It’s spring in Nashville. Or as I like to call it, the annual “Jon Acuff Sneeze-a-thon.” It’s similar to the Toyotathon except it involves way more tissues, red eyes and pollen induced fits of melancholy. It’s the time of year when I constantly have to begin conversations with people by saying, “I’m not crying right now, I just have allergies.”
Not one to go out without a fight, I’ve declared war on pollen. I’m popping Claritin D or the Walgreens version, “Wal-i-trin” like small delicious candies. I’m eating local honey. And I’m blowing my nose like it was my JOB. That last one might not sound like progress, but you’d be surprised.
In the past, I used to forget Kleenex. Not wanting to use my sleeves, a technique my children assure me is not frowned upon in the right circles, I would just sniffle. That is a gross, annoying thing to do, and people don’t seem to care for that. At least that’s what one lady told me at church.
She didn’t use words, she didn’t say anything actually. She just handed me a tissue in the middle of the service. I hadn’t asked for one. I had not made that request. Out of the blue (or perhaps in the middle of a sea of my sniffling) she thrust a tissue into my hand as if to say, “ENOUGH, that is ENOUGH. I am trying to worship and your constant sneezing and snorting and sniffling are ruining church right now. Blow your stupid nose already.”
Though my wife applauded this stranger, I thought that was one of the worst ways you can get called out in church. I figured that although someone might tell you to be quiet or poke you to wake up if you are slumbering, the “blow your nose” call out is a pretty amazing thing to call someone out on. I thought I might hold a record for weirdest call out ever.
I was wrong.
Four weeks ago, in the middle of church, my wife and I witnessed an even stranger call out. Right in the middle of the sermon, I heard an incredibly loud crinkling sound. This was no dainty mint being unwrapped, no Dentyne light your mouth on fire gum being freed from its aluminum prison. This was loud. Then a parade of sounds exploded as if the person behind me was trying to free themselves from a pair of plastic handcuffs. Believing that perhaps a raccoon had stumbled into the service, I decided not to turn my head lest I make eye contact with the beast and be forced to wrestle it to the ground. My wife however, did turn around. What did she see?
A husband opening up a box of Girl Scout Cookies during the sermon.
He must have seen the Girl Scout in the lobby. She must have given him the boxes of cookies in a plastic grocery store bag. He then must have assumed that he could be so stealth as to open the grocery bag, which is noisy, break into the box, slide the cookie sleeve out, retrieve a few treats, and return the package to under his seat in the middle of a pew in the middle of a sermon with no one being the wiser.
Unfortunately, he received a look from his wife, that probably translated to “Are you kidding me? Are you kidding me right now? Are you really opening a package of Girl Scout Cookies in the middle of church?” He turned, looked at her and said, “Too loud?”
Oh but to have spent a minute in his head, as he decided that was a good decision. To have listened to the thought process: “The worship was great today. Bunch of those guys had skinny jeans on. I could probably wear a V-neck but I don’t think my legs are thin enough to wear those jeans. Thin, hmm, I could really go for a thin mint right now.”
But alas, I didn’t get a good look at him and can’t confirm which type of cookies he was trying to eat. If it was the trefoils he should have just chewed on the outside of the box. Those are a bland experience that must always ride shotgun with a coffee if they want to approach deliciousness. If it was a box of samoas, I can’t really fault him. Those are fantastic and might even be worth getting called out in the middle of church.
Have you ever been called out in church? By a parent? By a spouse?
Or perhaps, a better question, did you ever try to sneak food into church?
