It depends on your set-up and your level of formality, but what do you do when you realize you forgot the sermon/reading/important thing in the sacristy or your study?
If you’re me, you simply say, “Pardon me, I left the reading in my study… David?” And your marvelous pianist does what I call “noodling,” which is to gently play variations on the musical meditation you all just sang while you swiftly but calmly walk to your study, get the reading off your desk, catch the door before it makes a clicking-shut noise, and return in a reverent and not-at-all-rushing way to the pulpit or lectern. Let the phrase of music finish before you start again so as not to disrupt the flow of worship a second time.
Please do not babble anything beyond, “Excuse me for a moment.” Do not betray with a facial expression or verbal indication that you screwed up. It is never a problem for worshipers to sit for a few moments in silent prayer, and you must be prepared for this eventuality. It happens!
“Excuse me for a moment” can be used for lots of fun developments: an asthma attack, a wheelchair malfunction, a sudden bout of diarrhea. You and your worship team, ushers and music folks may want to work out a kind of drill in the event that you use this phrase, which is a calm SOS that you’re going to need coverage. Its utterance may set in motion an usher approaching for your whispered instructions (eg, “I left my sermon in the sacristy, could you go look for it?” “I am about to barf, could you ask Marina to come up here and cover the rest of the service?” Or “I’m having a heart attack, call 911 and I’ll meet you in a second.”)
True story: my own father, the late Carl Davis Weinstein, was addressing a large gathering of cable advertising executives in 1982 when he did this exact thing. He excused himself, beckoned to his secretary Mona Kay, told her to call 911, returned to his speech, finished it with aplomb (and probably lots of humor, knowing my dad), and died at the hospital shortly thereafter.
When these exigencies arise (and God forbid they should be so serious as the one that laid low my pa), let people behind the scenes rush and freak out, but do not reveal that you’re thrown.
If the iPad goes dead, the projector doesn’t go on, your reading glasses break and render you unable to see the readings, the pages of the prayer book appear completely out of order, or the name of the couple’s names are illegible on the page, keep it together. Better to smile kindly and take a moment or two of RELAXED silence while you gather your materials or your thoughts than to devolve into nervous riffing.
Remember that God gathers us as a people in worship. God calls us to ministry as individuals, yes, but never in a solitary context, else you’d be chaplain to the squirrels and ferns. The community at worship is capable of covering – emotionally, spiritually and technically – when the clergy is indisposed.
That said, do not allow this to become a frequent event. Should your physical ability change, work with your team to make appropriate accommodations that allow you to confidently preside. If your health prevents you from being able to lead worship, please plan to take a hiatus from that role rather than put yourself and the congregation through an anxious weekly ordeal that becomes the primary focus of the community. We are out there without a net, and although it is to be expected that we will have occasional seasons of vulnerability when our faculties are compromised, we should not expect our congregations to live with long-term insecurity as to our ability to fulfill these sacred obligations.
Call in colleagues. Hire a seminarian and coach them, making the crisis into an opportunity. Adapt your worship service to be less minister-centric.
Hey, HOT ENOUGH FOR YOU?
Hopefully the couple is not ineligible; their names are merely illegible. A peaceful intake of breath and a glance at the earlier part of the manuscript should take care of the illegible issue. If they are ineligible… well, that’s another story altogether!
[Good editorial eye, Miss J! -PB]
My lay readers watch for the hairy eyeball and oozing decorum make their way unobtrusively, to my side to receive instruction…though at a Christmas eve service my voice packed up mid (very animated) spoken word/kids focus/sermon and a choir member out of concern for me ran to get me water and came back with it in a brandy snifter…which I’m sorry to say cracked me and the whole congregation up…somehow I managed to work it all in! Peace was restored and people left happy and smiling- not my best ministerial moment though. And now water is always available.
Brilliant!
But oh your dad!
One of the greatest blessings that I have experienced as an Anglican priest has been the presence of an experienced, unflappable and utterly dependable head server. I have known three and they make such a difference. A quiet summons and they approach, intentionally and calmly, we acknowledge one another with a bow which enables a hissed “there’s no water in the cruet”, another bow and they head off to deal with the problem, returning calmly and intentionally to their seat. Nine times out of ten the congregation don’t even notice. That utter reliability and ability to notice and deal with a problem before it becomes an issue is so reassuring. “Reverent and not-at-all-rushing” is, as you say, always the way to go. [I love this. The bow and the hissing cracked me up! YES! – PB]
The Sunday the altar guild forgot to put wine in the flagon. I made eye contact with the assistant, and she went back to the sacristy to open a bottle. All done quietly, calmly and during the offertory song, so few people noticed.
or…when there are no other folks with you serving at the altar, as happened often during my wild west free-range-priest days…and the well-meaning altar guild (thought they had) set out the lavabo water beforehand in its’ little copper flagon…and you go to wash your fingers…and pour lovely red wine all over your hands. Well. That works too. But having an awesome Server wins, no question!