He was watching Bill waving him back in his rear-view mirror as he slowly backed his ‘68 Chevy toward the church basement door. The rest of the members of the pastoral search team were huddled together, standing just off the sidewalk, trying not to trample any of the flowers in the new bed.
“That’s good,” Bill yelled.
Jim cut off the ignition and eased out of the driver’s seat.
The other members of the team shuffled toward the back of the pickup, excited, as Bill lowered the tailgate.
“It looks like a cheap casket,” George said.
Pam lightly struck George with her folder full of meeting minutes and said, “Oh, George, what a thing to say.”
Before them lay the future of their church. The future of millions of churches! The label on the box almost seemed comical: “Robo Pastor.”
They could hardly believe they had convinced their little Baptist church to go along with their plan. A robotic pastor! But the model they ordered looked a lot like Brett Baire off of Fox News. Deacon Jones really liked that.
The thought that they could program this thing to be exactly what they wanted in a pastor is what really sold the idea. Plus, no housing, salary, or health insurance required! They had opted for the extra warranty and maintenance plan, “just in case.” They would have a monthly payment for the next seven years, but it wasn’t much more than the church bus payment, which they paid off early.
“I’m so excited,” Winny squealed. Of course, as boring as Winny was, anything was exciting to her.
Ron & Phil, the “young guns” on the search team, wrestled the heavy crate off the truck and into the classroom where the team had their weekly meetings.
Phil pulled out the box cutter that he used at the grocery store and began cutting through the plastic that bound their future pastor.
“Careful,” Mary said. Mary was so cautious and scared that she barely left her house. Their former pastor, Rev. Davis, had often counseled her concerning her anxiousness. It had cost her so much, including her chance for marriage. She was just too afraid to say “yes” when Frank popped the question. In the back of her mind, she wondered if this new “pastor” would be a better counselor than Rev. Davis.
They held their breath when Ron lifted the lid. Now, it really did feel like they were looking into a casket.
Before them lay a body. It did look like Brett Baire. It was almost eerie.
“He” wore a black suit, starched white shirt, and a black tie. A perfectly pastoral look, ready for weddings, funerals, and the Sunday sermon.
They removed the charging stand from the top of his legs, the Styrofoam from around the edges of his body, and the tape that held his mouth and eyes closed.
“How do you turn it on?” Jim said.
“The book said to press the button on the back of his neck underneath his shirt collar,” Pam said.
Jim slid his hand behind the head of his new “Pastor,” looking for the button.
“Found it,” he said, smiling, “But I’m a little afraid to push it.”
“Go for it,” Winny said.