I was born and raised in rural Oklahoma. I have spent my life in what I affectionately call the “hinterlands.” Although I work in Oklahoma City—sometimes four days a week—my heart is always in our small towns and rural churches. Those people are my people.
For some reason that has spilled over into my preaching opportunities. For the last five-plus years I have been blessed to preach in countless Oklahoma churches. Included in that bunch is the likes of First Baptist Lawton, First Baptist Enid and First Baptist McAlester. But the rest of them were small towns—or no towns. And I have loved every minute of it.
A while back, I was asked to preach in a church that I was warned neither Google maps nor Siri could find. So, I was given directions. I thought it was a joke. It was not. I was told when the blacktop turned into a gravel road I was just supposed to keep going and eventually I would find the church.
I did, but I confess there were a couple of times I was tempted to turn around because I thought I must have passed the church. But I kept going. Maybe it was the promise of lunch after church that motivated me. After all, I was told there would be fried chicken and coconut cream pie.
I found the church, and in that church, I found a great group of folks. Church started almost on time. We had singing. Some of the young ones took up the offerings. And then it was time for me to preach.
Maybe it had to do with the promise of fried chicken and coconut cream pie, but I found myself preaching at a pretty good clip. All the folks in the congregation were attentive, which made me wonder if they were really a Southern Baptist Church. And then it happened.
I noticed a couple of young ones that were sitting near the front began to have big eyes. Soon, a couple of them put their hands over their mouths. I just kept on preaching. But when they started pointing, I lost a little bit of my concentration. I looked over my right shoulder and there it was.
A rather huge tarantula was making his way across the platform. He was taking rather big, orange and black spider steps. I am not necessarily afraid of tarantulas, but they sure make me squirmy particularly when I am not sure what their intentions are. And I am pretty sure tarantulas seldom have good intentions. If that thing had got up my pants leg and into my boot top, I would have broken out in a way that would have shamed Ray Stephen’s Mississippi Squirrel Revival. It was all I could do not to break out in a Baptist high step.
I have been told many times those kinds of spiders won’t bite you. And that is probably the truth. I was just not in the mood to take the chance. In fact, when I prayed at the end of the service, I had my head up and both eyes open. I didn’t want that thing flying through the air and biting me on the face or something while I was in the prayer position.
But I have to admit that some real fried chicken (still on the bone – not those counterfeit boneless strips or nuggets), and a big old hunk of coconut cream pie at lunch calmed me right down.
Here are a couple of things for you to consider. One, occasionally it is OK to pray with your head up and your eyes open regardless of what the guy on the platform is telling you. Two, it is possible that even Peter and Paul might have been a little scared of huge spiders. Three, fried chicken and coconut cream pie have a most unique way of taking care of what ails you. Four, you might want to look over your shoulder every once in a while. You never know what might be sneaking up on you.
