The Rev. Dr. Frank Larisey at the Church of the Redeemer remembers his 1984 service well.

“I had been serving in Nashville and decided to be ordained there. Only one detail caused any complications. The bishop was Low Church Episcopalian; I was High Church, which calls for a more formal ritual.

“The thurible is a pot of smoking incense coals which hangs from three chains. The bishop blessed the holy altar by hoisting the thurible over and around it. This not being a custom of the Low Church, he swung it so half-heartedly that the top came open and most of the coals fell onto the oriental carpet, setting it afire.

“As he stamped on some coals, I grabbed the nearby holy water and began dousing the small blaze. Then I reached for the linen altar cloths, the purificators, and began sopping up some of the mess.

“Five minutes later, we had the fire out and proceeded. The congregation, much of it Low Church, watched with fascination, thinking this is a part of the ceremony. At the reception following, one said to me, ‘We thought all that sweet-smelling smoke was really cool.”

Bride’s straps fell down

This story comes from a local minister whose name became lost in all the ministers’ interviewing:

“A young bride and her soldier from a far-off state asked me to marry them. Although a small wedding, she and her family invited their families and close friends. On the appointed day, pretty flowers graced the altar vases, traditional music beautified the sanctuary.

“I entered in my white robe and stood as the groom and best man, her sister, the maid of honor and Buddy, the ring bearer, her sister’s four-year-old-son, walked down the aisle and took their places. On the arm of her father, the bride entered, wearing a shoulderless white lace dress supported by thin straps.

“Buddy stood stalwart until half way through the ceremony when he accidentally tipped the pillow to one side, dropping the ring to the tile floor. It began rolling to the left toward an air conditioner opening. For several yards, it kept moving, making a slight ringing sound as the wedding party watched in horror. Finally it flipped to its side at the opening on the floor.

“Undaunted, Buddy walked over, replaced it on the pillow and came back to his place. I smiled to him, then picked up the ring to hold until its time came.

“All went well until I pronounced them married following with, ‘You may kiss the bride.’ The eager groom bent forward and pulled the bride into a tight embrace, which caused the spaghetti straps to fall from her shoulders down over her arms. This caused the bosom of her gown to descend an inch or two to reveal the top of her undergarment.

“Only the maid of honor and I could see what had happened, and she did what wedding maids are for, reached out immediately to repair the dishevelment. The organist pressed down on the first notes of Mendelssohn’s wedding recessional, the happy two swept down the aisle to their life ever after.”

‘No, I light the candles’

The Rev. Hayes Gainey has been pastor for the Edisto Fork United Methodist Church for a decade. Not long before arriving here he served at another church in the Lowcountry.

He reports, “One Sunday we sat for the organ prelude, which was always accompanied by the lighting of the altar candles by one of our active senior Methodist women. When one came up to do the lighting, another suddenly appeared and tried to pull the lighting candle from her hand. The first snatched it back. After several back and forth snatchings, one raised her hand to strike the other. I leaped up and ordered them to come to my office, asking another lady to preside.

“Once behind my closed door, I asked: ‘What’s the problem?’

“‘I’m in charge of the candle lighting,’ the first said.

“‘I’m in charge. I have been lighting them every Sunday,’ said the second.

“‘Look at her. She isn’t fit to light the candles. Her dress is too long,’ the first said.

“‘No, she’s not fit because she’s wearing a wig,’ came the reply. Their venom choked the room.

“I said, ‘We’re not getting into what you’re wearing. One is going to do it on the first and third Sundays, the other on the second and fourth. I’ll have somebody else do it on the fifth.’

“‘She’s going to try and take over my Sundays,’ first lady said.

“‘You are behaving like two children,’ I said. ‘This is going to be part of your process of growing up. If you can’t do it my way, neither of you will do any lighting.’

“A grudging truce began. Later, through the grapevine, I learned there had been ill feelings for a long time. It seemed that one of their husbands had been ‘looking’ at the other’s wife.”

Send-off from a nephew

Years ago, the Rev. Mike Smith, now at St. Andrews United Methodist Church, was preaching his last sermon at St. John’s Methodist in Lake City before moving to Bennettsville. Members of his family attending included his brother, sister and nephew, Aaron, a little over one. The two had become close companions in preceding months, the boy learning, “Mike” among his first words.

“As I began my sermon,” says Mike, “the tot called out my name over and over.

“Realizing this might be annoying to some, I decided to go down, pick him up and bring him back to the pulpit. This might quiet him. And it did, all the way through the benediction. Then, he suddenly relaxed his tiny kidneys and water flowed, through his diaper, his little shorts and all over the front of my white robe.

“I continued to smile as I shook hands with all the exiting congregation. But the stain was there. And, more embarrassing, so was the odor.

Two St. John’s

Mike had some surprise visitors one Sunday at St. John’s First Methodist in Lake City. He announced his sermon, “I was a prisoner and you visited me,” following with the philosophy that Jesus had commanded us all to reach out, even to those in prison. At that moment, a Florence County deputy sheriff came in leading six of his prisoners, both white and black, seating them in the back pew.

“Puzzled, I continued, but in a few minutes, they rose and left,” says Mike.

“The congregation had a scintillating subject after the benediction. Why had they come? Why had they left so soon? Later we heard that the deputy had made a mistake. Their destination was another St. John’s a mile or two down the road.

“No matter, their entrance had proven a boon to my message which we, they and everybody else who heard about it will never forget.”

Retired editor and public relations executive Thomas Langford’s column is titled “Some Edisto stories.” Let him know if you have stories to share: 803-534-2097.

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