Todays Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul

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The Tablecloth

By Bauman

A young minister had been called to serve at an old church that at one

time

had been a magnificent edifice in a wealthy part of town. Now the area was

in a

state of decline and the church was in bad shape. Nevertheless, the pastor

and

his wife were thrilled with the church and believed they could restore it

to its

former magnificence.

When the minister took charge of the church early in October 1948, he

and

his wife immediately went to work painting, repairing and attempting to

restore

it. Their goal was to have the old edifice looking its best for Christmas

Eve

services.

Just two days before Christmas, however, a storm swept through the

area,

dumping more than an inch of rain. The roof of the old church sprung a

leak

just behind the altar. The plaster soaked up the water as if it were a

sponge

and then crumbled, leaving a gaping hole in the wall.

Dejected, the pastor and his wife looked at the defaced wall. There

was

obviously no chance to repair the damage before Christmas. Nearly three

months

of hard work had been washed away. Yet the young couple accepted the

damage as

God's will and set about cleaning up the damp debris.

It was a depressed minister and his wife who attended a benefit

auction for

the church youth group that afternoon. One of the items put up for bid was

an

old gold-and-ivory-colored lace tablecloth, nearly fifteen feet long.

Seized with an inspiration, the pastor was the high bidder at $6.50.

His

idea was to hang the ornate cloth behind the altar to cover the ragged hole

in

the wall.

On the day before Christmas, snowflakes mingled with the howling wind.

As

the pastor unlocked the church doors, he noticed an older woman standing at

the

nearby bus stop. He knew the bus wouldn't be there for at least half an

hour,

so he invited her inside to keep warm.

She wasn't from the neighborhood, she explained. She had been in the

area

to be interviewed for a job as a governess to the children of a well-known

wealthy family. She had been a war refugee, her English was poor and she

didn't

get the job.

Head bowed in prayer, she sat in a pew near the back of the church.

She

paid no attention to the pastor, who was hanging the tablecloth across the

unsightly hole. When the woman looked up and saw the cloth, she rushed to

the

altar.

" It's mine! " she exclaimed. " It's my banquet cloth! "

Excitedly she told the surprised minister its history and even showed

him

her initials embroidered in one corner.

She and her husband had lived in Vienna, Austria, and had opposed the

Nazis

before the Second World War. They decided to flee to Switzerland, but her

husband said they must go separately. She left first. Later she heard

that he

had died in a concentration camp.

Touched by her story, the minister insisted she take the cloth. She

thought about it for a moment but said no, she didn't need it any longer,

and it

did look pretty hanging behind the altar. Then she said good-bye and left.

In the candlelight of the Christmas Eve services, the tablecloth

looked

even more magnificent. The white lace seemed dazzling in the flickering

light

of the candles, and the golden threads woven through it were like the

brilliant

rays of a new dawn.

As members of the congregation left the church, they complimented the

pastor on the services and on how beautiful the church looked.

One older gentleman lingered, admiring the tablecloth, and as he was

leaving he said to the minister:

" It's strange. Many years ago my wife - God rest her - and I owned

such a

tablecloth. She used it only on very special occasions. But we lived in

Vienna

then. "

The night air was freezing, but the goosebumps on the pastor's skin

weren't

caused by the weather. As calmly as he could, he told the man about the

woman

who had been to the church that very afternoon.

" Can it be, " gasped the old man, tears streaming down his cheeks,

" that she

is alive? How can I find her? "

The pastor remembered the name of the family who had interviewed the

woman.

With the trembling old man at his side, he telephoned the family and

learned her

name and address.

In the pastor's old car they drove to her home on the other side of

town.

Together they knocked on her apartment door. When she opened it, the

pastor

witnessed the tearful, joyful and thrilling reunion of husband and wife.

Some people would call it an extremely lucky chance happening, the

result

of a hole in the church wall, an old tablecloth, a pastor's ingenuity in

solving

a problem and so on. But the combination of events was far too complex for

it

to have been merely " coincidence. "

If one link in the fragile chain of events had been broken, the

husband and

wife might never have found each other. If the rain hadn't come, if the

church

roof hadn't leaked, if the pastor had decided not to go to the auction, if

the

woman hadn't been looking for a job or standing on that corner at just the

right

time . . . . The list of ifs is virtually endless.

It was simply God's will. And, as it has been said many times, He

works in

mysterious ways.