He Passed the Communion Tray for 40 Years and Never Once Took It

Announcer: This is Kingdom Gospel Ministries — sharing the good news of Jesus Christ, one story at a time. You're listening to Kingdom Stories. Before we begin, we want to thank the supporters who walk alongside this ministry. Your generosity is what carries these stories out into the world, and reaches the person who needs to hear one today. If this ministry has meant something to you, we'd love for you to join them — you can find out how to support the mission in the episode description. And now... here's your host, Pastor Cole.

Pastor Cole: A man sat in the same pew for forty years. Passed the communion tray down the row every single week. And never once took it. Because he believed—not feared, believed—that he'd already been permanently and finally cast off by God. He was seventeen when he decided that. He was sixty-one when anybody found out. Brother, that's Emmett.

Emmett: I wasn't upset about it. That's the part people don't get. I'd already had my verdict. Forty years, I was just doing my time polite.

Pastor Cole: Well, friend, we're glad you drove down from Poplar Bluff. Kingdom Stories is just a place where people tell their stories. Not a church—a media project we run. A mutual friend knew your story and thought it belonged here. Forty-one years fixing small engines, brother. We're gonna go slow. And you stop me anywhere you want. There's no rush.

Emmett: Well, I appreciate that. Deloris told me I wasn't much of a talker, and she said that'd be a problem on a program like this. Most people bring me a mower, they do all the talking. I just work.

Pastor Cole: Well, that's the work. So what comes through the door in a week? What do you see?

Emmett: Well, you get a lot of the same thing. Guy brought me a Briggs mower last Tuesday—hadn't run it since October. Sat in a garage all winter, gas still in the tank. Ethanol'll gum up a carburetor something fierce over three months. That was my afternoon—pulled the bowl, cleaned the jets, got it back to him Thursday. He acts like I performed surgery. I just let the carburetor soak. Then you get the chainsaw people. Always straight gas—no oil mix. They don't think about it. Run it for a weekend, stop for six months, come back wondering why it won't start. The rings are scored. That one's a total loss usually. I try to explain it when they're picking it up. Most of 'em don't listen the second time either. You get sheared flywheel keys—that's where the blade connects. Hit a rock or a stump and something's gotta give. The key gives. New key's five dollars. The work's forty-five minutes if you know what you're doing. But people'll run it till the blade's locked up solid. Then you're replacing the whole shaft assembly. That's a real bill. Most of it's preventive. You tell somebody drain your fuel, you save yourself a problem. Use the right gas mix. Don't store it wet. They don't do any of it. So I've been busy for forty-one years doing the same diagnosis over and over. It's honest work.

Pastor Cole: You're a man who can find what's actually wrong with a thing. Most people can't. How'd you come to it? Was it always the shop?

Emmett: Vernon Kittle owned it. I swept the floor at fifteen. He taught me to listen to what an engine says. What's actually wrong with it. I bought it off him in my thirties. Been doing it since.

Pastor Cole: That's honest work. But back up with me—before Vernon, before the shop. What was your house like? And your mother—tell me about her.

Emmett: Well, Ruthie. She kept things. Got me to church when I didn't want to go. Worked at the school cafeteria, made good biscuits. Real good ones. Tuesday mornings she'd have the pans soaking before she left for work. Up before the sun most days. Never made a fuss. Just did what needed doing.

Pastor Cole: What happened that night?

Emmett: August of eighty. She was in the kitchen. I was out in the yard and heard something. Went in and she was down. Aneurysm. Just hit her. I called the ambulance right then. Eight minutes maybe till they got there. Got her in the driveway. Worked on her—shock pads, compressions, all the things they do. But she was already gone. Nothing anybody could have done. She was forty-eight.

Pastor Cole: Seventeen. What did you do—that night, after she was gone?

Emmett: I went out in the side yard. And I — I cursed the Holy Ghost. By name. Out loud. On purpose. I'm not gonna repeat those words on air. Not to be dramatic. I just won't. I knew what I was doing. Wasn't out of my mind. I picked it.

Pastor Cole: And what did you think would happen?

