"Get it, will you?" Jen called from the bathroom. Get what? Oh, yes. The phone was ringing. Since the phone was never for him, David had learned to ignore it. And it was especially unlikely to be for him on a Saturday.

"Independence United Methodist Church."

"Professor David Blake, please." It was for him.

"Speaking."

"This is Terry Metzger. I'm superintendent of the Northern District."

"Yes, Reverend Metzger." Jen came out of the bathroom and looked a question to him.

"Bob Lawrence," said Metzger, "the pastor of Aldersgate UMC in Evanston, just had a stroke."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Just a moment." He took the handset away from his face and covered the mouthpiece. "For me. Bob Lawrence just had a stroke. Know him?"

"Not really," said Jen. "I've heard the name."

"Stick around." Jen would anyway. She was sympathetic to the ill. "Yes Reverend Metzger," he said into the phone.

"Your name is on a list of Garrett professors who might substitute-preach. I know Saturday is late notice, but could you cover for him?"

"Well, actually, you'd have to ask my wife. 'Love her, cherish her, and attend her worship services.' Isn't that part of the standard service for the marriage of woman pastors?"

"Not when I perform them."

"Strange. Campbell told me it was. Anyway, you can ask her." He handed the phone to Jen and nodded vigorously.

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Jen. "Of course I will. I'll keep him in my prayers, too. No. Well, you can ask Reverend Campbell, but David's like that. Don't ask him about St. Paul's recipe for chili." She handed him the phone.

"She says that she'll permit you," said Metzger. "Do you know the address?"

"I probably could find it." He'd seen the church. Metzger gave him the address anyway, and the phone number of Bill Pierce, the chairman of Staff-Parish. "Does he know?"

"He knows that Lawrence was hospitalized with a stroke. He doesn't know about you."

"Thanks. I'll call."

He did. Pierce expressed concern about his pastor and thought there was nothing distinctive about Aldersgate's service David should know. This might be accurate; on the other hand, Pierce might just be so used to the pastor's standing on his head to deliver the sermon that he thought every pastor did it. "There is a bulletin; and Ralph Jenkins, the organist, gets there early. You probably should talk with him. I'll get there at ten, if you want. I have a key."

"Fine. Meet me outside?"

"I'll be standing at the door," Pierce promised. Then he changed the subject. "Look, your name sounds familiar. Were you ever involved with INFACT?"

"Yeah. You were at the Chicago meetings." David could remember him.

"Still am."

"I married and my wife serves a church way west."

"Kind of you to come all the way to help us out."

"Not at all. Glad to be of service -- just sorry for the occasion."

"And just why," Jen asked after he hung up, "did you give Metzger that cock-and-bull story about needing my permission?"

"I do need your permission -- need your permission to do anything. I'm terribly henpecked." When she looked dubious, he continued, "Well, why should I do a favor for a DS? I'll never need a favor in return. You, on the other hand, will be up for appointment by the cabinet every year he's on it. Know how long that will be?"

"I could look it up. David, you are devious."

"Devious enough to trap you into marriage. I've got to go prepare a sermon."

"Want me to cook dinner?"

"It would take as long to hand over the details." They tended to cook different things on their days in the kitchen. Together with the takeouts he sometimes brought home and the Sunday dinners at her parishioners, it made for a varied cuisine.

"And do you want to skip Chronicles tonight?"

"Well, you don't skip 'cause you're going to preach in the morning. I'll be all right. Remember, we had the study last Sunday." And that would be a help. He'd been reading a chapter a night of the Old Testament since before he'd proposed to Jen. He would read the whole chapter, focus on some part, and ask himself what address that had for him. After their marriage, he suggested doing the same routine for her on the three Lectionary passages, one a night, starting the Sunday before. In return, she'd offered to take over leading the discussion of his chapters. They didn't always have time for it, but they both got an in-depth understanding of the Scriptures that way. And he was certain that he would never understand the New Testament in the way that his profession required until he understood the Old Testament in the way that the New-Testament authors had.

Jen called the Watsons to tell them that he wouldn't be coming to dinner the next night. None of her parishioners ever seemed to serve a meal which wouldn't feed an extra dozen if they happened to drop in. Still, it was only polite to warn the cook that the guest list would be shorter.

He went back to read all three passages from the Lectionary, but he'd already figured that he wouldd preach on the Gospel. That was John the Baptist's recognition of Jesus as recorded by the other John. They'd had half an hour on that passage Sunday night, and he'd prepared beforehand for leading that discussion. Then, he'd listened to Jen's rehearsal of her sermon Thursday night. He wasn't what he'd call prepared, and Metzger hadn't given him much notice. Still, he was better prepared than most would be at that notice.

He decided to ignore the statement that the Baptist hadn't known Jesus, when Luke had him as a cousin. That would make a good class-discussion topic, but this was a sermon. He'd concentrate on John's recognizing Jesus, and end on "take away the sins of the world." He had an approach in mind by the time he went to prepare dinner. He thought about ways of expressing it while cooking; Jen was quiet during the meal to let his ideas percolate.

