Last Tuesday, I met my old college friend in her hometown instead of having her come to me. Quick little trip, friends reuniting--dinner at a swanky restaurant. We met in the parking lot, went in, were seated and started catching up. I began looking around admiring our surroundings when I saw them being escorted to their table. It was kind of cute to see the man gently pat the fanny of his date as they walked to their table...they'd probably just started seeing each other. But the guy suddenly seemed familiar to me. How did I know this guy? OMG!
"Lisa," I said, "you know the saying 'it's a small world,' right?"
"Sure." she replied.
"My pastor is here."
"The woman he is with isn't his wife." I said.
"Okay. It's probably his sister or his mother."
"Well, my pastor's mother passed away a few years ago and he doesn't have a sister."
"And, they are kissing."
"Then I guess you just caught your pastor cheating!"
I kept thinking of Bogart in 'Casablanca' saying "of all the...why did he have to walk into mine?" Or something like that. Was it him? Was I sure? I mean, it wasn't like I went to church every Sunday. I had never done more than shook his hand in the reception line and I tend to sit towards the back of the church. Maybe I was mistaken. I had to be wrong. Please God, let me be wrong. Then almost on cue, I heard the woman laugh and say his name. Unfortunately, my pastor has a very distinctive name. No doubt about it. It was him.
What do I do now? Go over to his table and 'let him know that I know'? Expose his obvious affair with righteous indignation and wait for the lightning to strike? Maybe I could drop a note in next Sunday's collection plate that reads, 'I know what you did last Tuesday.'
It's not really any of my business, right? So he preaches Bible principles and talks about sin Sundays and Wednesdays. This was a Tuesday. Maybe this was an 'off-day.' Surely, there's a perfectly logical explanation for him to be kissing this woman, stroking her hair and patting her bottom. Don't all pastors do that?
I decided to do nothing. I'm not going back to that church, of course but other than that, I'm going to forget what I saw. Yes, the image of Rev. ******'s hand on that redhead's butt seems burned in my memory but maybe I can "pray that day away." What do you think?