Today at work, I took a cookie out of a box in a freezer in our break room. To be honest, I'm not sure who the rightful owner of the cookie box is, but a lot of our stuff in the breakroom is communal property, except for those labeled items and a couple of cabinets whose contents are designated for students or others. At least this is how it was explained to me when we moved in our new building a few years ago.
Still, I always feel a little sheepish when I snag a cookie or couple of pieces of candy from this room. Sort of like the Disciples must've felt when they were snapping off heads of wheat in the fields on the Sabbath, and the Pharisees questioned Jesus about that dubious activity. I'll bet they felt a little weird, thinking, "You know, they have a point. We're technically working here." But Jesus basically said, "I made the Sabbath. I own the Sabbath. I say they can have some Wheat Thins because they're hungry." Only I'm not working, I'm stealing. A shade different, I guess.
Since I'm just like the Apostles and all, I said to Jesus today, "Jesus, I'm hungry. And, you know, I am fasting coffee for Lent." I know I had a holy expression on my face. I sensed strongly (in my tummy) that Jesus was probaby saying, "Mi casa es su casa. Go ahead, good Secretary." (Not many people realize Jesus is bilingual. Or that I am a good secretary.)
I put the frozen cookie in the microwave on a paper towel, set it to 30 secs., and walked away to do some urgent ... filing. A couple of minutes later I rememebered my cookie, went back to the room and found it billowing with smoke!
I had set the timer wrong, apparently, or maybe it was a symbol of where stealers spend eternity!
I screamed to one of our associate pastors to call the alarm company because I saw no flames and knew who was to blame. I mean I knew how the accident happened (passive voice bears no blame). We didn't need no screamin' fire trucks.
So she called them and the administrative pastor, and I ran around flailing dish rags trying to clear the smoke, reminiscent of Chicken Little in a meteorite shower.
Our coffee shop manager came to my rescue with a giant blower that they use to dry industrial carpets. He made the remark, "Looks like you should've fasted sweets instead of coffee, doesnt it?" Hmph. Just like a Pharisee, walkin' around with all the smart answers, don't you think?
I had to open my boss's window in freezing weather to air out his office. He was at lunch. I dreaded his return.
When I left at 2:00, the boss had forgiven me, I think, but the building still reeked and the blower still blew. When I got home, I had a raw throat and headache to beat the band. I smelled like I'd been in a house afire. And I guess I had.
Let no one say that the flame of the Spirit has gone out at Oneighty. Holy smokes!