Emmett: I expected something. Lightning, I guess. Something that would hurt. Nothing happened. The dog barked. A truck went by on the highway. I went back inside. And I figured the nothing was worse than something would've been. But... I don't know. That's probably not right either.

Pastor Cole: But that night in the side yard—nothing happened. When did you decide it had?

Emmett: Six weeks later. Revival week. A preacher came through — visiting man, I don't remember his name anymore. I'm not gonna blame a dead man for doing his job. He believed what he was preaching. But he preached hard on the unpardonable sin. Mark, chapter three. And what stuck — what I heard and it stayed — he said it just like this: "Hath never forgiveness." Never. That was the word that mattered. And I was seventeen years old. Seventeen-year-olds are real good at arithmetic.

Pastor Cole: The Book says it straight. Mark, chapter three, verse twenty-eight. "All sins and all blasphemies wherewith soever men shall blaspheme shall be forgiven them." Then verse twenty-nine. "But he that shall blaspheme against the Holy Ghost hath never forgiveness, but is in danger of eternal damnation." Which just means... every sin has a door. Except that one. No door for that one. That's what a seventeen-year-old heard. What did you do with it?

Emmett: I did the math. I was seventeen, I took the preacher at his word. Never forgive meant never. So that was settled. I accepted it and I didn't make a fuss. Just went on living.

Pastor Cole: Mark three, verse twenty-nine. You're seventeen. Never. The math is done. And then you live forty years in that pew—same tray every week—and you never ask anybody. Not a teacher. Not a pastor. Why didn't you ask?

Emmett: I thought if I asked somebody, they would tell me I was right. And as long as nobody said the words out loud, I could just keep working. Keep going to church. I already knew the answer anyway. So asking was just... noise. That sounds stupid now. It didn't then.

Pastor Cole: A boy believes he's already damned—most times he goes wild. Runs hard. Doesn't care anymore. That's what I'd expect. What'd you do?

Emmett: Once you're damned, you can't get worse. So there's no point sinning—won't hurt you any worse. And no point repenting. Won't help either. Both doors locked. So I worked. Stayed polite. Forty years. People'd tell you I'm a good man and —it'd make me want to laugh. Nothing good about it. Just locked.

Pastor Cole: That's not a wild life, brother. That's a sealed one. Now tell me about Deloris. How'd a sealed man get married?

Emmett: Met her at the bank. She worked the front desk there. I came in needing to refinance for the shop, and I asked her to coffee. That's all it was. She said yes, and we got married three years later. She went to church every Sunday. And I went because she went. I didn't have a reason to go myself. But she needed to go, so I went. Forty years, same pew. I never told her what I believed. Not once. She would've tried to fix it, and I didn't want that noise. But she kept — she kept there being a life. Something around me. Dinner on the table, the house, church on Sunday. Work came in, she knew I'd work. She just kept going. Alone, I'd have just worked till I wore out. She irons everything. Doesn't have to. Just does.

Pastor Cole: Forty years in that pew. Every Sunday. The tray comes down and you just — you sit there. Already knowing what you believed about yourself. So what were you doing in there?

Emmett: The tray. It's silver, pretty simple thing. Handle on each end. And the little glasses — real small, maybe that big. Glass. When you lift it they clink some, just this little sound. You get it from the left. The metal's cool in your hands. It's got some weight to it. Not heavy. You just know it's there. And the glasses sitting there — — you pass it to the right. Deloris. Every week. Forty years. Same tray. I learned how to hold it just right, so the glasses wouldn't move around. Real smooth. You could almost do it without thinking about it. Almost. That's — — that's what I was doing in there.

Pastor Cole: Forty years in that pew. Did anybody ever ask you why?

Emmett: One time an usher asked if I was feelin' all right. I told him I was fine. That was the whole thing. I made myself quiet. Didn't make a fuss, didn't draw attention. Once you're not noticeable, nobody asks.

Pastor Cole: You just said you made yourself quiet. But you had Kayla. She grew up in that church, that faith. While you believed you were already damned. What was that like? Raising her in that faith?

Emmett: Took her every Sunday. Church camp, heard her say the verses. I wanted that to be true for her. Didn't think it was true for me. And I — — I didn't see how that was a problem....I don't know. It's just what it was.

