Soup and Prayer
"Dad, why were you talking about soup in church today?"
That was Eshetu's question as we finished scraping the last of the winter ice from our driveway in the late afternoon on Sunday. I assumed, wrongly, that he was talking about my announcement about our Wednesday soup suppers followed by evening prayer (6p and 7p respectively, if you'd care to join us tomorrow!).
"Not the soup suppers. You were praying for soup. Why were you doing that?"
I can assure you that at no time during worship was I praying for soup. My sermon had not been about soup either. I began with a connection to our brothers and sisters hurt by the Haiti earthquake. I got in a jab on Pat Robertson and his January 13th suggestion that the plight of the Haitians was somehow connected to what he called a pact with the devil. I connected that stupidity with the stupidity of those who approach Jesus in Luke 13 with a question of cosmic justice.
But at no time did I pray for soup.
And then it hit me. Perhaps it was the fresh air and manual labor clearing my head. But suddenly, it dawned on me. During the prayers, while praying for the people of Haiti in the aftermath of the great quake, I included prayers for the victims of another earthquake and ensuing tsunami, the people of ... wait for it ... Chile.
And my son -- future competitive eater -- heard the word as Chili. And he wondered why dad would offer prayers for soup.
I used to hear stories about kids saying the darnedest things and think, "Right. Some kid said that. Give me a break. Some adult thought of a clever pun and pretended it came from the mouth of a child. Grow up already."
And I'm sure that many of you reading this are, right now, thinking that very thing. But I assure you it's true. Really. I mean it.
And now that I have a confirmed case of a child saying the darnedest thing, I could use it in a sermon in good conscience. The only bad thing is that since I have vowed to never tell embarrassing stories of my kids or get a laugh from the pulpit at their expense, I have to hold on to the story for 15 years or so.
Of course, that wouldn't stop any of you from using it in your line of work. Just keep it discreet. I don't want it getting back to Eshetu that I leaked an embarrassing story about him on the Internet. He might grow up hating me for it. And then every time I go to visit him, he'll give me a ... be sure to groan in unison now ... chilly reception.
And that's the news from Browerville.
That was Eshetu's question as we finished scraping the last of the winter ice from our driveway in the late afternoon on Sunday. I assumed, wrongly, that he was talking about my announcement about our Wednesday soup suppers followed by evening prayer (6p and 7p respectively, if you'd care to join us tomorrow!).
"Not the soup suppers. You were praying for soup. Why were you doing that?"
I can assure you that at no time during worship was I praying for soup. My sermon had not been about soup either. I began with a connection to our brothers and sisters hurt by the Haiti earthquake. I got in a jab on Pat Robertson and his January 13th suggestion that the plight of the Haitians was somehow connected to what he called a pact with the devil. I connected that stupidity with the stupidity of those who approach Jesus in Luke 13 with a question of cosmic justice.
But at no time did I pray for soup.
And then it hit me. Perhaps it was the fresh air and manual labor clearing my head. But suddenly, it dawned on me. During the prayers, while praying for the people of Haiti in the aftermath of the great quake, I included prayers for the victims of another earthquake and ensuing tsunami, the people of ... wait for it ... Chile.
And my son -- future competitive eater -- heard the word as Chili. And he wondered why dad would offer prayers for soup.
I used to hear stories about kids saying the darnedest things and think, "Right. Some kid said that. Give me a break. Some adult thought of a clever pun and pretended it came from the mouth of a child. Grow up already."
And I'm sure that many of you reading this are, right now, thinking that very thing. But I assure you it's true. Really. I mean it.
And now that I have a confirmed case of a child saying the darnedest thing, I could use it in a sermon in good conscience. The only bad thing is that since I have vowed to never tell embarrassing stories of my kids or get a laugh from the pulpit at their expense, I have to hold on to the story for 15 years or so.
Of course, that wouldn't stop any of you from using it in your line of work. Just keep it discreet. I don't want it getting back to Eshetu that I leaked an embarrassing story about him on the Internet. He might grow up hating me for it. And then every time I go to visit him, he'll give me a ... be sure to groan in unison now ... chilly reception.
And that's the news from Browerville.
Comments
Our pastor also got in a jab at Pat Robertson in his sermon this Sunday;)