I smothered a yawn before standing up from my morning nap then made my way out the door with the rest of the salmon swimming upstream. It seemed everyone was more eager heading towards the exits than they had been going towards the entrances earlier. I was beginning to wonder why I bothered getting out of bed on Sunday morning; Sunday school and church were the same old same old, I could just replay them in my mind stretched out on my soft, Tempur- Pedic mattress and not mess with the chore of getting dressed up to take a snooze during the service. I had actually gotten church sleeping down to a fine art, I doubt anyone near me even knew I was sleeping, I thought, ignorant of the fact that I snore! But even that was alright; unless the congregants near me had their hearing aids turned up no body heard me.
I used to look forward to Sunday school so I could learn something new or debate (play the devil’s advocate) some questionable scriptures to invigorate the thinking process but lately it’s turned into an old hen’s meeting room. I get enough of that at work; Sunday school should be less worldly. That’s just my opinion for all it’s worth.
The church service is so routine once the singing is over (and its always the traditional songs the white hairs liked, since the majority rules) I’m able to manage a semi productive state of consciousness after I study the weekly bulletin looking for volunteer opportunities I didn’t expect to find. Just a list of thank you’s from survivors of those recently departed, who had received condolence cards; with an occasional mention of a new grandchild; the parents attended other places of worship.
The monotony was killing me. I just couldn’t figure out why I was the only one affected till I shook hands with some members on the way out one afternoon, (in the middle of a summer melt down) their hands were so cold I discovered I was the only member who still had a pulse rate higher than 50! I wasn’t in church, I was in limbo, and this building was the midpoint between heaven and earth! Eeeek, to quote a once popular movie, “I see dead people and they don’t even know their dead!” I quickly sanitized my hands and drove home for the last time from this mausoleum.
I had no inner qualms the next few Sunday (twelve Sundays actually) sitting at my kitchen table reading from one of my many bibles, all King James, but in different commentaries. I was getting more worshipping God by myself while drinking coffee than I had in the brick building on the corner of the street. Yet something was missing….interaction. I prayed for guidance.
My son called one morning while at sat at my kitchen table drinking coffee, eating cinnamon rolls and having my devotional to inform me he had joined a church, after his announcement, when I recovered from choking on my coffee, I asked if he had the wrong number! When I ascertained he really was my son I fell on my face in gratitude to answered prayers, thank you God for finding him again, and his wife also. I had prayed for this event for years and years and …you get the picture! The only fly in the soup was the denomination; it wasn’t the one I had raised my children in. Oh well, at least he had his feet back in the door, maybe he would expand his horizons till he joined a proper, more acceptable church. I kept praying for him.
He then had the nerve to keep inviting me to come with him to his church. No, I’d had enough of boring church services to last me a terrestrial life time, God and I were doing all right at my kitchen table, but I was genuinely pleased that he had found the Lord again after his years of dessert wanderings. After all, anything he learned now wasn’t repetitive at this point as it had become for me.
Buck, my son, became almost annoying; every time I ran into him he would mention his church attendance, as if I cared to hear every little detail, knowing he was going was more than enough for me. He even turned down some family activities in lieu of church! He was hot for God. If my old church had kept the fires burning I never would have walked out.
Alright, in favor of getting some relieve from his pious harassment I finally agreed to meet Buck and Sissy for a Friday night church gathering, well, it did include a dinner and I had to eat sometime. (Seriously, if you saw me you’d know I didn’t have a problem finding time to eat!)
I was instantly impressed by the atmosphere that slapped me in the face when I crossed the threshold of the entrance hall. There were people milling about drinking coffee they got from a refreshment station that included sweets, my favorite ingredient of the food chain. Everyone came up to say hi to me, not in a stampede mind you, that would have scared me off as shy as I am, but one at a time as I hunted for my son and his wife. Everyone seemed to know him, even though he was a relatively new member. I found him in the back, (how clever, he made me transverse through the crowded foyer to get the feel of things on my own, I couldn’t fault his conniving ways, I knew who he inherited them from!) He had also invited his step brothers, who had brought their kids.
The service was held in the atrium, it was a come as you are meeting they held every Friday night, and the turnout was phenomenal for a Friday night, you know, date night, family night, travel night, payday night. I didn’t know it was come as you are meeting or I would have dressed more casual, like my daughter in law who was in her pajamas! Well to be honest, they were the kind that you really had to guess at, so its not as bad as it sounds. It’s just that “I” knew they were her sleepies, and I couldn’t wait for blackmail time!