Pastor Cole: Forty-four years—that's a long time carrying something alone. Did you ever almost tell her? Or anybody else?

Emmett: Once. We were in the truck coming back from a funeral. Years back — her aunt, out at Qulin. She just asked me — 'How come you never take communion?' I told her my stomach couldn't take it. That's what I told her. And once you keep a secret like that for a year, five years is easy. Then you're at forty years and it's just how you live. It stops being the secret. It's just the habit now.

Pastor Cole: Forty-four years. But then something changed. What was it?

Emmett: Vernon died at ninety-one. Funeral was on a Tuesday up at the church—just simple, like he would've wanted it. Preacher said how long he'd kept the shop, how he taught people to listen to what an engine actually says. Then everybody went to the fellowship hall. They had the ham out—pink kind, spiral-cut. Real good. Folding tables everywhere, aluminum ones. Deloris brought her green bean thing. Coffee in that big silver urn. Same one you see every Sunday. People standing around talking quiet. Saying the things people say. About how long he'd been there. About the shop. I was there but I was— —mostly watching the room. How people moved. Where they stood. Kayla was there. And Bo. He was nine years old.

Emmett: Bo was standing there with his paper plate. He looked at me and asked if I was gonna see him in heaven. Just asked me straight. And I — — I'd never once thought a kid would just ask me that. I'd been thinking about Vernon in heaven. People talking about where he was. Then a nine-year-old just looks at you and asks if you're gonna be there too. Like it was a regular question. I couldn't lie to him. So I told him no, buddy. Then I was looking at the silver urn. The coffee urn, behind him. The cord wrapped around its base. Nobody ever wraps those right. Just loops it back on itself, every time. I've set up that urn five hundred times in forty years. Never seen one wrapped right. I was looking at the cord. Not at Bo. Just at how it was looped.

Pastor Cole: What'd you tell him, brother?

Emmett: No, buddy. I'd lied to Deloris in the truck about my stomach. But I wasn't gonna lie to a kid. I just — — The silver urn. The cord. Looped wrong. Five hundred times in forty years. Never right. That's what I was looking at. Not at him.

Pastor Cole: Kayla heard you.

Emmett: She got me out to the parking lot. Between the trucks. Didn't ask me gentle. Asked what I meant by that—no, buddy. And I just told her. Everything. Seventeen. That night in the yard. What I did standing there. The preacher six weeks later. Mark three. Never forgive. Told her I figured I was damned and kept it locked for forty-four years. Never said it out loud to anybody. Forty-four years and it took four minutes to say. She asked me when I started and I said right then. Right there. First time in forty-four years I said it. That was it.

Pastor Cole: And what'd Kayla do with that?

Emmett: She cried for a while. Then got mad. Not at me — at nobody knowing. Called Lyle Renfro that night. Pastor at our church. Younger than me, which — — I pointed out when he showed up. Next evening he came by. Kitchen table. I made coffee. He didn't want any. Just sat there and opened his Bible. Started in Mark three. Read the whole thing through — not just verse twenty-nine. The whole passage. Scribes saying Jesus was workin' by Beelzebub. Callin' the Spirit's work a demon. Jesus says if you blaspheme the Spirit, there's no forgiveness. But that's what they were doin' — lookin' at God's work and callin' it the devil's work. Didn't care. Weren't sorry. Just — — unafraid. He set the book down. Then he turned to John, chapter six. Verse thirty-seven. Read it out loud. "Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out." Read it twice. "No exception," he said. "No asterisk. No small print." And I was just — — lookin' at the table edge. The grain. Where it met the leg. Forty-four years I'd been readin' an exception clause that wasn't there. "You brought yourself," he said. "That's all you needed to bring." I took communion the next Sunday.

Pastor Cole: Walk me through that table. What'd Lyle actually say to you?

