Faith Works 12-23-17

Faith Works 12-23-17

Jeff Gill

 

Simon lives! (part three)

___

 

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

 

Simon is alive.

 

Now I understood, or thought I did.

 

Ernestine had been married to Simon for over fifty years when he died last Christmastime, and as their pastor, I'd officiated at his funeral, tears amidst the tinsel. Christmas week funerals are a very particular sort of grief and celebration, and no matter how many I've done you never quite feel at ease with them.

 

But now Ern was smiling at me, a year later, as I sat in her kitchen at the table, coffee in front of me and cookies near at hand (ah, temptation). She had asked me to "snoop around a bit," as if she thought I might find it a natural fit with my skill set, to find the answer to a puzzle, a mystery of this Advent season.

 

She had been getting "thank yous" by mail and phone about good deeds done around town the last few weeks, all supposedly the work of Simon. Who was deceased, as we both knew so well. But for a number of people in our community, he had just done them a favor, given a gift, offered aid. How was this so?

 

Her suspicion was that it was all a well-intended gesture from their two sons, or a gentle jests in Simon's memory by "The Golden Cuppers," his weekday coffee crew, or one of the men from church he'd done home repairs with. She had hoped I could find out who, so she could offer thanks of her own for the kind intention.

 

"If you'd told me last year, or six months ago, that someone would be using Simon's name this way, it probably would have irritated me a bit – I'm just being honest! – but I'm actually starting to enjoy this, pastor. It's like having him around again, but knowing he's with the Lord, all at once." Ern's eyes were bright as she poured me more coffee and went on with her reflections. "This is just like him, so whoever thought of doing it, I want them to know I appreciate it." She sat down opposite me.

 

"Well, Ern, first I have to tell you something." She leaned in expectantly. I went on: "You have only heard of about three of Simon's little good deeds, or in some cases, not so little?" She nodded. "Actually, as I was asking around, I found two or three more, places or people where something was given or done in the last few weeks, and the note with the cash or the greeting from the man at the door was that it was a Merry Christmas gift from . . ."

 

"Simon," she whispered. "Yes," I replied. "Simon has been busy this Christmas."

 

"But who is it?" she asked.

 

"That's the best part, I think…" As I started to finish my answer, she closed her eyes and smiled. "It's all of them," I concluded. Her eyes opened back up, wide and startled.

 

"All of whom?" she responded. "Well, remember you wondered if it could be your two sons, or if it was the Golden Cuppers at work, or the men from the church he worked with on home repair?" She nodded. "It was all of them. They all have been doing things in your husband's memory this Christmas, and putting his name to the good deeds." Ern nodded again, understanding.

 

"The flat tire he helped with; the man who worked the jack and got the lug nuts off said he was Simon, but the guy said there was another man back in the car . . . and he somehow traced the car back to your sons, and when he found the last name he put it with the first name he'd been given, not knowing Simon was gone, and mailed his thank you here. The Golden Cuppers have been going around to Salvation Army kettles with their coins, and the carpentry crew have been telling people their lumber was paid for by Simon. Simon has paid for people behind him in the drive-thru at breakfast, and he's paid off I don't know how many layaways, plus he's adopted a few kids through the Angel Tree. Simon has been busy this Christmas, Ern! But the answer to your question: it's all of them."

 

We had a prayer together of thankfulness there at the dinette table, and Ern gave me a big hug and through her tears said "thank you, you don't know how happy this makes me."

 

On my way out to the car, the cold wind made me shove my hands in my jacket pockets. Suddenly in one, I felt a cool, round . . . and pulled it out to find a buckeye there. Had Ern put it in when she hugged me? I almost turned to go back to ask her, and then I realized there was no need.

 

Because Simon put it there. Simon lives!

 

(Part three of three, and Merry Christmas!)

 

 

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.