Okay, I enjoyed myself so much I came back Sunday morning for Sunday school. (Should I have told you this when you were sitting down?) The class was enormous and organized around a kitchen table! Bigger than the ones that are in average households but a kitchen table none the less, hence the name “Around the Kitchen Table Class.” (Okay, maybe they had several tables joined together) They had my favorites there also, coffee and treats. It was informal and organized at the same time, go figure. The table even provided writing pads and pens for note takers like me who always forgets to bring writing pads and pens! And the teacher, well the teacher was the whole class. I learned that every Sunday someone gets a chance to present something about God (or what he expects of us) that they feel would appeal to the class. The topics are so diverse there’s not a chance of getting bored! There goes my nap time.
A clipboard was passed around during the lesson to update members on things like….volunteer work and upcoming activities! I poured over the pages with drool running down my chin; how attractive! There were birthing sets to produce; clean blankets, examining gloves, and disinfectant soap sent to third world countries that needed sanitary equipment for mothers in delivery (made at the kitchen table during class), crafts to make and sell to raise money for charities in the community (made at the kitchen table during class), homebound members that needed chores done, homeless people that needed servers at dinner time in a local shelter, imminent holidays that needed supplies and lastly volunteers to host dispossessed women that come to the church one night a week for a safe place to get a meal, a shower and sleep over before being sent off with a warm breakfast from the kitchen table.
I pulled out my IPhone. Not to rudely do some texting or game playing but to schedule into my calendar things that appealed to me. I was amazed; I now had church activities scheduled into my life. Things to be done for God or in God’s name! Outreach. Community service. Fellowship. Worshipping the Son with my son.
Needless to say I started coming back to church, and what’s more, my dad came with me. Being semi homebound he hadn’t been to church in years, but the Friday night thing became a pot of gold found at the end of a rainbow for dad, or found at the end of his spiritually dead life. Ezekiel didn’t see anything when he witnessed the valley of dried bones being reunited compared to dad’s revival! Dad had been a choir boy in his youth and never missed a Sunday that he was home from war or temporary tours of duty when I was growing up but his deteriorating health conditions have slowed him down considerably making getting out of bed in the mornings a tremendous chore, but for the Friday night come as you are special he was able to get into the foyer with his walker, no frightening stair way limited his access, and he was able to participate in communion for the first time in decades. His estrangement from communion had always vexed me so I knew it bothered him. Knowing he couldn’t eat or drink dad stayed in his seat during the communion service the first time he attended. The servers, unaware that dad couldn’t eat or drink due to a feeding tube issue, brought communion to where he was sitting. When he was offered the body and blood of Jesus he touched it to his lips and disposed of it in a Kleenex. Wipe that shock from your face, God understands. (And apparently so did the communion servers, which meant a lot to him!)
Now when I sit at my kitchen table for my time with God it’s just for hors d'oeuvres before I go to the bigger kitchen table for a full course meal. I just pray that no one from my past learns I switched denominations or that maybe my new church will convert over to my old denomination. Don’t laugh, apparently God hears my prayers, after all we (God and me) got my son back into his fellowship!!! And he in turn got his step brothers, me, his granddad and eventually his sister there. What a fireball.
Luke 9:49-50
John 1:43-51
Rom 10:15
Rev 3:14-22
I used to look forward to Sunday school so I could learn something new or debate (play the devil’s advocate) some questionable scriptures to invigorate the thinking process but lately it’s turned into an old hen’s meeting room. I get enough of that at work; Sunday school should be less worldly. That’s just my opinion for all it’s worth.
The church service is so routine once the singing is over (and its always the traditional songs the white hairs liked, since the majority rules) I’m able to manage a semi productive state of consciousness after I study the weekly bulletin looking for volunteer opportunities I didn’t expect to find. Just a list of thank you’s from survivors of those recently departed, who had received condolence cards; with an occasional mention of a new grandchild; the parents attended other places of worship.
The monotony was killing me. I just couldn’t figure out why I was the only one affected till I shook hands with some members on the way out one afternoon, (in the middle of a summer melt down) their hands were so cold I discovered I was the only member who still had a pulse rate higher than 50! I wasn’t in church, I was in limbo, and this building was the midpoint between heaven and earth! Eeeek, to quote a once popular movie, “I see dead people and they don’t even know their dead!” I quickly sanitized my hands and drove home for the last time from this mausoleum.
I had no inner qualms the next few Sunday (twelve Sundays actually) sitting at my kitchen table reading from one of my many bibles, all King James, but in different commentaries. I was getting more worshipping God by myself while drinking coffee than I had in the brick building on the corner of the street. Yet something was missing….interaction. I prayed for guidance.
