The church looked like a post card,
Well-kept lawns and shiny steeple.
It had a sign out front that said,
“All are welcome, we love people.”

The men all dressed in Sunday suits,
The women were all neat and prim.
The church was treated like God’s house
And they all came to honor him.

It was an ivy college town
But students hardly ever came.
The mood much too stiff and proper,
In deference to God’s holy name.

Then their pastor of many years
Decided that he would retire.
The one chosen to replace him,
Was young and full of pep and fire.

Things he did were thought outrageous,
It caused the saints to grimace and sigh.
He sometimes took his suit coat off
And loosened up his too loud tie.

Brother Bill, the senior deacon,
Was taken by the preacher’s style.
The discomfort of the members
Would always bring a secret smile.

He thought all of them too stuffy
And wondered how best he could teach them.
If God would give a little help,
Show him how best he could reach them.

And then one Sunday morning service,
A youth came walking through the door.
You could hear the audience gasp
When they first saw the clothes he wore.

His old jeans were ragged cutoffs,
His hair was in a ponytail.
Boldly written on his T-shirt,
Was, “Jesus doesn’t ever fail,”

The members in their chosen pews,
With disapproving sideways looks,
Filled the empty seats beside them
With Bibles purses and songbooks.

The student saw that they’d left him
Without an empty seat to hunt.
So he proceeded up the aisle
And then he squatted down in front.

While from his seat back by the door,
Old Brother Bill watched the sad scene.
He couldn’t believe the members
Could treat a human soul so mean.

And then with arthritic steps,
Brother Bill walked up the aisle
And when the members saw him go,
Each of them wore a knowing smile.

Brother Bill would give the student
The lecture he so much deserved.
And surely he’d be told to go,
The church’s sanctity preserved.

But when he reached the student’s side,
He joined the boy down on the rug.
Then reached across the young man’s back
And gave his longhaired neck a hug.

A stillness fell across the church,
A hush that lasted quite a while;
One by one the other deacons
Got up and followed down the aisle.

And one by one they all got down
And joined the others squatting there,
In front of friends and family.
But none of them had seemed to care.

Then as they squatted on the floor,
Their arms on shoulders formed a ring.
The once stern faces moved to tears
As the church choir began to sing.

The pastor took his sermon notes
And laid them over to one side.
“The love these men have shown today
Is why our Lord and Savior died.”

And then he said with shaky voice,
Emotions visibly upset,
“The sermon I prepared will fade
But Brother Bill’s, you won’t forget.”

Those of us who were brought up in church like to honor God by dressing nicely when we go to worship in His house. After all, if we had been invited to the governor’s mansion, we wouldn’t go in cut-offs and a T-shirt.

As you will see when you read The Sermon, Brother Bill’s actions were worth a whole month of sermons.