This Sunday was like any other Sunday but this one was special to Jenkem Boy. He was finally teach his first Sunday School lesson. After eight years in pre-servants class, which some called the PhD program but for some reason which Jenkem Boy could never understand always laughed after calling it that; the powers that be finally decided he was ready. He walked to the class full of hope and optimism. He wasn’t too worried he thought that the older wiser teachers would be there to bail him out if things got to bad.
He walked into the classroom, full house. Ever child on the list had shown up today, but he noticed none of the other teachers were there. “Oh Lord have mercy, they must running a little late”, he muttered under his breath. He decided to wait a few minutes, praying more feverently than he has ever before that another teacher would show up. As he was praying he could have sworn that the kids were whispering ‘fresh meat” amongst themselves. Wait, we’re not supposed to swear, already less than 30 seconds into being a Sunday School Teacher and he was a heretic. Jesus Christ! What else can go wrong. “Oh no, I’ve just taken Lord’s name in vain” he thought. How could things get he wondered.
After waiting a few minutes, Jenkem Boy realized he’s doing this solo. So he started by trying to quiet the class.
“Blease be quiet. No side talks.” he demanded in loud voice.
“Side talks? What the hell are those?” wondered the kid who was tall for his age.
“You shouldn’t say that, it is a bad word.”
“Which word? What.”
“No.”
“It can’t be ‘are’. You couldn’t get far in life without say ‘are’”
Exasperated Jenkem Boy yelled. “Hell! You should not say hell. It is a very bad word.”
In unison the entire class chimed in “OOOOH. You said a bad word.”
“Now you’re going to hell.” exclaimed the kid who was tall for his age.
“Noone is going to hell.”
“Even if we do something really really bad?” asked one girl.
“Yes, No. just bay attention.” At this point Jenkem Boy began to despair for both his and the class’ salvation. “Blease, Blease be quiet so I can start the lesson” He pleaded on the verge of tears.
“Guys, be quiet!” said a boy sitting in the corner. The class suddenly quieted down. Jenkem Boy was thankful and thought having Abouna’s son in the class would be very helpful. A wronger thought could not have been thought.
Jenkem Boy started with some confidence “Okay, to believe in God, you must have fais.” Before he could say anymore a barrage of questions began.
“A face?”
“What if you’re ugly?”
“Or you get into a horrible accident and you face gets knocked off?”
“No No not face but fais!” shouted Jenkem Boy. “You know fais.””Fais!” “You need fais.”
“But we all have faces” piped up the boy whose pants were always too short.
Jenkem Boy looked pleadingly at Abouna’s son for any help he can offer. But Abouna’s son just looked back blankly at him. At this point he decided to switch gears and try a nice saint story. Everybody loves a saint story. Well maybe with the exception of hellspawn which Jenkem Boy was becoming convinced was what most of these children were.
“Okay can somebody tell me somethings about Mari Mina?” .
“He’s a saint.”
“Good. Good.” agreed Jenkem Boy thinking God has finally smiled down upon him.
“He’s dead.”
“Good. Good.”
“He’s a pimp” chimed in a voice that supciously sounded like Abouna’s son.
“Good. Good. Wait. Wait. No! No! He is not a bimb.”
“What’s a pimp?” a confused little girl asked. Then the floodgates of questions opened.
“Why was his first name Mary if he was a boy?” “Did he have face?” “Why does he have two camels and doesn’t ride them?”
And a barrage of other questions that Jenkem Boy was convinced were not orthodox. Then he realized God had not smiled down upon him but rather smirked.Then someone started playing with the light switch; he turned to see who it was, taking his attention.off the class for a split second. That all it took. Someone yelled wrestlemania and the next thing he knew he was hit with a metal folding chair and when he was down the class piled on top. From the bottom of the pile Jenkem Boy looked up and saw Abnouna’s son. He managed to gasp out “{Quick go get your dad, Abouna.” The look he got in response cause him to reflexively make the sign of the Cross and start weeping “My God, my God why have you forsaken me.”
Meanwhile with his foul-enhanced senses, Captain Coptic heard the commotion occurring in Jenkem Boy’s class. He rushed down to find Jenkem Boy curled in a fetal position dazed and mutterring Psalm 22. As he entered the room to see if all was okay. The door closed behind him and all he heard the clang and felt the impact of the metal chair and then all went black.
When Captain Coptic and Jenkem Boy regained consciousness, they found themselves tie back to back being slowly lowered into a vat of boiling wax in the Church boiler room. He looked around and saw Abouna’s son standing there. He thought to himself, “We may still survive this.” He called out to Abouna’s son, “Quick go get Abouna. We need help.”
“Why?” replied Abouna’s son rather calmly.
Not quite the response he expected. The Captain nonplussed exclaimed, “We’re gonna die thats why?!”
“I know. I masterminded this whole thing. So if you don’t mind I’ll be leaving now as you die a horrible death.” Abouna’s son replied unusually calmly again.
Again not quite the answer Captain Coptic expected. Well at leaast now he kenw what they did with the little candle stubs from in front of the icons.
“Holy barrafin, ya Batman, is there no …”
Captain Coptic interrupted, “What did you just call me?”
“I called you Cabtain Cobtic”, answered Jenkem Boy,”Because that is your name, Cabtain.”
“No I distinctly heard you call me Batman. Are you cheating on me sidekicking for other superheroes.”
“Don’t be riduculous! All I know is we’re going to die and I never kissed a girl.”
“I believe thats a matter for your father of confession, Jenkem Boy. And honestly your weirding me out now. Plus I’ve got my own issues, do you know how tough it is to get wife, when your prospective father-in-law finds out you wear tights for a living.”
“I may need to talk to my father of confession but you need a therabist.”
“Anyway, this conversation will be moot. You know the irony in this, is as a kid I used to love dipping my fingers in the molten wax from the candles in front of the icons. Well goodbye my friend.”
“Goodbye O Cabtain, my Cabtain.”
As the end seemed inevitable to our Heroes of the Fast., the Defenders of the Difnar, Safegauders of the Synaxarium, Protectors of the Psalies … (Sorry but you get my drift.) Anyway, the end seemed inevitable. As their feet were mere millimeters from the boiling, when they descent in oblivion was halted.
“But who?” wondered our duo.
“It is I, Bohairic Girl, who is saving you.” exclaimed the newest femme fatale on the Copptic superhero scene.
“Bohairic Girl?”
“Yes, I know the name needs work. Its all I could think of so I am open to suggestions. Would you rather we debate the finer points of my name or be rescued.”
“Point taken.”
Inb short order our heroes were rescued.
“Thank you so much, Bohairic Girl.” Jenkem Boy gushed.
“It was the least I could do”, she replied.
“Would your father mind a son-in-law who wore tights?” asked the Captain hopefully.
“What?!”
“Nevermind”
“But what will we do about Abouna’s Son and his gang of Sunday school Kids?” asked Jenkem Boy.
“Don’t worry I have something in mind” reassured the Captain.
Next Sunday as punishment the entire class had to memorized Psalm 119 before they could go home.