Electric Sermon

Stevens, the local butcher, was there, with his wife and his three bored, fidgeting children.

And the Crowley sisters, local spinsters who could weave and spread tales of gossip faster then a disabled rocket falling back to Earth.

As Well as the towns top technician, Sam Tyler, and his sons, Mark and Bill.

And a host of other hundred some odd people, all making their way into the house of worship, none the wiser of the surprise that lay in store for them.

While they all waited patiently, or impatiently, depending on the age in question, Father Kincaid walked out up front and made his way to the podium. A hush settled over the congregation, except for an occasional cough or shuffling of shoes. Then, the elderly priest raised his head, and, with a little uncertainty in his voice, began his oration.

"Well", he said, amicably, "it’s certainly nice to see all of the familiar faces I have grown accustomed to, here on this fine day."

Someone coughed from the back. A pair of shoes shuffled up front. And Mr. Stevens' children fidgeted some.

"Before we begin mass today", Father Kincaid continued, "I would like to make a special announcement, in order to prepare you for a rather unusual change in church tradition. As many of you well know, there is a profound shortage of men, both young and old, enlisting for service in the priesthood. This has unfortunately resulted in a cutback in mass services, and of the closing of a number of churches throughout the country. And we here in Candlewick have not been immune to the effects of this sad situation. And since the good men of our fine town have not stepped forward to fill the gap..." He paused for effect, and got it.

The crowd coughed and shuffled some more, with an air of discomfort, and when the unsettled churchgoers quieted down once again, Father Kincaid continued.

"Now, Father Brody and I have held the fort, so to speak, as well as we can. And I think we've done a pretty good job of it. But we're both getting on in years, and can't quite hold mass as often as we once could. It’s just too much for us. So, with our coming retirement, and with Father O'Leary's untimely passing away three months ago, its only inevitable that someone would come along to replace us."

Father Kincaid once again paused, while the congregation, now rapt with attention, looked on, unmoving. All eyes were on him, giving undivided attention, except for the still fidgeting Stevens' children. Father Kincaid cleared his throat, and resumed.

"Now, as I've said, there is a shortage of men applying to the priesthood. So, the good church of St. Agatha is participating in a bold experiment, which just may be the answer to our problems. It may very well be the future of church service in America. Maybe even the world."

Father Kincaid’s audience looked at one another in bewilderment, mumbling, then back at him, begging with expressive eyes to be let in on this bold, new experiment he spoke of.

"About a week ago, I had dinner with our Bishop, and was informed that, without enough human clergy, we may be forced to enter the age of technology in a most unexpected way. When I asked him what he meant, he informed me of the church’s sanctioning of the use of...," here he paused again, but more out of fear then for dramatic effect.