Will Preach for Fritters

But probably shouldn’t.

The goal is to have my sermon written, edited, and printed by Friday mid-morning. That way I can have Friday afternoon and Saturday to rehearse it and also have time to cross sundry other tasks off my pastoral to-do list.

In order to motivate me to reach such a goal, I reward myself with an apple fritter from QuikTrip upon completion of the sermon. Slapping the completed manuscript on my desk, I lick my lips, march 50 yards across the street, fling open the donut display case, snatch one of the remaining apple fritters (they go fast!), pay the buck-seventy-five at the counter, strut back to the church like a conquering hero, and sit down at my desk to gormandize this confection of sugar, donut bread, and something that maybe possibly tastes a little bit like apples.

This morning, things—as “things” do—did not go as planned.

You see, I am trying to be more disciplined in my life. More prayer. More books. Less TV. Less eating. Fewer snacks.

More grace, less gunk, you might say.

But it never occurred to me—of course it wouldn’t—to reconsider my weekly apple fritter. My apple fritter is sacrosanct. It is my manna in the wilderness, my body of Christ. It makes it all worth it: the sweat, the research, the contemplation, the pounding of my head upon the wall. God, for the love of all yourself that is holy, don’t take away my apple fritter.

Except that he did. Like he took Jonah’s vine, he took my fritter.

You see, in order to pay for my apple fritter I raided the change jar on my dresser at home this morning. It makes buying an apple fritter no big deal—certainly not something I need to get my credit card out for. But, if I have seven quarters in my pocket, an apple fritter is easy to justify: Wow, what do you know! I have just enough change to buy an apple fritter! What a special little treat for myself.

On this particular morning though, as I pulled up into the church parking lot to head inside and begin the final leg of my sermon which would soon be rewarded by frittery goodness, I was confronted by a man standing at my car door. He was older, disheveled, tired.

And he had his hand out.

“Good morning,” he muttered.

“You too,” I said, trying to grab my things hurriedly so I could avoid where I knew this was going.

“I’m getting paid later today but I’m hungry now. You got any change so I can buy myself a hot dog?” he asked, gesturing at the QuikTrip.

He wasn’t really asking for change, but expecting it. Maybe he was too tired to be polite, because he wasn’t. He was waiting for what he knew I had. He practically marched up to me like a repo man.

Now, one of the reasons I don’t (normally) carry cash is so that I don’t spend it. But another reason I don’t carry cash is so that I can tell beggars on corners, with a clear conscience, that I don’t have any money to give them. It’s terrible, I know. But I am a terrible person.

This morning, though, I was a terrible person without an excuse, because I had $1.75 in my pocket that I was planning on using to buy my apple fritter. And I am not so terrible to say that I had no change when I knew, for a fact, that I did.

So I dug deep. Deeper than I normally do, because my 10% tithe to God is something I have gotten used to giving, via auto-debit, out of my checking account. I don’t even notice it. But this was my apple fritter money! My precious, precious apple fritter money being stripped from my person like the ring from Gollum’s lair: You…you stoles it!

“Yes,” I said, grumpily. “I’ve got some change. Here ya go. Enjoy your hot dog.”

“Thanks,” he said, unthankfully.

I turned and headed inside. He called after me, “You got any coffee inside?”

Wow.

“No, but I can brew some. Come back later.”

“Will do.”

(He didn’t.)

I finished the sermon about 10:30 in the morning—right on schedule. I’m proud of the sermon. It took a lot of work and research. I’m eager to preach it. I thought of walking over to QuikTrip anyway and rewarding myself with an apple fritter. I certainly earned it. (Maybe not by my response to that ungrateful beggar in the parking lot, but by my hard work otherwise.) But I had the strong impression that by purchasing a “replacement fritter” I would have been avoiding the lesson I was being taught. What’s the lesson? Oh, there were so many:

Don’t judge beggars. Most of them are just hungry.

You don’t need the things you think you need. Usually they obscure our true needs.

Most of what’s yours is not yours to keep but yours to give.

All good lessons. In my case, though, the lesson is this:

Preaching the gospel is its own reward.

You see, I preach a message of faith in an Almighty God whose justice and mercy combine perfectly in the sacrifice and resurrection of Jesus. I get paid to spend my weeks searching the Scriptures for divine truth that might challenge and encourage my friends and congregants. I spend hours in my office reading books and crafting illustrations and sentences and memorizing paragraphs that, be it pleasing to God, might be memorable and challenging and even a little life-changing. That is what I do for a living.

I should need no apple fritter to compel me to the task.

Which is true. There is nothing so rewarding as getting to share the message of Christ with people who need to hear about him. I might only barely understand that here on earth (through a glass darkly), but I will realize it fully in heaven—where I imagine there might be all the (calorie-free!) apple fritters I can enjoy.

Having said that, it doesn’t mean that I won’t be at QuikTrip next Friday morning, picking up my fritter. I am, in the end, a man hungry for sweets and other perfectly innocent forms of motivation.

I’ll just make sure to bring a few bucks next time.

In case I also need to buy someone a hot dog.

-MRH