Grandpa Jerry Williams was a great admirer of Saint Paul and would not have invoked the name of the revered apostle deliberately to frighten the wits out of a St. Louis drummer. Besides, Grandpa had to replace the church-yard gate and repair the steeple.

In those days of southeast Missouri, folks took their religion more seriously than some of us today. Grandpa Jerry, for instance, always felt he remained a poor carpenter-farmer because he had not heeded a "call" by the Lord to be a preacher.

Grandpa was a pious man, nevertheless, and tried to understand and obey the Lord in all other respects. Thus, he was a pillar of the Methodist Episcopal church -- passing the collection plate on Sundays and preaching the sermon when the regular pastor was on vacation or attending a bishops' conference.

Saint Paul was Grandpa's favorite biblical hero -- perhaps because both had been called by Christ and resisted. In any event, Grandpa read and re-read Paul's many letters that comprise a quarter of the New Testament. He was a recognized authority on Paul and often quoted the saint on perplexing or momentous occasions.

It was Grandpa's custom, when substituting in the pulpit, to propose a weighty spiritual problem, then ask the rhetorical question:

"What did Paul say?"

What Paul said on the subject usually took a solid hour, or a bit more, to relate. Grandpa didn't get many opportunities to atone for his youthful disobedience to God's call, so he made the most of every one.

Despite Grandpa Jerry's scriptural verbosity, he was an imposing figure in the pulpit. He was a large man, tall, with a wild crop of bushy white hair. When he got wound up about Paul, he commanded attention. He voice boomed, and he emphasized his words with thumps on the pulpit.

Folks allowed as how the regular-ordained pastors were easier to take, week-end-week-out. Still, a good dose of Saint Paul now and then purged the soul.

The spiritual home for that little country congregation was about five miles from town. As was the custom, it was left unlocked so passersby could enter for mediation or shelter.

Grandpa Jerry's farm was nearby, and he often went there in the evening, after chores, to look after the church. After mending a window pane, or mowing the grass in the graveyard out front, he would commune with God in the empty sanctuary.

It was on such an occasion during Lent that Grandpa Jerry and the St. Louis salesman encountered each other briefly. Grandpa went to the church that evening to sweep the floor and make sure the hymnals were evenly distributed for Easter Sunday. This done, he lingered to think and pray.

Darkness came on with a raging thunder storm. Grandpa's mood, the Holy season, and the natural elements inspired him to preach. He strode to the pulpit. Amidst the flashing lightning and rumbling thunder, he let his heart pour forth.

The salesman, in his Model-T Ford touring car, was caught in the area by that sudden storm. The rain beat in through the open sides. He careened down the road at a dizzying 40 miles-per-hour --- looking for a barn or some other place for him and his vehicle.

At last, the White Oak ME Church hove into view. The salesman gave an exclamation of relief. He knew there would be a horse-shed for his car, and the church door would be open. Hurriedly he dashed through the rain and dark to open the church-yard gate, park his car and take refuge in the church.

The salesman lit matches to find a pew in the back of the sanctuary and scrunched down to check his eyelids for light leaks until the rain let up.

But, repose was not to be. From the darkness and beating rain, a sonorous voice began to intone:

"And I persecuted this way unto death, binding and delivering into prisons both men and women. And it came to pass that as I made my journey, and was come nigh unto Damascus about noon, suddenly there shone from Heaven a great light round about me.

"And I fell unto the ground, and heard a voice saying unto me, Paul, why persecutest thou me?"

By now the drummer's hair was prickly at the back of his neck. The graves he had casually noted as he parked his car now loomed large in his imagination.

It was, of course, Grandpa Jerry warming up to this favorite topic -- thinking he was alone in the darkened church. Or, maybe he was aware of the visitor and was laying on an effect.

"And what did Paul say?" roared Grandpa just as a bolt of lightning hit he church steeple with an horrendous crash.

In the awful, split-second flash round about, followed instantly by an ear-splitting crash of thunder, the salesman saw a giant in the pulpit, his eyes burning coals and a white halo gleaming about his head.

With a screech, the salesman leaped over the pew and gained the door with one mighty lunge. By some divine miracle, the Model T engine coughed into life at the first spin of the crank. The salesman departed the premises with noteworthy alacrity.

Unfortunately, he did not pause long enough to unlatch the church-yard gate. It was a good gate with may years of useful service remaining. Under the circumstances, however, it seemed more appropriate to take the gate along on the front hood of the car than to tarry longer in the vicinity.

Thus it was that a badly frightened salesman, with a church gate for company, pulled up to the Campbell Tavern. "There's a mad-man back there in a church!" he stammered.

A table of men didn't bother to look up from their game of five-card stud.

"Was he talking about Paul?" some one asked.

"Yes, yes! That's him."

"Oh, that's only Deacon Williams. You should have hung around a little longer. He would have taken up a collection."

They kidded Grandpa a lot after that, scaring strangers and all; but he wasn't amused at being thought non compos mentis.

"Probably the first time that jasper has been to church in 20 years," groused Grandpa. "Too bad the Lord's aim was a little off with that bolt of lightning."