Sunday Zzzermon

This Sunday, my middle daughter and I visited the Methodist church in Alvin. We got there a little late, and since the service had already started, we were a bit self-conscious. I suggested that we steal away up to the balcony to keep from being the target of pious eyes.

On arrival at the balcony, we saw that there were no other residents in the whole area. I was fine with it, but my offspring was mortified and would not come to sit in the pew. She convinced me to come back to earth and we slunk in the main sanctuary at the “meet and greet your neighbors” time. A seasoned usher directed us to the back row on the left, apparently he knew that we were from the Baptist church, and thus being quite comfortable on the back row.

As we sat there with the service commencing, I noticed the people around us, or should I say the scarcity thereof. As I took stock of our geographical location, I perceived that though we sat on the last pew, there was a row of chairs set up behind us. On that row, there was a quiet young man, and he seemed pleasant enough. But as the course of the ceremony progressed to the prayer and reading of the scripture, I noticed that the young man’s breathing was very audible.

In a very few minutes, the rhythm of his respiration became deeper, and had a distinct flutter in the soft palate. The longer the prayer went on, more time was afforded for the sound to build. It also carried to at least a row ahead of us. I was beginning to think that perhaps the seating arrangement was not accidental. Perhaps the regulars had measured over time the distance required to keep their focus. There was about a ten-foot diameter “buffer zone” around our friend.

The “children’s time” and the beginning of the pastoral teaching were very interesting to me, but the glottal resonance of the back row snorer began to command more and more if my attention. He would occasionally wake up, and resume his normal respiration. But a short time would elapse until the sonorous concert would resume with a bit more gusto. Then he began to talk in his sleep.

“Mhfl-fl-fa-fl”...Repeat.

As distracted as I was by the snoring, the sleep talking was almost too much. There are gaps in my memory of the sermon, but I won’t soon forget the sleeping beauty behind us last Sunday.