His name was George, and he sat in the back row of the sanctuary on the preacher's right. A permanent scowl was chiseled on his face. His posture announced to all that he was a man not easily pleased. Ushers tip-toed around him. Whenever his name came up in conversation around church hallways, someone would always ask, "Why does a grouch like that keep coming to worship?" No one ever came up with an answer. One thing was certain -- George was particularly hard on preachers. "I have heard hundreds of sermons over the years," he announced to his last pastor, "and I haven't heard many sermons I've liked." Some who sat near the back row wondered if George ever actually heard a sermon. Each week as the preacher began, they would inevitably hear a steady "click, click, click" from George's pew. …