Yuks from Yakima: Lost in the Outhouse

Note: This is the first of a four-part series of true, church-related humor. These are true, unembellished stories that occurred while we were pastoring the Yakima, Washington Wesleyan Church.

It was time to make a pastoral call on two of "the colorful" in our congregation - Bernath and Malcom - (that is how they insisted we address them), who were retired, maiden-lady schoolteachers. To describe their frugal lifestyle as "tighter than the bark on a tree" would probably be an understatement. This true story will persuade you, I think.

I saw one of their cars in the driveway, but could not rouse anyone in the house, so I went around to the back where you could generally find them in the garden or flowers calling, "Bernath! Malcom! Anyone home?" Way off in the distance (I thought) I heard a muffled voice saying, "Over here! Help me! I can't get out!"

When I determined the source of the voice, it was coming from an old outhouse at the very back of the garden. As I approached, identifying myself, Malcolm (by then I knew which woman it was) kept yelling, "I need help. I can't get out by myself".

How would you feel and act in such a dilemma? A suited preacher going to an outhouse to rescue a very vocal damsel in distress?

The door was standing open, and as I came in view of the inside, all I could see was the top of Malcom's head sticking up from where the seat boards had been, and her blouse carefully laid on the ripped up boards.

"Well", she said, "Come and pull me out." Just like we did this every day before breakfast. "I'm just in my bra," she said. "I didn't want to get my blouse dirty. Here, take this screwdriver", she said triumphantly. "I lost the fiddling thing down the hole, and wasn't about to leave it there".

After pulling her out, and telling her that I would come back when Bernath was there too, I expeditously left, not offering to help her on with her blouse.