The Ninth Commandment

At times, reality diverges significantly from our expectations. This truth was vividly demonstrated to me during a delightful evening with the profession of faith students.

It is customary for the class to give the pastor a gift. It’s not merely about the act of giving; it’s an event that unfolds over time. Animated discussions among the students lead to the formation of a committee. This group then discreetly consults with the pastor’s wife to discern what would delight the minister. All the while, the pastor remains blissfully unaware of the machinations, playing the part of the unsuspecting recipient year after year.

Meanwhile, the gift continues to take shape.

With a mix of mirth and seriousness, the committee ventures out to purchase “the gift.”

One day, while shopping with my wife, we paused before a painting shop. Displayed in the window was a monstrosity of a painting: a heathland landscape. The heather bore an uncanny resemblance to leftover red cabbage, the birches appeared ravaged by caterpillars, and the shed’s roof blazed an unnatural orange in the background. The entire scene was encased in a jarringly mismatched frame.

“Imagine that we ended up with that thing,” I said with a deep sigh. “And I already sleep so poorly.”

Yet, as I had noted earlier, things often unfold in unexpected ways.

My wife, sensing my concern, reassured me that the gift would likely be a wallet or a briefcase. However, being rather fussy, I found little comfort in her words. Wallets often have too many or too few compartments, and a briefcase, possibly of imitation yellow buffalo leather, seemed more suited to a traveling salesman than a minister.

In an attempt to steer the outcome of the secret conversation that I knew my students would have with my wife, I voiced my concerns. A few days later, my wife offered a final reassurance: “Whatever it is, it will certainly be black.”

And then came the evening. As it unfolded, the anticipation reached its peak with the presentation of the gift.

The committee leader stepped forward with confidence, clutching the gift in his hand. He began his speech, each word delivered with precision and purpose.

“A wallet,” I whispered to my wife, a knowing smile playing on my lips.

She nodded in agreement as we listened to the speech. It was succinct, hitting the mark with every word. The pastor was thanked for his contributions, and they wanted to present a tangible token of appreciation.

“But this,” he said, holding up a wall tile, “is for the pastor’s wife. For the pastor, we have something different.”

With a subtle nod to a fellow committee member, the grand gift was ushered in.

And there it was. You guessed it: the monstrous moorland painting, complete with its red cabbage-like heather, caterpillar-infested birches, and brilliant orange shed.

“Wow,” I muttered, taken aback. I was rendered speechless.

“So, Reverend, what do you think?” a girl asked, her voice brimming with excitement.

Twenty-five pairs of eager eyes turned towards me, their gazes filled with anticipation and curiosity.

What could I possibly say?

I fear I may have overstepped the boundaries of the ninth commandment in my response.

---

("Het Negende Gebord," pp 75-77; Peper en Zout by M.E. Voila, Kok: Kampen; n.d. tr. George van Popta, 2024)