Getting Past the Preacher                                                                                                  by                                                                                           Dallas M. Roark       The  sermon was finished. I had pronounced the benediction. As the organist pulled out the stops for the postlude, I walked to my customary place by the door of my little church. Planting myself so as to intercept all leavers, I was. open for the business of handshaking my people out of church and on their way to Sunday dinner.       For the pastor, it's an opportunity to greet his congrega­tion, feel the warmth of their personalities, meet visitors to the service. But I think sometimes that the old Protestant custom of Shaking Hands with the Preacher is a little rough on the worshipers. I'm afraid that some of them regard it as a gantlet which must by necessity of custom be run, and often with embarrassment or at least an uncomfortable feeling about what to say when the fatal moment arrives.       There are any number of approaches to take. For example, there is the Noncommittal Approach.         The first old stalwart who came back that morning shook  my hand as if he were pumping water out of a reluctant well, and said forcefully, "Beautiful day!" I agreed with equal heartiness that it was. This, and other banalities.       The second person to wander out used the Daydreaming Approach. You could tell his heart wasn't in it as he said, "Fine sermon,"          Mentally  'marking down the compliment by about 90 per cent, I responded, "Thank you," The only problem with the Daydreaming Approach is that it can sometimes get completely out of hand, as when the next parishioner said absentmindedly, "Good sermon, wasn't it?"       Most of the people who filed out shaking the hand of this country parson said the things that people think they ought to say--the Usual Things,       "Nice talk." "Good speech,"       Or they took the Cheerleader Approach, "You really gave it to 'em today." I have found that" 'em" is generally a member of some other church, probably in a distant city       A preacher of course accepts the usually well-0intentioned small-talk of such circumstances and presently, his stint ended, goes to his own dinner, loving his people, loving his calling, but wonderinf if he is  really getting to his parishioners.       But sometimes the comments are different. Sometimes they lift him right IIp on his toes--send him out possibly a better pastor, and certainly a more devoted one. I remember my first such experience.        had been speaking in a church about 30 miles from my own parish, on the problem of sin in a Christian's life.       As usual, after the benediction, I hurried to the door to greet the folk as they left, ready for the pleasan­tries. But wlien one man who came by said, "We were talking about that at home, and the sermon really helped us," my heart leaped.       A few handshakes later, a young woman looked me in the eye and re­marked, "I never had thought of it that way before." Well, at least I had made somebody think!       A few cliches later, I heard a. man say, "I felt close to God this morning."       And there was the little old lady whose gentle last word meant a lot more to me than her first. two, "Fine     sermon, son."         You don't have to payoff any preacher with a compliment-and par­ticularly not with a phony compliment. The Sincere Approach is best of all. It calls for you to say whatever seems the thing to you to say-and not nec­essarily about the sermon. Just say, "Good morning" -if it is a good one. And if it isn't say it anyway, and with such a glow that it becomes a good morning-for you and for the preacher who's trying his best.             (This article appeared in the April 1957 of Christian Herald.