"Still want to do Chronicles?" she asked after the meal was over. They did Chronicles, although some sermon ideas intruded on contemplating the entry of the Ark into Jerusalem during his contemplation time. She chased him off and cleared the table by herself. Normally, that was his job Saturday night; but her sermon had been finished Thursday.

He typed the sermon out, read it over aloud and made some corrections. He typed it out again triple spaced, and recorded a cassette of it.

Jen curled against him in her sleep, as usual. He woke with his erection pressed against the crack in her seat. This was even less appropriate than it was on most Sunday mornings. He took his bathroom time before hers, as if this were a teaching day.

She kissed him at the door after breakfast. Then he got into the car with his sermon on paper and on tape. Weekdays, he took the train in to Chicago and bus and El from the station to the seminary. This morning, he drove straight to Evanston. Traffic, mostly trucks, flowed smoothly. It was a bitterly cold day, but clear and dry. He listened to his sermon as he drove, pulling over twice to rewind.

When he got to the church, he had to circle twice to find a parking space. Pierce got out of his car when he saw David climbing the church steps. They had to go around to a side entrance. "I don't even know if the main door can be opened from outside," said Pierce.

The bulletin presented no great surprises. They had a lector and called him a 'liturgist.' Pierce opened the service with an announcement of their pastor's illness and an introduction of David. The congregation, no great crowd, straggled in late enough that half of them missed it. The lector read the Gospel and Epistle, using 'inclusive language.' David wondered briefly what Queen Elizabeth would think of the opinion that 'kingdom' was sexist language; she was monarch of the United Kingdom, after all. When it was time for his sermon, he repeated the reports of their pastor's illness.

He got through the service, and people were friendly in the line going out afterwards. More concern was expressed for Lawrence's health than gratitude for his filling in, but he'd have been shocked if it had been otherwise.

Despite having lunch at a diner before getting on the interstate, he got home before Jen did. "You missed a fine meal," she said.

"What I really missed was a fine wife. Service go okay?"

"Except that I didn't hear your voice on the hymns and the responsive readings. Yours?"

"They had a service. Most were expressing concerns for Lawrence."

"You always say that," she said. "I bet not many people could preach from the Lectionary on less than 24 hours' notice."

"Not many people could produce a good sermon on 24 hours' notice. Most preachers could produce some sermon on one hour's notice." Jen used to write her sermons on Saturday, after all. "Anyway, I'm married to you. I had the advantage of the Lectio Divina and hearing your sermon." Not that these were high on his list of reasons he was glad to be married to her.

They had a kiss. He went to finish up his class preparation and his preparation for their after-supper study. He cooked hamburgers for supper, fixing two for himself.

"You know," said Jen, "I could have fixed supper."

"You only get about 28 hours off in a week. I want you to take them."

"No meeting tomorrow night," she reminded him. "Anyway, your weekend off was absolutely taken up." And so it had been. But it was one of his many weekends off. If Jen started giving in to demands, she'd lose all her free time.

They held hands while singing grace, then dug into their meal. Afterwards, he read the Gospel. "What struck you today?" he asked.

"'The people who sat without light have seen a great light.' Sometimes I think we confine ourselves to the already-in-church folk. You?"

"He called Peter and Andrew, James and John. And they came. It doesn't say that He preached a great sermon. Indeed, I don't see where He had the time or place to preach any sermon. 'Come, follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.' And they came. What would it mean for us, for you and for me, to deliver such a call. Not elaborate arguments. 'Come and follow Jesus.' What would that look like?"

"To be honest, it would look like somebody calling the little men with butterfly nets. They'd lock us away so fast that our heads would spin."

"Mebbe so. The modern world may be more hostile to Jesus' message than ancient Palestine, but it is less hostile than the rest of the Roman Empire was. What would the call be, then?"

"Come to church? That isn't it. What do you say? It's your question." He hoped it was the Gospel's question, but she was right. He shouldn't have sprung the question on her if his preparation hadn't given him some answer.

"The Creator of the world, Creator of the whole blooming universe, loves you. You don't need anything else. Don't need cars or degrees or fancy clothes."

"You worry that we're consuming too much, don't you?"

"Yes. And you need fancy clothes. It isn't your fault; I remember you dressed in jeans and sweatshirts."

"And you need a car."

"We both need cars. But every time I say that I cringe. Two-car families are the bane of modern American life. What does it mean to 'need'? Anyway, this is what the Scripture said to me, maybe to us. Let's take five minutes to see what the Lord is saying to us."

His prayer didn't lead to any new insight. The Gospel called men out of every society, Jew and Greek. Was he being called to follow Jesus among the American bourgeoisie? But Simon and Andrew were called from their fishing boats. What right had he to assume he was being called to remain in his comfortable life? And was that the Lord's word to him or his own word to himself?

