Grubb column: My father, master of the stink eye

Looking back, I’m really surprised my parents allowed me to sit with my mischievous contemporaries in the “adult service” of our little ol’ church on Sunday mornings.

Let’s just be honest: Even a pagan knows a row of preteen boys is a disturbance waiting to happen!

The little country church I attended as a youngster didn’t provide a separate service for kids. You were either in the nursery or in the adult service — the long, hot, boring adult service.

When I was about 8 or 9, my parents decided I was mature enough to sit with the other boys during the preaching, probably happy to distance themselves from my endless fidgeting.

Just like at your church, each family had their favorite pew. My family sat near the front, mostly because we always arrived late and the front pews held the only vacancies. But us boys sat in the rear-most pew along with Owen Miller, whose war injury required him to sit with his leg propped onto a step stool placed there just for him.

Ornery boys such as Louie Miller, as well as cousins Steve and Rick Peters, and I sat packed shoulder to shoulder on the rear pew, which was shortened to make room for the new indoor restroom. We were typical boys, but Steve had a gift.

His ability to do silent comedy (mime the preacher, mock Uncle Fred as he slept — his head falling back, mouth gaping open) would strike my funny bone so powerfully that any effort to stifle laughter proved ineffective.

It would begin as a violent vibration within my inner core and percolate up and onto my bouncing shoulders and finally explode with the intensity of a sneeze. At first, a few snickers would leak past my hand-covered mouth, hardly detectable.

But then suddenly, like steam escaping from a constipated teapot, my laughter would pressure past my palm, emitting strange, whoopee cushion noises. Giggling would possess my body as tears rolled down my cheeks.

Regardless of what I did, I couldn’t contain my laughter. Placing both hands over my mouth resulted in nasal snorts that rose to the graceful wooden arches supporting the knotty pine ceiling and echoed to the front pews occupied by my parents.

I was completely unable to contain my delight, and Steve knew it. Though all of us giggled at his antics, I seemed to be the only one who couldn’t turn it off.

His comedic talent included the ability to maintain a poker face as each of our parents rotated in their pew — slowly at first, as inconspicuously as possible, they would screw their shoulders 45 degrees until they could look us straight in the eye.

My dad was anything but a disciplinarian. He preferred to find the humor in most every situation, a heritage for which I’m grateful (I still find it difficult to take this life too seriously).

But embarrassed by my disturbance in that sacred setting, even he realized something must be done. In an instant, the kindhearted Dr. Jekyll would transform into Mr. Hyde, as he plied a seldom-used discipline tool — The Stink Eye!

Dad was the master of the stink eye. A dark cloud would pass over his forehead as his brown eyes narrowed, invoking a mysterious Jedi power. My peripheral vision would blur, and his face became the only thing visible in the room, as his laser stare welded my focus to his ominous glare.

It was amazing, really, how the man I so loved and respected, the man who never misused anger, could with one paralyzing look reduce me to a quiver! No mouthed threats, no exaggerated body movements or hand signals ... just his focused stare.

And I knew instinctively that I had just punched my own ticket for a ride on the “Wait till I get you home” train. When Dad did discipline me, though, he was always fair, dealing it out in controlled, effective measures.

I have a theory about the anger of God. I don’t believe He’s peering over the edge of heaven, face contorted into the stink eye. But rather, as the Bible reminds us, He chooses to come alongside us to gently guide our steps, nudging us and encouraging us to walk with Him.

Jesus says: “Walk with me and work with me — watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you.” (Matthew 11:29)

As a youngster in church, I enjoyed my buddies, but it was my father’s influence that set me on a peaceful path to spiritual life.

Ron Grubb loves to tell life stories and apply God’s truth as he leads the Lancaster School of Ministry and pastors at Life Church, 4 miles north of Lancaster on Ohio 37. Ron welcomes your thoughts at ron@lifechurchohio.com.