So
I was asked to do the Sermon a bit ago. I hate doing that kind of
thing. On the other hand I know what it's like to ask people to help
out and listen to one after another say “no.” So I said yes. But
I hate speaking in front of people. My ego can't handle it.
So
I am saying my thing when over there on the left and near the back, I
notice Tracy. But that's not possible. Tracy is in Brazil on a
missions trip. And I'm thinking about how Tracy can't be in two
places at the same time when I realize that my mouth is still
talking. At the exact same time that I'm solving how Tracy can be in
Brazil and
in
the second from last row near the north exit, I'm still giving the
sermon.
This
is bad. I've got to get control of my mind. I'm not even sure what
my mouth has been saying. So I force my head to turn somewhere else,
and there is Greg working at his teeth with a toothpick. He's going
at it like he's his own dental hygienist. I mean, his toothpick is
digging and scratching and cleaning and cleaning. His head is bent
way back -
Yikes! I'm still talking. How can that be? How can a
brain be saying what needs to be said AND
notice that someone is picking his teeth AND
think about thinking
about
how the brain can do that?
It
can't be possible.
I
must be screwing up.
I'm
making a fool of myself.
Think!
Look
at your notes!
That's
when I notice Dave. He is leaning so far to the right, well, to his
left, it looks like Dave is about to capsize. And I'm still talking.
I'm
starting to feel genuine panic.
I've
GOT to stop.
I've
GOT to concentrate.
So
I force myself to not look at anyone. I gaze at the ceiling. I focus
at a spot where the wall meets the ceiling at the far end of the
hall. And that's when I see the camera. Huh. I always thought the
camera was a lot closer to the front.
And
I'm still talking when this all starts to strike me as humorous. I
almost laugh out loud at the the absurdity of what's taking place.
This all resembles some sort of dream.
I'm
trying hard to concentrate on the sermon while also thinking that by
not looking at anyone, and instead looking at the ceiling, I must
resemble Steven as he's being stoned to death and heaven has been
opened before him and he sees Jesus standing at the right hand of
God.
I contemplate spreading my arms wide and saying, "Father, into Your hands I commit my spirit."
Bad plan.
Don't do it.
They might laugh. I like to make people laugh
No, don't do it.
I
lower my eyes only to notice that Mr. and Mrs. Benson are smiling.
Crap. Have I said something stupid? No, they're nodding. They're
agreeing with what I've said.
I'm
exhausted.
My
legs are weak.
I've
never stood this long – for maybe ever.
I
need some water.
Cold
water.
Hey!
I'm on the last paragraph. Somehow I've made it through a 40-45
minute talk. And I go to sit down. I shake my head at the mess I must
have made of things. With head bowed and elbows resting on my knees, I resemble a man praying against impossible odds. I make a promise to myself that I'll never again say “yes” to doing anything like this. A couple people come up and tell
me that they really like my “message.” Are they joking? Are they
serious? I can't tell.
A
few days later, I listen to the sermon on the Church's website. I
have the text of my sermon in front of me while I listen to the audio
and it's practically word for word bang on. Kind of monotone perhaps,
but hey, I've never pretended that I'm a public speaker.
That's
not the point. The point is -
A
person really can do public speaking while not just thinking about
something else, analyzing something else, solving another problem. A
person can do public speaking while thinking about how it's possible
to think about something else.
How
in the world can a brain do something like that?