THE MEN AT THE DOOR [Su, 1-26-20]

I saw them through the patio window, yesterday, a man about 60, in a black suit and white shirt and tie, wearing a Trilby hat, and a boy, about 14, dressed in the same outfit, except bare-headed.

It’s bad enough when you are ensconced on your sofa on a cold and snowy morning, just to get up to answer the door. Especially since there is a “No Soliciting” policy in Sherwood Green, and “No Soliciting” signs posted in many places. It’s no easy thing for old people to get up, then trundle across the room without shoes, and undo both deadbolts.

“I’m Asa, and this is my friend, Martin,” the man said, nodding at the boy, who stood behind him, as far back as the red brick patio wall allowed, looking miserable. “We are here to tell you about a free home Bible study course…”

I know it is useless to talk rationally with men at the door. They are there to talk, not to listen. This has happened to me before…

The time I remember most was during the 7^th game of the world series. I don’t remember the game or the teams or the year, only that I loved watching baseball, and I was interrupted. This was in the 1960s. I got to see baseball infrequently. Through the regular season, there was only one game a week on TV, appropriately named “The Game of the Week.” I looked forward to it, anticipated it, planned for it. Even more so the World Series!

I was home alone, so there was no one else to answer the door. It was a hot day, so the windows and door were open, only the screen between me and the outside world. So, when the doorbell rang, there was no way I could pretend I wasn’t there. Also, I was a pastor, and it might be someone who needed me, or get mad at me if they realized I was more interested in baseball than in church. So, reluctantly, still watching the TV screen, I went to the door.

There stood two young men in short-sleeve white shirts and black ties. Before I could say anything, like “Sorry, but I have a medical condition that prevents me from talking to men in dark ties,” they started. Those spiels are designed, of course, so there is no way for the listener to break in and break away from the men at the door. Until they get to the clincher, and they ask the question: “Are you familiar with The Book of Mormon?”

It was the 9^th inning. I could hear the crowd yelling. I did the only logical thing. I lied.

“Yes,” I said, “I have a PhD in Comparative Religions, and I did my dissertation on The Book of Mormon.”

There! That would get rid of them as fast as anything possibly could.

I was a little bit sorry that I “had to tell” a lie—We always think “I HAD to tell it,” not “I CHOSE to tell it-- but this was baseball, and it was a reasonable lie. I was old enough to have a doctorate. We lived in a university town. I did not need to feel remorse at telling the lie, though; they didn’t even hear it.

“Good,” they said. “Let us tell you about it…”

This time I wouldn’t have to lie. I could say, “I have a doctorate in the Bible, and I read it in Greek and Hebrew. I doubt that your free course is going to add to my knowledge.” [1] 

But that’s not the point, of course. The “course” is designed to persuade the reader to believe that the world is ending, or that God wants Donald Trump to be president, or that if you just have enough faith, God will cure your cancer and give you lots of money.

I looked over Asa’s shoulder, at Martin, as Asa announced that he was going to give me a card about the free Bible course that contained questions people have about the Bible. I thought about a time when I was the same age as Martin, and Kenwood Bryant and I were the men at the door…

Ken was a school teacher in Evansville, and a licensed Local Preacher in The Methodist Church. He was appointed to Forsythe, our little open country congregation, 30 miles away from his home. Basically, he just came up to preach on Sunday mornings, but he tried to be a pastor, too, especially in the summer, when he had more time for church work. One day he came up to Forsythe to make pastoral calls, and decided I should go with him, a subtle way to try to sly me into being a preacher. I blame Kenwood Bryant for the 40 years I spent as a man at the door. [2]

I looked again at Martin and thought, “That young man should not have to stand out in the cold and snow today. He should be home watching a ballgame. And this old man should not have to stand here on this side of the door, either.”

So, I didn’t take the card for the free home Bible study. It was the best I could do to get Martin home in time to see the game.

John Robert McFarland

1] Actually, my doctorate is in theology, but all Christian theology comes out of Bible study, so… not exactly a lie…

2] Well, somebody has to be blamed. Bob Butts’ brother says, “Bob, it was really Daddy who got the call to preach, but it deflected off onto you, but he was already teaching school and supporting us by then.” I suspect that Kenwood Bryant’s call got deflected onto me. Years later, after Ken’s kids were raised, when I was standing in the registration line to sign up as a new student at the Perkins School of Theology at Southern Methodist University, I heard a man in the line ahead of me introducing himself to someone. “I’m Kenwood Bryant,” he said, “from Indiana.’