- Jun 27, 2003
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THE BULLETIN
My husband had a touch of the flu so I was alone as I entered the church that Sunday morning. A woman I knew slightly had arrived in front of me, and we greeted each other as the usher handed us each a bulletin - clean, smooth, and colorful.
Because we were both alone, we sat together in a pew near the middle of the sanctuary. I used my bulletin to follow the order of worship, even though I knew it by heart, and to check the numbers of the hymns and the Scripture being used today. When the hour was over, my bulletin was still as clean and new looking as before.
But I had noticed my pew mate scribbling on hers all through the service. Now as she started to put it into her purse, she saw me watching, and her face got a little pink.
"I couldn't get along without my bulletin this week," she said with a laugh.
I must have shown my surprise. "I always just throw mine away." What value could a bulletin be after the service was over?
"Oh, I couldn't do that!" She handed me the bulletin she was saving and explained each entry.
By the hymn listing of "Sweet Hour of Prayer" was a note. "Marie...Favorite ...Cleveland...Pray...Write." Marie was an old friend who now lived in Cleveland. She had come to mind because this had been her favorite hymn, but now there would be a prayer and a note from an old friend for her.
Near the Bible text was another notation. "Call Anne...Alone...Dinner." Anne was a recently widowed older woman from our congregation. The Bible verse had brought her to my friend's thoughts.
Another note, beside the announcement of our Women's Association meeting in this week's "Calendar of Events," said, "Call Ginny...Pick-up." Ginny was someone new in town and did not have a car.
Other events on the calendar had a star beside them--events she would be going to. A few had a "pray" notation--events she was not personally involved with.
Along one margin was "Prayer List". It had the names of those Pastor had said were in the hospital, sick at home, or having other trouble. I had said a brief collective prayer for them at the time, but could not have repeated all the names now, I was sure.
Most of the rest of the "white space" on the bulletin was filled with notes from the sermon. This woman had really listened. Some of the points she had underlined I had already forgotten. "I go over this for my devotion tomorrow", she told me hesitantly. "Sometimes when I think again about what Pastor said, I get completely new ideas. Like when you read an old familiar Bible chapter and it suddenly comes to life in a different way."
I nodded; that had happened to me, but I never thought about a sermon being like that. "I always mean to bring a pad to write on so my bulletin won't get all messed up every week," she confided as we walked out together. "But I always forget. I end up ruining the bulletin."
I thought of my own bulletin, as clean as though it had never been used and destined to be thrown into a wastebasket within a half hour. Hers looked terrible, but it was still serving her, others, and the Lord--and would be all week.
I patted her arm. "Don't worry. Maybe bulletins were meant to be written on, and I'm going to start writing on mine next Sunday."
By Betty Steele Everett
Submitted by Richard
My husband had a touch of the flu so I was alone as I entered the church that Sunday morning. A woman I knew slightly had arrived in front of me, and we greeted each other as the usher handed us each a bulletin - clean, smooth, and colorful.
Because we were both alone, we sat together in a pew near the middle of the sanctuary. I used my bulletin to follow the order of worship, even though I knew it by heart, and to check the numbers of the hymns and the Scripture being used today. When the hour was over, my bulletin was still as clean and new looking as before.
But I had noticed my pew mate scribbling on hers all through the service. Now as she started to put it into her purse, she saw me watching, and her face got a little pink.
"I couldn't get along without my bulletin this week," she said with a laugh.
I must have shown my surprise. "I always just throw mine away." What value could a bulletin be after the service was over?
"Oh, I couldn't do that!" She handed me the bulletin she was saving and explained each entry.
By the hymn listing of "Sweet Hour of Prayer" was a note. "Marie...Favorite ...Cleveland...Pray...Write." Marie was an old friend who now lived in Cleveland. She had come to mind because this had been her favorite hymn, but now there would be a prayer and a note from an old friend for her.
Near the Bible text was another notation. "Call Anne...Alone...Dinner." Anne was a recently widowed older woman from our congregation. The Bible verse had brought her to my friend's thoughts.
Another note, beside the announcement of our Women's Association meeting in this week's "Calendar of Events," said, "Call Ginny...Pick-up." Ginny was someone new in town and did not have a car.
Other events on the calendar had a star beside them--events she would be going to. A few had a "pray" notation--events she was not personally involved with.
Along one margin was "Prayer List". It had the names of those Pastor had said were in the hospital, sick at home, or having other trouble. I had said a brief collective prayer for them at the time, but could not have repeated all the names now, I was sure.
Most of the rest of the "white space" on the bulletin was filled with notes from the sermon. This woman had really listened. Some of the points she had underlined I had already forgotten. "I go over this for my devotion tomorrow", she told me hesitantly. "Sometimes when I think again about what Pastor said, I get completely new ideas. Like when you read an old familiar Bible chapter and it suddenly comes to life in a different way."
I nodded; that had happened to me, but I never thought about a sermon being like that. "I always mean to bring a pad to write on so my bulletin won't get all messed up every week," she confided as we walked out together. "But I always forget. I end up ruining the bulletin."
I thought of my own bulletin, as clean as though it had never been used and destined to be thrown into a wastebasket within a half hour. Hers looked terrible, but it was still serving her, others, and the Lord--and would be all week.
I patted her arm. "Don't worry. Maybe bulletins were meant to be written on, and I'm going to start writing on mine next Sunday."
By Betty Steele Everett
Submitted by Richard