Emmett: Lyle opened up the Bible. Told me read the whole thing. Not just verse twenty-nine. The entire passage. I read it four times through that table. Scribes watchin' Jesus cast out a devil. Callin' the Spirit's work Beelzebub. Jesus says there's no forgiveness for that. But those men. They looked straight at what they were doin'. Knew it. Weren't scared. Were satisfied. Lyle looked at me and said somethin'. He said a man who's terrified forty-four years isn't the man who did it. The ones who actually committed it—they weren't scared. They were glad. They were settled. I kept readin' verse twenty-nine. Over and over. Lookin' for an exception clause standin' right before it. Somethin' I'd missed all those years. But there wasn't. I just had never read the whole paragraph. Never looked at what was sittin' around that verse. Forty-four years. Never even read the words that came before twenty-nine.

Pastor Cole: So you're readin' the whole passage. Seein' there's no exception clause. Did that change how you believed about yourself?

Emmett: No. I read the passage. Saw it. The exception wasn't there. But readin' it wasn't the same as steppin' out of it. Forty-four years standin' in that exception. Can't just step out. Then Lyle read John six thirty-seven out loud. "Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out." I was waitin' for the asterisk. The small print. The except you. It wasn't there. "No wise cast out." Forty-four years I'd been livin' in an exception that wasn't written. He told me read it. Out loud. So I did. And then he just sat. I didn't have anything. Forty-four years of workin' and stayin' quiet. That's what I was. No reason he should take me. But "in no wise cast out." No asterisk for a man that's been damned that long. I prayed at my kitchen table that night. I don't remember the words. Just — I was sixty-one. Had nothing but forty-four years. Deloris was standin' in the doorway. Cryin'. First time she ever saw it.

Pastor Cole: So next Sunday. You're in your pew. The tray comes down. Same silver thing you've been passing forty years. This time—what do you do?

Emmett: Well. Next Sunday the tray came down. Left side, like always. Guy handed it to me. My hand wasn't steady. Little glass. Weighed almost nothing. But my hand shook. I about dropped it. Deloris was sitting there. Didn't look at me. Knew if she looked I wouldn't get through it. So I took it. Just took the thing. Set it back down and passed it over. Sixty-one years old. First time. That was it. Got baptized that summer. Right there in front. Lot of people knew me that long. Forty years sitting there. Never took it. Then I'm up getting baptized. I sing now. I'm terrible at it. Can't carry a tune. But I sing. That's just how it is.

Pastor Cole: There's somebody sittin' in that pew right now. Carryin' the same sealed verdict. Never asked anybody. What'd you say to them?

Emmett: Ask somebody. That's all. I was right about something for forty-four years I never once looked up. Too proud to ask a question a nine-year-old just asks without thinking twice. That's the best I've got. I'm not a talker. Thanks, Cole.

Pastor Cole: Forty-one years. That man could fix anything that came through his door. Engines that wouldn't start. Broken gears. Things nobody else could hear. But the one thing he was certain couldn't be fixed—himself—he never brought to anybody. Now, Mark three, verse twenty-nine is real. Christ said it straight: "He that shall blaspheme against the Holy Ghost hath never forgiveness." Which just means—there's no door for that sin. Every other sin has a door. That one doesn't. But listen to what that verse is actually spoken over. Men who watched the Holy Ghost work. Watched Jesus cast out a demon. And they looked straight at it and called it the devil's work. Not scared. Not sorry. Just satisfied. They knew what they were doing. A man who's trembled forty-four years—that's not the man who did it. The hardened do not tremble. The terror of having done it is the evidence you haven't. And the Book says this straight. John, chapter six, verse thirty-seven: "Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out." No exception clause. No asterisk. No except you. Him that comes to me. In no wise cast out. That's all. And Romans, chapter eight, verses thirty-eight and thirty-nine: "Neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." Any other creature. That covers it all. So if you've handed that tray down the row your whole life—come. And take it. This week, ask somebody out loud what this means. A real person. Not alone. The door's open. And so is the grace.

Announcer: You've been listening to Kingdom Stories, from Kingdom Gospel Ministries. Today's episode was a dramatized narrative inspired by true accounts. If it moved something in you, don't keep it to yourself — follow the show, share it with someone who needs it, and if you'd like to help these stories reach further, you'll find how to walk alongside us in the episode description. Until next time... the door is open, and so is the grace.