The Southern Baptism That Turned into a catfish rodeo

mulberrymtndesigns
16 hours ago
2 min read

A TAC Original Story — Southern, chaotic, faith‑rooted, and straight outta the holler.

Folks still talk about the Sunday Brother Harlan decided to hold baptisms down at The Reddies River near the church, the same stretch of water known for three things:

ice‑cold mountain runoff,
rocks slicker than a greased possum, and
catfish big enough to qualify for Social Security.

It was revival week, spirits were high, and the choir had just finished a shaky but heartfelt version of Shall We Gather at the River. Brother Harlan stepped into the water first, shivering like a leaf but trying to look pastoral about it.

“Water’s fine,” he lied.

Behind him, Sister Maybelle whispered, “If that water’s fine, I’m the Queen of Sheba.”

🌊 The First Dunk Goes Smooth… Almost

The first baptism candidate, young Eli Jenkins, waded in with the confidence of a boy who’d been raised on creekbanks. Brother Harlan said the words, dipped him under, and brought him back up—clean, forgiven, and gasping like a trout.

Everything was going beautifully.

For about eight seconds.

Eli wasn't the only thing that emerged with new purpose!

🐟 Enter: The Catfish

Just as Brother Harlan reached for the next person, the water behind him bulged. Not rippled. Not splashed. Bulged, like the river itself was trying to stand up and testify.

Out from the deep rolled a catfish the size of a Buick, whiskers twitching, eyes full of ancient Appalachian judgment. Folks on the bank screamed. Sister Ida Louise fainted clean into the potato salad.

Eli, still dripping, yelled, “PASTOR, YOU DONE BAPTIZED A DEMON FISH!”

🎣 Chaos, Screaming, and Improvised Rodeo Techniques

Brother Harlan spun around, saw the beast, and did what any self‑respecting mountain pastor would do: He tried to rebuke it.

“IN THE NAME OF JESUS—”

The catfish slapped him with its tail so hard his glasses flew into next week.

The youth group hollered. The deacons ran for the bank. But Old Man Cletus—who’d been fishing that river since Moses was in diapers—just squinted and said, “That’s Big Lurleen. She don’t bother nobody unless provoked.”

Apparently, baptisms counted as provoking.

🐟 The Rodeo Begins

Brother Harlan, now half‑blind and fully panicked, grabbed the nearest thing for balance—which happened to be Big Lurleen’s back. The catfish took off like a runaway mule, dragging the pastor through the water in wide circles while the congregation watched in holy horror.

Children cried. Women prayed. Men pretended they weren’t laughing.

Eli shouted, “RIDE ‘EM, PREACHER!”

🙌 A Miracle… Sort Of

After three full laps and one underwater detour, Big Lurleen finally slowed. Brother Harlan, soaked, humbled, and missing one shoe, managed to slide off and stand upright.

The river went still.

The congregation held its breath.

And then— Big Lurleen flicked her tail, splashed the entire front row of church ladies, and disappeared back into the deep like a whiskered submarine.