a tribute to Chair Setup Guy

Sunday morning. 8:30. Still an hour and a half before Sunday School, but he’s already there. He’s there just like he was last week, and the week before that, and for every preceding week for years, the exact number of which no one is quite sure. He shuffles quietly in his faded brown suit, randomly pressing down the remaining strands of his thinning hair. At one point he stops to wipe his thick black rimmed glasses with his tie, careful not to use the end of the tie where he spilled coffee at the Easter breakfast. Methodically and intently he lays out his lines, nothing fancy this week, just rows; people didn’t seem to like last week’s zig-zags. Done with one room and on to the next he is hardly noticeable as he goes about his morning routine.

        He is Chair Setup Guy, and he’s fulfilling his ministry. It’s a good ministry for him. His pitiful tone deafness surely disqualified him from the choir, and with that stutter and the warts on his hands, nobody really wanted him to be a greeter. Honestly, we need to have a little better presentation for the sake of visitors, since we all know everybody still likes you Chair Setup Guy. But no, the chairs are good for you. The chairs offer you good proof for the faith we’ve offered you. You have become a great example of faithfulness to us. You have never once complained; you have always served so willingly. You have never sought recognition for what you do; you know your reward is in heaven. Truly a picture of grace. We don’t talk about it much anyway; the last thing you need is a little attention. But perhaps one day, when the good Lord decides to take you home, here in the halls where you’ve so faithfully served, we’ll remember you. It might take some digging to find someone who remembers your salvation, and if we don’t find it, we’ll use your track record to prove it. We’ll eulogize you in your Christian service to us. Sure, you never really reached out in love to anyone, but perhaps you just weren’t gifted in that area. We’ll also probably recognize that no one really reached out to you, but you were there every Sunday and Wednesday, arriving early and leaving late. You obviously seemed to be doing all right; we’re pretty sure you even witnessed to some people. Thank the Lord He uses cracked, broken vessels. We’ll salve our consciences by convincing ourselves that we expended our time and efforts on someone who really needed us; if you had needed us, we would have known. Besides, we’re sure you’ll hear the sweet voice of Jesus saying, “Well done, good and faithful servant.” And that makes it all worth it, doesn’t it? And so to you, Chair Setup Guy, I lift my glass and tip my hat, but I’d better take my seat, Sunday School is about to start.

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