The Minister’s Masterpiece by Meta Marie Griffin

The Minister’s Masterpiece by Meta Marie Griffin

Dr. Catherine Walker, professor of sociology at Fairhaven College, prided herself on incorporating research into her daily Facebook stories. Catherine created videos of raking leaves, long walks, and even invented adventures. Once she created this fake adventure across the country. She was fascinated with the responses she got. The dean had recently requested that Catherine’s office be moved to the behavioral sciences building, so Dr. Walker had a lot more freedom. She was feared and admired in equal measure for her critiques, especially when it came politics, music and art. So, when she attended the town’s art festival and came across Reverend Harvey’s painting—a loud, chaotic swirl of magenta, aquamarine, and glitter glue—she almost choked on her personalized latte. In addition to Dr. Walker’s academic research, she also created various hot and cold beverages for a local coffee shop.

“A Unitarian Universalist minister and an artist,” she muttered, taking a sip. “This should be brilliant. ”

The painting was titled nuance and neurons, and to Catherine, it looked like something a third-grader might produce after overdosing on Fruity Pebbles. But instead of a polite nod; she had a better idea. An experiment, really. It was a combination of postmodern chaos, symbolism and a non-creedal belief all rolled up into a Rorschach test. The up minister blushed and almost appeared guilty when she purchased the painting. Catherine suspected the us minister was also messing with folks. Wait- wasn’t that what a UU minister was supposed to do?

Two days later, she’d bought the painting from the minister under the pretense of deep spiritual resonance. Then she bolted it to the back of her brother’s battered Toyota Tacoma like a flag of ironic resistance. She paid her brother to transport the art to school while she took pictures of the painting on the back of the pickup truck. Postmodern art on the back of a battered truck was a perfect metaphor and had the potential to go viral. It would indeed be a good starter for her next TED-talk and publication. The truck had difficulty starting up, but she wasn’t going to take it in to a conservative mechanic. Why wouldn’t her beloved colleague s ever help?

“This,” she declared to her students, “is not just art. This is data. We’ll observe the semiotic reactions of the general public.”

She named the experiment Postmodern Glitter Gospel and hit the backroads of the county, rolling through truck stops, yard sales, gas stations, and Sunday flea markets, documenting reactions. People stared, laughed, blessed her, flipped her off, tried to buy it, and in one case, kissed the canvas. Catherine created a way to measure the reactions so she could create a qualitative study. Of course, her colleagues didn’t appreciate her innovation, but now they would.

Catherine took more notes with glee.

Then, on a chilly Tuesday afternoon, somewhere outside of boiling springs—where the cell signal disappeared and the road signs began spelling things wrong—she took a wrong turn. She enjoyed the gradual change into fall; the slight change of light, and could get lost watching leaves drift across the yard as far as a mind could go.

Then another.

Then the GPS gave up entirely.

She kept driving, sure she’d find her way back. But the landscape seemed to twist: rusted tractors became shrines, barbecue stands pulsed with soft blue light, and a variety of roadside churches. There was some change in the air that brought her back to the county fair. Catherine jumped when she saw the flashing red light. The neurodivergent woman who didn’t seem to fit into any category, woman who sometimes attended The Unitarian Church,), suggested a relative, had not heard the woman came from an odd family who had different views. Even though the UU minister had also taken her car to be serviced at the weird woman’s peeps who owned the auto repair shop, but he was probably trying to help the community in addition to getting his car fixed. Catherine got distracted by a beautiful red-tailed hawk, then she temporarily lost control of the steering wheel and brakes, then she managed to maneuver the truck into someone’s gravel spined driveway.

“Jesus fried chicken,” Catherine banged the steering wheel, “it’s always something . Should’ve stayed in. After searching the vehicle for her phone, she looked somewhat relieved when she discovered her phone in the floor, but her smile vanished when she noticed she hardly had any power left. Didn’t she charge it earlier? The phone had been acting strange lately, randomly turning off and on at times.

Catherine wiped her forehead, grabbed her notebook, got opened the door and walked down the driveway towards a battered trailer with a Jesus Saves cross in the front yard. Catherine peeked in the dark windows and saw stacks of paper, furniture, and boxes.

A thin woman with shoulder length salt and pepper hair opened the door. Her dark eyes regarded Catherine with

“I’m not buying anything. Wipe that smile off your face”

“I’m not selling anything. My car broke down and i need someone to call the tow truck.” The woman invited her. A huge man was sitting in a recliner watching television. There were rifles on a gun rack. Catherine took a deep breath and raised her eyebrow. Too bad she couldn’t take a picture for her live audience that was growing.

The woman’s dark eyes softened.

“Come on in. I’m Ruth.”

She motioned for Catherine to sit on a dusty, cluttered couch. Even though Catherine’s hands were trembling, she couldn’t turn down a a unique research opportunity. Ruth called her cousins who owned a repair shop. Catherine opened her notebook and thumped her lucky pen on the paper. Ruth brought her some tea. Catherine wrinkled her nose but decided to taste it. A thin man with coke bottle glasses emerged from the back of the trailor.

“Hank, this is Ms. Catherine.”

“You ain’t from around here? Catherine nodded and explained how she must’ve taken a wrong turn. Hank scratched his duo gray mustache. Ruth offered to call her cousin to tow Catherine’s truck. Hank toyed with the cellphone and pulled out a charter.

Catherine began asking questions—about traditions, habits, politics. She recorded their answers meticulously. Hank and Loretta were surprisingly articulate in their own way. gave colorful, winding answers that Catherine internally dismissed as “folk logic.” She yawned and her eyes got heavier. Even though she struggled to stay awake she could hear the couple laughing at her. After she drifted off, Catherine woke in a panic. Where the heck was she? Who were these people?

Hank was sitting in the recliner beside her, calmly watching a history documentary.

“Evenin’,” he said without looking at her.

“What happened?” she stammered.

“Oh, it was Ruth’s tea. She put something in there to help you relax.”

The door creaked open. Ruth entered, holding a brown paper bag. She tossed it in Catherine’s lap.

“Don’t worry, We didn’t steal nothin’. Just made some edits to your little study.”

Catherine’s face flushed. Only editors corrected her notes. Ruth and Hank tried to suppress laughter which resulted in hysterics.

Catherine opened the bag. Her notebook was there, but half the pages were replaced with bizarre stories and fabricated data. Her recordings were altered—her voice dubbed over, making her sound like she believed in lizard people. The observations about the painting were gone.

“So, we got your car fixed. “

“But why. How much do I owe you.”

Hank smiled. “Just being neighborly.”

Catherine shook his hand and gave him her card.

“Thank you. Don’t be a stranger. Good luck with them notes.”

Hank and Ruth laughed until tears ran down their faces.

“What did you think of the painting?”

“Honey, you ain’t looking at it. Sometimes, a soup can is just a soup can, Ruth said.

“And sometimes someone screaming on a bridge is your boss?” Hank said.

Julie laughed until tears ran ran down her cheeks. The UU minister would love project bridge.

Catherine hugged the scountry folks before she left. When she looked at the painting, her heart fluttered from the dopamine rush. Yes, she would find her way back and begin an entirely different study. “O cams razor,” she said as she marveled at the painting that was changing in real time. How dare that UU minister. Why didn’t she realize she’d been the project all along.

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Meta Marie Griffin 2025

Image Courtesy: doungtepro from Pixabay