Greg was never one for going to church and enjoying it. His parents made him every Sunday, and to make matters more of a drag, the pastor had asked him to put away the Bibles from the day’s service, prolonging the young man’s stay in the place he did not believe in.
After the worship finished at the downtown Methodist church, Greg was stuck on this favor for the pastor whom the young man heard muttering at the head of the altar. He seemed fairly frustrated.
“Jesus H. Christ…” the pastor muttered.
“What?” Greg said out of surprise a little too loudly because the priest turned to him and was looking obviously abashed.
“Sorry…” Greg whispered as if HE had used the lord’s name in vain.
“No, I shouldn’t act like this in present dress,” said the pastor as Greg warmed up to conversation beyond regular post-scripture reading greetings. He moved up to the front of the altar to talk more.
“What does the ‘H’ even mean?” Greg said.
“Pardon?”
“The ‘H’? I’ve heard it dozens of times before, but I have no clue what it means.”
“Well…not to spread the lord’s name falsely, but some believe his middle name to be Harold.”
“What?!”
“‘Hallowed be thy name’…‘Harold be thy name,’” said the pastor with what Greg swore (not on the lord’s name) was a smile.
“Wow, I guess some guys with lisps perpetuated that a long time ago,” said Greg with a chuckle.
“Yes, perhaps,” said the pastor, happy to humor Greg with conversation. He was still pissed he spilled coffee on his otherwise pearly white vestment.
“Well, good to learn even more from today’s church!” said Greg falsely brightly, ignoring public affirmation of his atheistic beliefs as he restrained himself from talking to his pastor about it.
Relieved of his extra favor to the church, Greg walked briskly away from the altar as the priest wiped the smudge frantically from his ruined robes.
