DayQuil Sermons

One of my favorite, and most daunting, responsibilities as a pastor is weekly preaching. I take it pretty seriously as a part of my life’s calling. And most of the time it goes really well. It’s one of the few things that I do that I feel like I’m somewhat good at.

But that’s not to say it ALWAYS goes well. Sometimes I have to take DayQuil because a cold has hit me before it’s too late to call in reinforcements. That’s what happened this past week.

When I started the morning on Sunday I had no idea that the day would eventually end with me inspecting the inside of my toilet at home with the kind of scrutiny that only health inspectors and ecoli should endure.

I got out of bed with a dull headache from the cold I had come down with, but was generally feeling better.

Knowing that I would have to be focused for my message in a few hours, I dropped a couple shots of DayQuil. I should have remembered what this unholy elixir does to my tender brain cells, but still I threw caution to the wind and dropped those shots like a Pepto on Bingo night. Had I read the label, I’m now sure it would have read “DayQuil: Meth Formula — for those mornings when that snuffy head, fever, cough, runny nose, achy, sneezy, sinus disease you have can only be dealt with by an over-the-counter methamphetamine”.

I never lost consciousness, but I do vaguely recall the following events in a kind of dreamy, subconsious, chuck-norris-whispering-in-The-Octagon kind of way:

• I forgot how to end worship and start Communion (communion almost always immediately follows worship at KCC). Instead I decided that ending worship and just sitting down on the front row while everyone stared at me confused was a good way to keep things moving. I recall a strange, worried look from our worship leader as if to say, “Dude. What are you doing?”
• I remember several people telling me important things for me to remember prior to the service, but straining my brain to remember them feels a bit like staring intently at one of those “look at this dot until this ugly poster becomes a 3D image of Billy Idol” things at the mall. All I get is a headache and a strange feeling that everyone else is smarter than me.
• At some point in my sermon I wanted to say the word “castrated”, but only in my head. Some little voice said to me, “Don’t say castrated. That’s gross.” So I didn’t say “castrated”. I said, “neutered”. But that wasn’t really what I meant. So I said, “I want to say another word, but can’t. How about I say, ‘impotent’.” Then I realized that was neither what I wanted to say, nor any less gross than “castrated” when you really think about it. But I didn’t want to think about it anymore because thinking (thanks to DayQuil) was only making things worse. So I think I just moved on. At least I hope I did.
• Then I remember Claire Alston speaking about this being her last Sunday at KCC before she leaves for the mission field. It was a big moment. I remember praying for her. I’m sure what I said was fine. Hopefully “neutered, castrated, and impotent” didn’t come up again. Though I’m sure memorable, this would not be the best way to commemorate a new missionary into the field.
• Then I recall driving home willing my insides not to become my outsides as my son Owen tried to talk me into dropping by KFC for a bucket of greasy chicken. I tried to explain, “Daddy feels like he’s about to swallow his appendix from the inside.” but when little boys want chicken they get tunnel vision.

One never appreciates a clean and sanitized toilet, or the loving understanding of church members with a sense of humor more than when the pastor is hopped up on DayQuil.

Here’s to next year’s flu season.