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One time a young seminarian was scheduled as pulpit supply for a small country church about twenty miles out from the city. He was an eager young man, and eager for opportunities to practice his homiletic skills, and so he was delighted with the opportunity.
He woke up early that Sunday morning, and was dismayed to see that it had snowed heavily the night before, and that it was still coming down hard. And yet . . . he was eager to preach, and he had a decent car, and his tires were good. So he decided he was going to go for it.
Because the county did a decent job keeping the roads plowed, and because his tires really were good, he made it to the church about twenty minutes early. The door was unlocked, and although nobody was there, the wood stove in the corner was crackling merrily. Somebody had been there, and no doubt he would be back. The young man went up to the pulpit, opened his Bible to the correct passage, arranged his notes on the pulpit, and then paced nervously up and down the center aisle. He looked out the window, and it was still snowing like crazy.
About five minutes after the service had been scheduled to started, the young man heard a noise at the door, the sound of stomping, and then an old rancher came in. The two stared at each other for a few seconds.
“Should we wait for the person who started the fire?” the young man asked.
“No need,” the rancher said. “I did that.”
“Well, there’s only the two of us. Should I preach my sermon? It seems odd . . .”
“Well, when I go out in a blizzard to ten to my cattle,” the rancher said, “if only one of them showed up, I’d still feed him.”
The young man nodded. That made good spiritual sense, so he went up to the pulpit and the rancher sat down.
The young man preached his heart out. He preached as though he was going to bring revival down with his own two hands. He preached like the world was on fire. When he was done, he didn’t know what else to do, so he put his notes in his Bible, and walked to the back door to greet the congregation on the way out.
As the rancher was leaving, he shook the young man’s hand, and said, “Thanks, padre.”
Impulsively, the young preacher blurted out, “Do you mind if I ask how you liked the sermon?”
The rancher scratched the stubble on his chin meditatively. “Well, son, like I said. If I go out to feed the cattle in a blizzard and only one shows up, I still feed him. But, a bit closer to the point of your question, I don’t feed him the whole load of hay.”
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