When his watch reported that five minutes had passed, he repeated: "Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men." Jen echoed him and they said it together. This led to another five minutes in which he repeated those words silently to himself. This led to no more insights. They closed by chanting The Lord's Prayer in the only musical arrangement that the hymnal gave.

"And, Lord," said Jen at the end, "please keep Bob Lawrence in your care."

"Amen." They cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher together. Jen was behaving more quietly than usual. "These people are put into your care," he pointed out. "Lawrence wasn't."

"He's a brother pastor."

"True."

On the way upstairs, though, she seemed to shake off her concerns. At least her bottom wagged a little more than it did when she was unconscious of his attention. After their kiss, she snuggled up against him. He cuddled her for a few minutes. Having received his comfort, she turned happily to his advances. She broke the kiss, though. "I have to take care of something," she said. While she was in the bathroom, he doffed his shoes, socks, and shirt.

She put her pantyhose in her hamper before returning to his arms for a kiss. He hugged her a little sideways while their tongues met and teased. His right hand was busy with the buttons on her blouse. When that was loose, he held her more closely while his hands unfastened her bra. She broke again to remove the rest of her clothes and get into bed.

She hung a warm nightgown on the bedpost. Putting it on just then would be ridiculous, but she'd need it later that night. He stripped and joined her in bed. His kisses began at her mouth again, but they continued lower. When he was sucking her far nipple, his hand caressed her mound. He only visited her near nipple briefly before resuming his journey.

He'd paid only the lightest attention to her thighs when she pulled his head up against her center. He thought it was too soon, but her taste was lovely. He snaked his left hand upward to stroke one breast while his mouth and right hand concentrated on her center. He enjoyed the taste of one lip and then the other, licking the nubbin only rarely. Meanwhile, her nipple was hard under his fingers and her belly firmed and quivered under his forehead.

When she firmly pulled his head into her, he licked the nubbin and sucked that whole area. She pulled harder, and her whole mound rose against his face. "David," she said as her body undulated on the mattress.

When she let go, he backed away. Up in the bed beside her, he held her gently and kissed her shoulder as she relaxed. When she turned her face towards his, he took it as a signal that she had recovered. During the kiss, he stroked her breast -- avoiding the nipple just yet -- with his left hand and gripped her bottom with his right.

He mostly repeated the same loving as the last time. Jen didn't object to his staying on her thighs this time, though. She was writhing before he licked her lower lips, and he completely avoided her nubbin. It would still be too sensitive. "David!" she said finally.

He kissed a path up her body, paying lots of attention to the breast on his right. When he got to her neck, she grasped his firmness to guide it into her. So smooth! So warm! So tightly clasping him! "Life," she said and put her hands on his bottom.

"Love you," he responded as he he began his rhythmic motions within her. He was able to keep these slow and sensuous until she suddenly clasped around him. Then he drove rapidly out of her spasming depths. Before she was quite done, he was pulsing within her.

"Stay," she said, holding him in her arms. He stayed atop her for a while, if in her only briefly. When she dropped her arms, he moved off and to the side. She cuddled against him in the spoon, and he tucked the covers around them both. "Warm," she said. He was less and less inclined to buy an electric blanket.

"You too, and soft."

She was wearing the nightgown, if still cuddled against him when the alrm woke him the next morning. He eased himself out of bed and took a robe with him to the bathroom. After breakfast, he kissed her goodbye. Duty called, though the warm bed furnished with a warm wife called more attractively.

He had to grade some papers on the train. He was grading still others for his third class when the phone rang. "David Blake," he answered.

"Terry Metzger," he heard. "I hear that you preached a fine sermon. Any surprises?"

"Not anything shocking. You might warn the next guy that they use what they call a 'liturgist' to read the Scriptures. And they only have two lessons and the Psalm. Old Testament and Gospel last week. So, he just might find himself preaching on a Scripture passage that hadn't been read."

"Did you? I know you're an expert on the Epistles."

"No. I preached on the Gospel. I'm not an expert on anything, but I got my degree in New Testament studies."

"On one days warning -- a little less, actually -- I'd have been pleased if you'd recycled something from the last sermon you had to preach."

"My wife follows the Lectionary. We discuss it beforehand, all three lessons. So, I wasn't exactly surprised."

"Maybe you could satisfy one bit of curiosity. What did Paul say about chili? This is another Paul, I suppose."

"Saul of Tarsus. In First Corinthians, he advises that chili should be cooked for a long time over low heat and stirred so all the ingredients meld together and it isn't scorched."

Metzger laughed. "Not when I read the book, he didn't."

"No? You don't remember 'It's better to marry than to burn'?"

Metzger groaned. "Well, your wife did warn me not to ask."

"I find that following Jen's advice is always a good idea. I'll let you get back to your work."

"Thanks again," said Metzger. And David could get back to his work.