of grace that morning.

by Bill McDonald, PhD