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Dexter Must Go
or: Lord, Preserve Us from Awful Children's Sermons

I may or may not have told you that the rector of my church (I'm Episcopalian) was recently elected the new Bishop of Arizona. He's a good guy and we'll be sorry to see him go, though we're all very happy for him.

But last Sunday I realized that every cloud has a silver lining. You see, the second Sunday of the month at our church is always "School Sunday," dedicated to the children of our parish school. On School Sunday the adult choir gets the day off, the children's choir sings for the 10:30 service, and many more students and parents attend than on an average Sunday. This means that the sermon is, of course, guaranteed to be a (shudder) children's sermon.

Remember children's sermons? You know you do. Remember getting called up to huddle on the altar steps, feeling like an idiot, as the minister took the handheld mike, got down from the pulpit and started wandering around like Mike Douglas or Dr. Phil? Too often, children's sermons get sappy ecclesiastic leftovers instead of, you know, some intelligent theology. I swear to you, I still remember my former minister declaring, from a kid's sermon in the 1970's, "How do we know God has a sense of humor? Look at zebras! Look at giraffes!" Oh, the horror...

Well, I've heard some good children's sermons from time to time, but last Sunday's wasn't one of them. You see, our rector has a secret weapon that gets him through those times when he has to preach a children's sermon. That weapon's name? Dexter. Dexter is a ventriloquist's dummy.

No, you didn't misread that: a ventriloquist's dummy. And our rector is many things, but he is not a good ventriloquist. He also isn't very good at telling jokes, and a Dexter sermon is guaranteed to start off with two or three jokes usually involving really bad puns. Exhibit Number One would be Dexter's name. The rector uses his right hand to animate the puppet: Dexter. Get it?

Last Sunday I was verger again, so I had other things on my mind. When the sermon started I was actually relieved, because it meant I had ten or so minutes to relax - then I noticed the director of the children's choir exiting rapidly into the side hallway where I was. He's a good friend of mine, I've known him for years, and we both hate Dexter. When I saw the expression on his face, I knew what was coming.

We stood in the sacristy, hearing every word, cringing at Dexter's smarmy puppet voice and every lousy pun. "At least this is the last time we'll ever have to hear this," I said, suddenly feeling much happier. As we waited, we recalled the plan we'd concocted about a year ago to kidnap Dexter and leave his charred, smoking frame in the parking lot. Why we didn't go through with it, I'll never know - too chicken, I guess. But knowing this was Dexter's last stand made up for it.

The one thing that worries me is this: what happens if the rector decides to bequeath Dexter to one of the other priests? If that happens I will find some way to destroy that loathsome creature. Better dust off the parking-lot plan.

posted by Dr. Alice at #