A Sunday Lesson I’ll Never Forget

The old pews had been hand-hewn, nearly a century earlier, from single planks sawn from the great white pine forests of the Ottawa Valley. Carefully mortised into elegantly carved end pieces, those planks had held generations of solemn Baptists Sunday after Sunday.

The back pew furthest from the door was favoured by the more youthful contingent, glad for each others’ company, and the occasional distraction from solemnity. Well, maybe more than occasional.

The pews had stood the test of time, so none of us were quite ready for what happened that winter morning when just one more young person was squeezed in than the carpenters had had in mind. Ten was comfortable, eleven a little tight, twelve a challenge, and the thirteenth was frankly impossible. But we made it work– everyone turned slightly sideways, and the thirteenth youthful frame shimmied and wedged its way in.

Nobody breathed as we sat there, pleased with our achievement. It was one for the record book. And there we sat, barely breathing, through the announcements and about fifteen minutes into Pastor Ken’s sermon.

But even amongst Baptists the laws of nature still apply. With a crack that even the Anglicans down the street could hear, the outer ends of the pew blasted out in opposite directions. Thirteen horrified youngsters rode the old plank to the floor, where we sat in the stunned silence which fell over the little church.

It could have been bad, as little old ladies turned to scowl and stern deacons rose to their feet to confront this outrage.

What, or rather who, saved us was Pastor Ken. Partly because he was a wise man, and partly because he had a keen sense of humour, he began to roar with laughter until tears ran down his cheeks. For some time, he couldn’t go on preaching. The congregation took his cue and soon enough everyone was howling with laughter. Even the deacons and the little old ladies.

Except us. Thirteen teens slunk sheepishly to seats nearer the front and sat in grateful silence as Pastor Ken wound up his message.

I’ve sometimes thought back to those days, and Pastor Ken’s reaction, because he was spot on. He chose to show mercy to a baker’s dozen silly kids and let the matter deal with itself. Nobody had been hurt, the pew was repairable. More important, we learned the greatest lesson of the year: stupidity has its consequences. We all grew a little wiser that winter Sunday. Nobody (including Pastor Ken) can remember what the sermon was that day, but everyone remembers the lesson.

In our increasingly uptight society where we’re all spend so much time lecturing one another, maybe there’s something to be said for Pastor Ken’s point of letting consequences be their own lesson.