Faith Works 12-9-17

Faith Works 12-9-17

Jeff Gill

 

Simon lives! (part one)

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[ital.] A story of the Christmas season [end ital.]

 

"Simon is alive!"

 

It's not what I expected to hear Ernestine saying when I came to her door a few days before Christmas.

 

She and I had stood by his grave just twelve months earlier, after his sudden and unexpected death. As her pastor, there was a note in my pocket to check by her house this Advent to see how she was doing (the first anniversary of a death is often harder than the shock of the passing itself), but she had texted me a message asking if I could stop by, first.

 

We walked into the living room and sat, I admit with a quizzical look on my face. I am a Christian, and Simon's life with the Lord I did and do believe in, but what was she trying to tell me?

 

"Padre, I know this sounds crazy, and you and I both know we stood there together as they closed the casket, but things keep happening as if Simon were still alive. I know he's dead, but something is going on, and I need your help to figure out what."

 

Ernestine and Simon had been in their eighties, but both in good health; she was one of the last of that era who had never learned to drive. I knew there were many friends and two sons who lived locally who got her around to where she needed to go since Simon's passing, but while she wasn't reclusive, she did tend to be at home for the most part.

 

"What kind of help can I give you, Ern? Do you need a ride somewhere, or for me to contact someone?"

 

Her explanation made it clear it was something else entirely she was looking for. "No, I want you to go around and do some checking for me. I got this call from a lady who went to pick up her layaway, you know how they do it at those big stores, for Christmas: and there was a note, saying 'Merry Christmas, Simon' so she looked us up in the book – his name is still on the phone bill – and called to thank us!"

 

I nodded, thinking it was some sort of good deed from one of their many friends in Simon's memory, but she went on: "Then I got a letter in the mail from a man who said a fellow stopped when he had a flat tire, changed it for him, and said he was my Simon! On top of all that, I heard from the Salvation Army. They've gotten three gold coins slid into their red kettles, wrapped in a piece of paper, and all three said . . ."

 

"Merry Christmas, Simon," I finished for her, and she nodded vigorously. "But what can I do to help you?"

 

"Well, pastor, I have my suspicions. It could be one of the boys, it could be one of the guys in his coffee group – you know, the Golden Cuppers – or it might be one of the men from the church on the repair ministry team. Could you just, I don't know, snoop around and see if you can find out something for me? I'd love to thank them. Honestly, it's been a nice feeling: I was kind of dreading this Christmas, but now I'm just wondering what I'll hear Simon's up to next!"

 

Snooping around is not exactly something they teach in seminary. But I was delighted to help Ern, and indeed these little pleasant pranks were right up Simon's alley. He was always the one with a joke sign he'd put up on a classroom door during Sunday school, or would slip a buckeye into your pocket without your noticing, and he had a generous streak.

 

The difference between this Simon we were dealing with this year, and the one Ern and I knew, is that he was usually very careful not to let anyone know it was him – or he and Ernestine – doing the good deed.

 

"Ern, I can't promise anything, but I'll do what I can." What else can a minister say?

 

She gave me a big hug, and as she escorted me back out the door waved and said "I'm sure you'll find out something for me!"

 

(Part one of three, continued next week!)

 

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; tell him about your Christmas season surprises at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.