Little Church is in a small town with a large agricultural festival. Thousands of people drive in to buy the ag product, hear stories, music and buy crafts. Townspeople participate or hide in their homes behind locked doors.
I attended the festival years ago before I knew Little Church. The weather sweltered with humid heat.
Two times in my life I believed that I would die of heat: at the Neshoba County Fair during a National election year political speech fest and at Ag Fest.
I suggested we open the church for the festival during my first year there. No one seemed interested. No one. Turns out that the crowds would overwhelm our antique plumbing and no one wanted to stand around and watch this happen.
A laughing church member just called to say she was sorry but she couldn't find where they were doing the "Dunk the Preacher" booth this year. She asked around but no one seemed to know. Maybe I was off the hook this year, she said.
Like I'd go there to be dunked. First, it's not dignified. Second, it might cool me down but nope, and, third, like I'd get on a bench to be hit by a softball.
I'm serious about minstry in the community but not that serious.
St. Casserole, dignified as ever