“That’s OK. I Thought It Was a Bear Too”
Preacher Wyatt was a fine man. He was always kind to me. Most often, he would hand me a piece of “penny” candy whenever I was around him. Of course, that was a sure way to win the loyalty and admiration of an early elementary school lad like me. When I knew him, he was up in age, probably in his eighties. He had (what I now understand to be Parkinson’s disease) a tremor in his hands even his voice seemed to tremble when he was just talking. However, when he was preaching there was no frailty to be heard; only strength, assurance, and boldness. He was the pastor of the little white, wood-framed church that I attended often when I was with my uncle and aunt.
I must confess that most of the time my mind wandered all over the place when I needed to be listening to the sermon Preacher Wyatt was delivering. I enjoyed looking at the folks that would be gathered for the service. It was fun to see the expressions on the faces of the ones assembled. You would see stern faced men, (Deacons I imagined), tired faced women (mothers and grandmothers I supposed), pretty teenaged girls looking at handsome teenaged boys who were busy looking at pretty teenaged girls while trying to keep the teenaged girls from knowing they were looking at them, and, also, the restless young ones like me. In addition, it was so much fun watching embarrassed women punching their husbands in the ribs in an effort to awaken them from their slumbers during the service. At times, I looked out the open windows at the cattle in the pasture across the way. At other times, I would busy myself by stacking up the “song books” (We did not call them “hymnals” as that was too fancy of a word for us.) and/or playing with the mortuary fans (adorned with pictures of Jesus, prodigals, little sheep, boats on a lake, and so on.).
For some reason, I found myself listening to the sermon that Preacher Wyatt was preaching one Sunday morning. I was listening intently, hanging on every word, caught up in the rhythmic manner of his delivery. He was delivering a sermon on the sin of lying. There a two things that I remember from that sermon. First of all, he got (as my Grandfather used to say) “in a big way of preaching”. On that Sunday, while slapping the pulpit with his open hand and yelling loudly to emphasize his point, he spit his false teeth out. They came flying out of his mouth. He stuck out his hand and caught them. He stuck them back in his mouth, never missing a single syllable. He stopped suddenly; winked at the spell-bound congregation, and said, “You didn’t think I was going to catch them; now did you?” He started up again, right where he was, hardly missing a lick.
The second thing I remember from the sermon was a story he told in the midst of it. He said a small lad, about 5 or 6 (my age exactly), came running through the yard, up on the porch, bursting into the house, he startled his mother, half to death. Loudly and excitedly he exclaimed, “There’s a big, black bear in the yard!” His mother went to the doorway and peered out into the yard. She turned to the lad. Called him by his full name (The only time my mother ever called me by my full name was when I was in trouble. Bad trouble.). She said, “I’ll have you know, there ain’t no bear out there in the yard. All I see is our neighbor’s old black dog. Young man! I want you to go into your bedroom. Get down on your knees and ask Jesus to forgive you for telling a lie. And, furthermore, I don’t want you coming out of that room until the Lord assures you that you have been forgiven.” Well, obediently he went to his bedroom, closed the door, got down to business on his knees, and commenced to praying as sincerely as he knew how to do. Well, in just a few minutes he came running out of his room. Grabbing some of his toys he headed out to play. His mother stopped him; as only mothers know how to do. She said, “Just what do you think you are doing young man? I thought I told you to go to your room, to pray, and not to come out until the Lord forgave you. Now, what do you have to say for yourself?” The lad stopped his running and turned, facing his mother, he said, “Momma, I did just what you said for me to do.” To which his mother replied, “Well, what did the Lord say to you?” “The Lord said it was OK. For the first time he saw that dog he thought it was a bear too.”
Now I may not remember too much else about attending that church as a lad. But, I hope I never forget that particular Sunday.
Now let me tell you about that fish I caught one time…