Who Says Preachers Only Work on Sundays?

Here's something I wrote a few years ago - a golden oldie, perhaps.

Quiet. Humble. Unassuming. That’s me; not your typical preacher. I am more like Clark Kent, but I am a preacher. What do you think of the work ethic of preachers? Some have the impression that preachers only work on Sunday. It’s just not true. I have decided to give you a glimpse of a typical day which is usually unusual and atypical. I haven’t talked to Superman, but I am guessing he could relate to my life.

About 8.30 on a recent Thursday morning Melissa, the church secretary, called me at home, where I was dutifully working on my sermon. Her words, full of fear and trembling, went something like this, "There’s a bat in the office; we’ve trapped him in there. He ain’t one of those little ones; he’s big! He’s trapped in there and we turned the light off." I thought to myself, "Hmmm." Hearing other voices, I asked her, "Who’s with you?" She quickly replied, "The kids." She has three.

With my best reassuring voice I said, "Well, I have to take Rebecca (my daughter) to volleyball at 9. I’ll come by after that." Thinking ahead, I said, "Do you have a flashlight?"

"Nope."

"OK, I’ll bring one."

I loaded up Rebecca and my 3 D battery Mag Light, black and well worn; it seemed eager for some bat action. I dropped Rebecca off at the gym and made my way over to the church building. I parked on an angle (police officers and important people seem to do this), grabbed the Mag and made my way to the door. If you looked up "bravery" in the dictionary, then my picture at that very moment would have been there. It would have also said, "see hero."

I reassured the women and children that everything would be ok. I went to the office door and shined my light through the slender, long window. The bat saw the light and began flying around. Indeed it was big, and it was very, very active. I went to the closet and got a broom, one with a wooden handle, strong and sturdy. Ralph, the church treasurer, came in the building about that time.

We went over to the office door and Drew, Melissa’s young son, slipped his boy hand into the room to turn the light on. The bat went crazy, flying and swooping everywhere. We went down the hall and tied open the doors that lead out to the bat’s freedom. Melissa and her kids held open another set of doors in the opposite direction – the glass doors under the carport.

It’s show time, baby, show time!

I asked Ralph to watch through the office window. With broom firmly in hand, I opened the door. The bat went crazy but would not leave the room. My heart pounded with the exhilaration that all warriors feel as they face a respected foe. "I’m going in after him," I said with confidence and determination.

I assumed a crouched/squat position. Holding the broom in my right hand I walked, like a duck, into the room. The bat landed temporarily on the ceiling. With my left hand I grabbed a mesh, flatly-folded-for-storage, play pen; it was there for small children to play in. It found a greater purpose as my shield. I made my way across the office. Suddenly the bat started flying and swooping, just going crazy. I dropped to my knees to gain better stability and leverage. I began swatting at the bat.

POW! WHACK! BAM!

I landed several blows, but he just kept going in erratic circles, getting dangerously close to my head. We battled, this bat and me. Finally he had one too many blows from the broom. He decided to exit the office.

He turned right, just as we hoped he would. I jumped to my feet with the agility of a young cat. I rushed to the door. The bat flew right to the intended exit, but then suddenly came back at me. WHACK! He headed south again, and then turned around, yet again, to come back at me. I thought heard him say, "You wanna piece of me??" BAM! WHACK! POW!

Finally he flew over my head and headed toward the foyer. Will he exit the glass carport doors? No! He’s heading toward the auditorium! Oh no! High ceilings! He could evade capture or death for a long time. Ahhh, but he made a really bad bat move. He headed for the baptistry. I am Church of Christ. I know my baptistries.

Everything grew very quiet. "Shhhhh!" I tiptoed to the glass, Melissa, Ralph, and kids following cautiously behind me. I spotted him. In hushed tones I said, "He’s hiding behind the step." With the wooden-handled broom firmly in hand I carefully poked at his insecure position. He fell into the water! With all the broom skills I could muster, I placed the broom on top of him and held him down. Will he escape or be a bat drowned? There were a few tense moments. As I came to realize that I had him, I thought to say, "In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit."

After a little while I raised the broom and there he was! Baptized and dead. Perfect! Went to heaven before he had a chance to sin. Ralph took a towel and carefully removed him from the water. It was a touching scene. We took him outside and examined him. His wing span was about 12 inches. He was big, but, and I’m not bragging here, he was no match for me. Oh, the life of a quiet, unassuming, humble hero. 

Who says preachers only work on Sundays?