Short Stories

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Wishing For Whoville

One of my favorite cartoons as a child was the story of How the Grinch Stole Christmas by Dr. Seuss. Every holiday season, I would anxiously search the TV Guide for the broadcast time and then, on the appointed night, I would make doubly sure that all my homework was done, I was bathed early and that all my school stuff was laid out for the next morning. I would be seated in “my” corner of the couch and ready when the announcer cheerfully notified us that Dolly Madison Bakery or some other equally wholesome sponsor was proudly presenting that night’s special program.

The funny thing about the Grinch story was that I was in on the catchy title. I knew from the get go that the Grinch couldn’t really steal Christmas. Nevertheless, I still got all warm and fuzzy inside when, at the climax of the story, all the “Whos down in Whoville” held hands and celebrated Christmas despite the Grinch’s efforts to “stop Christmas from coming”.

I marveled at the cartoon version of Whoville. What a place! Everyone smiled and seemed deliriously happy…even with quirky architecture and the dog that looked like my classmate Bobby. But the most amazing thing to me was that, despite their seeming brainlessness, the Whos, actually displayed some serious insight and depth. No packages, boxes or bags? No problem. No ribbons, wrapping or tags? No worries. The Whos knew what it meant to celebrate Christmas. Those little pen and ink dudes had character!

Which brings me to the point of this essay. To explain myself, let me set the stage: Not long after I became a Christian, I suffered a serious crisis of faith. Someone I trusted betrayed, not just me, but also a rather large group of people. To make matters worse, I felt as though I had seen the writing on the wall but everyone else brushed it off as my overdeveloped sense of caution. When the truth came to light, (and it was far worse than what I had feared), I ended up leaving that church, and walking away from most of my friends. It was a very depressing time, to say the least.

Anyway, one hot, summer night I chanced upon a church service in what used to be an Art-Deco style movie theater. Intrigued, more by the chance to check out the building then anything else, I walked through the sleek, gilded doors, past the geometric patterns in the marble and metal foyer and was immediately caught up in the hospitality and warmth of the congregation.

Then, the singing began. It was awesome. The worship leader knew his stuff and seamlessly blended songs and prayer perfectly one into the other.

And then it happened. Just like in Whoville, just like in the cartoon of my childhood. The musicians stopped and the sound guys turned down the amplifiers but the congregation just kept on singing. No drums, no guitars, no bass. No microphones, no PowerPoint, no printed words. Everybody just kept on singing. . Four or five hundred acapella voices lifted praise upon praise up and right out of that Art-Deco theater and on to the streets and alleyways of Glendale. For perhaps twenty minutes, music simply poured out of the congregation. It was my Whoville moment. And just like the Grinch in that silly cartoon story, my scarred and bitter heart grew that day.

And ever since then, I have wished for a Whoville moment to befall every congregation I’ve ever been in. I know it will happen. I don’t know when but I keep waiting for Whoville.

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