The Preacher and Silly Matt

My father was a preacher who practiced his calling for seventy years.  It goes without saying that he prepared hundreds of sermons.  I have written about this a bit in the past but where I want to go here has to do with the papers he left behind.

I have file cabinets filled with notebooks in which he had stored his sermon outlines, clippings, anything germane to his interests, and that encompasses much of life's quirks, oddities, and yes, triumphs.

Several years ago I started to transcribe Dad's sermon outlines.  After a good number had been done I realized at some point that I was never going to complete the task.  I drifted on to other things and now I am hard pressed to recall even where the digital copies are stored.  Do I even still have the drive on which I stored them?  I am not as well-organized as some people are.

A few days ago I opened the bottom drawer of a four-drawer file cabinet and pulled out one of the notebooks it contained, one I had not gone through before. Yes, it contains sermon outlines, but also some odds and ends of this and that, including this little verse entitled "Silly Matt" which I remember having heard my father recite:

I feel so exceedingly silly,

I say what I shouldn't to ought.

My mind is as frail as a lily

'Twould break with the weight of a thought.

I am so exceedingly lazy

I neglect what I oughtn't to should.

My notion of work is so hazy

That I couldn't to toil if I would.

Catechizing a Faithful Church-goer

She told me they were heartsick at the loss of their beloved priest who had been transferred to another parish.

And how had he endeared himself to his congregation, and what would you miss most?

Father B practiced punctuality almost as he practiced his religion, in fact, one might say it was a part of his religion.

Examples, please.

Father always started mass exactly on time. Every action, every word, contributed to the goals of the service and no extraneous motions protracted the meeting.  Father B’s Sermons were marvelous to hear, and one knew what it was all about when it was over.

Meaning what, exactly?

He always started his homily with a  humorous anecdote.  One’s attention was immediately riveted.  His message proceeded smoothly and logically to its conclusion, and the conclusion was like clinching the nail on the backside of the board--  the point was driven home and seated permanently in one’s mind.  The service was over in precisely thirty-five minutes and we went home knowing we had been in church.

And the new priest?

Rambles.  A lot.  And drones.  On and on.

Apparently what she wants from church is punctuality, proper structure, a clear message delivered wittily and succinctly with meaning that is relevant and can be grasped.  Is her expectation reasonable?