An Odd Todd adventure in Baptist seriality, Bic lighters, and Rick and Morty
It all started on October 6, 2026, in Ottumwa, Iowa.
Former city council member Matthew Dalbey delivered an invocation at a city council meeting, addressing a “dark father” and concluding with the words “Hail Satan.”
But one local pastor wasn’t having it.
His name?
Rick Bick.
Pastor Bick, of New Life Center in Ottumwa, interrupted the proceedings to object to what he considered a curse upon the city. He urged the council to reverse it.
The mayor eventually called for thirty seconds of silence.
Now, most people might hear that story, form an opinion about religion and government, and move on.
But I’m Odd Todd.
And I immediately thought of another Rick.
Pastor Ricky Colvin of Lilly Orchard Baptist Church in Moss Point, Mississippi.
Two Ricks. Two pastors. Two states.
And one remarkably convenient surname.
My Rick Had Left the Building
Here’s where the timing got interesting.
I learned about the Iowa incident during the very first week of Pastor Colvin’s one-month sabbatical.
Just when I had something particularly unusual to tell him, he was gone.
So there I was, sitting on a perfectly good Rick-to-Rick coincidence, with no Rick available to receive it.
October rolled along.
The story waited.
And somewhere in Mississippi, a theological punchline was serving a thirty-day sentence.
Finally, Pastor Colvin returned on Sunday, November 1.
There was just one problem.
Odd Todd slept through church.
After waiting an entire month for Rick to come back, Rick returned on schedule, but apparently I needed another week of rest.
So the story sat for another seven days.
The coincidence had acquired a waiting period — and then requested an extension.
The Ricks Are on Fire
On Sunday, November 8, I finally made it to Lilly Orchard Baptist Church.
Just before the service began, Pastor Colvin was greeting everyone.
And along came Odd Todd, carrying his month-old Rick story.
I told Rick about Rick.
But I wasn’t simply recounting what happened at an Iowa city council meeting.
I was attempting to explain the symbolism.
Rick Bick.
Bick sounds like Bic.
As in a Bic cigarette lighter.
And what does a Bic lighter do?
It produces fire.
So there I was, standing in a Mississippi Baptist church, explaining to Pastor Rick that, in my personal holographic interpretation of the coincidence, the Ricks are on fire!
One Rick in Iowa had become fired up enough about an invocation to interrupt a city council meeting.
Another Rick stood before me in Mississippi, greeting his congregation.
And in the middle stood Odd Todd, trying to explain why a disposable cigarette lighter had become a theological metaphor.
Pastor Colvin smiled.
He didn’t flinch.
Of course, he had plenty of other people to greet, so our conversation was brief.
I might have hoped for a little more reaction, but Sunday morning isn’t exactly the ideal time to introduce your pastor to a theological interpretation involving Satan, another Rick, and a Bic lighter.
Especially before the opening hymn.
But Wait. Bic Makes Pens, Too.
Here’s where hindsight added another layer.
Bic doesn’t just manufacture cigarette lighters.
Bic also makes ink pens.
And that’s an angle I hadn’t pursued when I spoke to Pastor Colvin.
Think about it.
One Bic produces fire.
Another Bic produces ink.
One lights something up.
The other writes something down.
And here I am, Odd Todd, writing an article about two Ricks, a Bic lighter, and a Baptist church.
The same name that suggested fire now suggested the instrument used to record the story.
First the fire. Then the ink.
The Ricks were on fire, and somebody had to document the combustion.
Apparently, that somebody was me.
Rick and Morty Enter the Multiverse
Of course, no discussion of multiple Ricks and a potentially holographic reality would be complete without mentioning Rick and Morty.
In that animated universe, multiple versions of Rick Sanchez exist across alternate realities.
Meanwhile, here in Mississippi, I’m trying to explain to a real-world Rick why another real-world Rick in Iowa reminds me of a Bic lighter.
Imagine Rick Sanchez opening one of his green portals directly into Lilly Orchard Baptist Church.
He takes one look at Pastor Rick, another look at Odd Todd, and discovers we’re discussing a third Rick who protested a Satanic invocation.
Morty would probably ask whether they’re allowed to leave before the sermon.
Rick would probably want to know why it took thirty days and an additional missed Sunday to deliver one sentence.
But there were no portals.
No interdimensional spacecraft.
Just a pastor greeting his congregation and Odd Todd delivering a long-delayed observation about fire, names, and coincidence.
Sometimes reality provides enough material without any special effects.
A Curious Case of Seriality
To someone who studies Paul Kammerer’s law of seriality, the timing was particularly interesting.
First came the Iowa event.
Then the discovery of the name Rick Bick.
Then the recognition that another Pastor Rick was already part of my own life.
But that pastor was away.
Then he returned.
And I overslept.
Finally, the encounter happened.
The separate events seemed to assemble themselves into a coherent narrative, even though each could have an entirely ordinary explanation.
That’s what makes seriality fascinating to me.
Not that every coincidence proves some hidden mechanism is operating behind reality, but that our minds can recognize intricate relationships among events that initially appear unrelated.
For someone exploring holographic reality and simulation theory, that experience can feel like looking into a mirror that keeps reflecting another mirror.
And occasionally, one of those mirrors has a Bic lighter.
Don’t Be Forsaken
Then came another moment.
Later, a deacon told me, “Don’t be forsaken.”
That landed like another unexpected piece of the story.
Perhaps he was simply offering Christian encouragement.
Perhaps he meant not to feel abandoned, forgotten, or separated from faith.
But after waiting more than a month to tell Rick about Rick, hearing those words gave the experience an oddly fitting conclusion.
I had waited.
Rick had returned.
I had overslept.
The story had finally been delivered.
And now somebody was reminding me not to be forsaken.
Maybe the lesson was simply that patience has its rewards.
Or maybe that the timing of a good joke cannot be rushed.
Either way, it was two Ricks, one Todd, a monthlong intermission, a seven-day snooze button, a Bic lighter, a Bic pen, and a mirror that wouldn’t sit still.
And somewhere in the imaginary multiverse, Rick Sanchez was probably shaking his head.
“Morty, this guy doesn’t even need a portal gun. He’s got a Baptist church and a Bic lighter.”
The Ricks were on fire, the Bic was full of ink, and Odd Todd finally had something to write about.
Sources and transparency
The Iowa incident was reported by Radio Iowa on October 9, 2026 and Ottumwa Radio.
The account of the conversation at Lilly Orchard Baptist Church is based on Todd’s firsthand recollections. The symbolic and holographic interpretations are personal reflections, not established scientific conclusions.
Written with AI assistance, with factual research reviewed for publication.