A number of years ago, in a small town not far away, our family had the good fortune to attend a small country church.
At the time, our congregation met in a 100-year-old church building located in a cow pasture out in the country. The setting was picturesque, even rustic. Other than the occasional rattlesnake on the grounds, and the sometimes-present dirt daubers hovering over our heads in the sanctuary during service, all worked just fine.
Our church family consisted of some of the most genuine and precious people I have ever known. Our Pastor, Perry, was fresh out of seminary, and he was a fantastic preacher. We ingested solid expository preaching every Sunday.
Besides our regular Sunday service gatherings and Wednesday night prayer meetings, our church offered other frequent activities. A favorite was our monthly "food on the floor" gathering.
This monthly potluck saw each family show up lugging pots and platters full of delectable foods of every kind (brisket, beans, coleslaw, casseroles of all kinds, desserts too numerous to count, and heavenly rolls).
Other activities included the usual holiday gatherings, occasional game nights, and our once-a-year Reformation Festival, commemorating Martin Luther’s launch of the Reformation (held every October 31 – the date in 1517 when Martin Luther nailed his ninety-five theses to the church door in Wittenberg – this provided a convenient collision with Halloween – we did dress up).
But perhaps the most anticipated annual event at our little church was held each February to mark Valentine’s Day.
Our church Valentine’s Banquet combined food and fun. The church ladies would typically serve a spaghetti dinner (the menu sometimes varied), added fun decorations and various members devised games for all the couples to play.
Anyone eager to contribute to the evening was encouraged. One year I wrote and recited a poem for my wife entitled My Love is Like a Duroc Hog.
Another year, a heartfelt harmonica serenade was offered to all the ladies who would listen.
A staple part of the evening involved games. Name That Tune was popular, where obscure songs from the past 50 years were played and we had to name them.
The winners were branded the most worldly and viewed with suspicion. One year I won a round by naming Disco Duck – a horrible song from the ‘70s that is hard to forget if you’ve ever heard it.
Guess That Couple was also popular.
Old photos were dredged up and put on display. Our job was to determine who was pictured, and then laugh at their transformation.
One year, sensing a lack of enthusiasm as February approached (the spaghetti ladies were tired, and creative energy lacking from the game people), my rowdy friend Colby and I offered to put on the Valentine’s Banquet.
What followed a few weeks later became part of our infamous church lore. In hushed tones, people still talk about it.
Our wives pitched in and prepared an awesome meal (I think we had lasagna for a change). Decorations (balloons and flowers) added ambiance.
We concocted some fun and romantic games for all the couples.
But the climax of the eve-
ning was a special church raffle.
To maximize the fun, winners were predetermined, and the game was fixed.
For two practical couples in our congregation, we gave sensible prizes – one bag of Quikrete cement and one case of creamed corn.
Another couple, who were known to imbibe, won a bottle of wine. The label read Naked Wine, so the beverage was even more scandalous.
In all seriousness, we shared the fact (creative license exercised here) that this year, we had found a sponsor for our Valentine’s Banquet. This business was to be thanked and, if members were so inclined, support- ed. Our fictitious sponsor was Angry Ike’s Tattoo & Piercing (located in a neighboring town). To authenticate things, Angry Ike had sent a gift certificate sporting his signature (so it had to be real).
The certificate awarded the bearer with one free Justin Bieber tattoo, inked on the body part of his or her choice.
A hush fell over the crowd as this was awarded to one lucky couple in our church.
There is some debate about the specific gift that pushed our fun over the line that evening and resulted in an elders’ meeting later (good news, Colby and I evaded church discipline, just barely). Colby thought it was the bottle of Naked Wine.
And the Justin Bieber tattoo gift certificate didn't help. But I am convinced that it was the final raffle prize of the evening, the Grace Bible Church Birth Control Kit. It was won by one of our favorite couples in the church. They had several children, all daughters, and it appeared they were intent on continuing recurring childbirth until they finally dropped a son.
The kit consisted of several useful items. Included were Billy Bob buck teeth and ugly birth control glasses, worn by either spouse to make them unattractive in bed. We added bad breath mints to compound the effect. Also included were birth control stockings.
These were hideous. We took a pair of extra-large pantyhose, covered the legs with spray adhesive, and applied gobs of black dog hair collected from my son’s border collie.
The idea was for the wife to wear these hairy stockings to bed as a discouragement to intimacy. Our amiable couple happily tried these on for all the church to see.
Though some sensibilities were offended, the whole night was a scream. I learned later that we had one visiting couple who were so warmed by our ability to laugh at ourselves that they decided to join the church.
It was a memorable evening. And Colby and I were not kicked out of the church, but I think it was close.
It is good to laugh. I am convinced that God has a sense of humor.
© 2024 Jody Dyer typewriterweekly.com
