Mustard Thursday

Periwinkle Chronicles, tales of the citizens of Periwinkle [because all the other colors were already taken] County: Mustard Thursday & Informing God
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The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, (Retard), which is how they pronounce retired in Periwinkle County, or at least that’s what they tell him, was in his usual booth at The Deja Moo Day-Old Large-Crud Cottage Cheese Shop and Coffee House, with a statue of a Holstein in the seat across from him, so no one would sit with him, lest he lose points in the Hermudgeon of the Year competition, hermudgeon being a conflation of hermit and curmudgeon, when Homer Runn came in and pushed the Holstein over and slipped into the booth across from him. There was a strange yellow spot on his forehead.

“I thought you’d be home rending your Cubs jersey, or sacrificing a billy goat, or some such, now that baseball season is starting,” said Randall.

“I’ve been to church,” said Homer. “It was a special service to start the baseball season, sort of like Ash Wednesday, except Pastor Patty smeared hot dog mustard on our foreheads. I was the liturgist today, so I read from Genesis. You know, In the big inning, God created the heavens and the earth, which is to say, She created first the National League, which is heavenly, and the American League, which is earth-bound, with its anti-biblical designated hitter rule.”

“You certainly have a strange way of interpreting scripture,” said Dr. Nathan.

“Hey, you’re the one who preached a whole sermon series on constipation, all that business about Moses taking two tablets and going into the wilderness, and Titus, and…”

“I was talking about spiritual constipation,” retorted Randall, “and how faith relaxes uptight people…”

“Don’t go on. I remember it too well already,” said Homer, an uptight look on his face. “Today’s worship was an ecumenical service. Mustard Thursday is the only time the righties and lefties will sit together, sort of like the relievers in the bullpen. Anyway, Sister Beulah Land was preaching, about how there is no crying in baseball, but there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth at the end of the season when the sheep and the goats, or at least those under the curse of the goat, will be left out of the kingdom again, but Pastor Patty had forgotten to tell her that the service had to be over by one o’clock, so everyone could get out in time to watch the Reds beat the Brewers on the Webster’s Definition TV at Barry’s Sports Bar & Steroids Outlet, and she couldn’t get at her, because she was sitting on the other side of the chancel, behind the icon of the Louisville Slugger, so she told C.D. Romm, the pastor of The Virtual Church South, of God, who was sitting beside her, to tell Sister Beulah Land, when he got up to give the opening day prayer just before Sister Beulah preached, but instead of making an announcement, he did it in the prayer. O Lord, Thou who knowest that this service must end promptly by one o’clock so that we won’t miss seeing the Reds beat the Brewers…”

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The similarity between the activities in Periwinkle County and events in other places is rarely coincidental.

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[“Christ in Winter,” Reflections On Faith For People In The Winter Of Their Years, can be found at http://www.christinwinter.blogspot.com/]

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