My son called one morning while at sat at my kitchen table drinking coffee, eating cinnamon rolls and having my devotional to inform me he had joined a church, after his announcement, when I recovered from choking on my coffee, I asked if he had the wrong number! When I ascertained he really was my son I fell on my face in gratitude to answered prayers, thank you God for finding him again, and his wife also. I had prayed for this event for years and years and …you get the picture! The only fly in the soup was the denomination; it wasn’t the one I had raised my children in. Oh well, at least he had his feet back in the door, maybe he would expand his horizons till he joined a proper, more acceptable church. I kept praying for him.
He then had the nerve to keep inviting me to come with him to his church. No, I’d had enough of boring church services to last me a terrestrial life time, God and I were doing all right at my kitchen table, but I was genuinely pleased that he had found the Lord again after his years of dessert wanderings. After all, anything he learned now wasn’t repetitive at this point as it had become for me.
Buck, my son, became almost annoying; every time I ran into him he would mention his church attendance, as if I cared to hear every little detail, knowing he was going was more than enough for me. He even turned down some family activities in lieu of church! He was hot for God. If my old church had kept the fires burning I never would have walked out.
Alright, in favor of getting some relieve from his pious harassment I finally agreed to meet Buck and Sissy for a Friday night church gathering, well, it did include a dinner and I had to eat sometime. (Seriously, if you saw me you’d know I didn’t have a problem finding time to eat!)
I was instantly impressed by the atmosphere that slapped me in the face when I crossed the threshold of the entrance hall. There were people milling about drinking coffee they got from a refreshment station that included sweets, my favorite ingredient of the food chain. Everyone came up to say hi to me, not in a stampede mind you, that would have scared me off as shy as I am, but one at a time as I hunted for my son and his wife. Everyone seemed to know him, even though he was a relatively new member. I found him in the back, (how clever, he made me transverse through the crowded foyer to get the feel of things on my own, I couldn’t fault his conniving ways, I knew who he inherited them from!) He had also invited his step brothers, who had brought their kids.
The service was held in the atrium, it was a come as you are meeting they held every Friday night, and the turnout was phenomenal for a Friday night, you know, date night, family night, travel night, payday night. I didn’t know it was come as you are meeting or I would have dressed more casual, like my daughter in law who was in her pajamas! Well to be honest, they were the kind that you really had to guess at, so its not as bad as it sounds. It’s just that “I” knew they were her sleepies, and I couldn’t wait for blackmail time!
Okay, I enjoyed myself so much I came back Sunday morning for Sunday school. (Should I have told you this when you were sitting down?) The class was enormous and organized around a kitchen table! Bigger than the ones that are in average households but a kitchen table none the less, hence the name “Around the Kitchen Table Class.” (Okay, maybe they had several tables joined together) They had my favorites there also, coffee and treats. It was informal and organized at the same time, go figure. The table even provided writing pads and pens for note takers like me who always forgets to bring writing pads and pens! And the teacher, well the teacher was the whole class. I learned that every Sunday someone gets a chance to present something about God (or what he expects of us) that they feel would appeal to the class. The topics are so diverse there’s not a chance of getting bored! There goes my nap time.
A clipboard was passed around during the lesson to update members on things like….volunteer work and upcoming activities! I poured over the pages with drool running down my chin; how attractive! There were birthing sets to produce; clean blankets, examining gloves, and disinfectant soap sent to third world countries that needed sanitary equipment for mothers in delivery (made at the kitchen table during class), crafts to make and sell to raise money for charities in the community (made at the kitchen table during class), homebound members that needed chores done, homeless people that needed servers at dinner time in a local shelter, imminent holidays that needed supplies and lastly volunteers to host dispossessed women that come to the church one night a week for a safe place to get a meal, a shower and sleep over before being sent off with a warm breakfast from the kitchen table.
I pulled out my IPhone. Not to rudely do some texting or game playing but to schedule into my calendar things that appealed to me. I was amazed; I now had church activities scheduled into my life. Things to be done for God or in God’s name! Outreach. Community service. Fellowship. Worshipping the Son with my son.
Needless to say I started coming back to church, and what’s more, my dad came with me. Being semi homebound he hadn’t been to church in years, but the Friday night thing became a pot of gold found at the end of a rainbow for dad, or found at the end of his spiritually dead life. Ezekiel didn’t see anything when he witnessed the valley of dried bones being reunited compared to dad’s revival! Dad had been a choir boy in his youth and never missed a Sunday that he was home from war or temporary tours of duty when I was growing up but his deteriorating health conditions have slowed him down considerably making getting out of bed in the mornings a tremendous chore, but for the Friday night come as you are special he was able to get into the foyer with his walker, no frightening stair way limited his access, and he was able to participate in communion for the first time in decades. His estrangement from communion had always vexed me so I knew it bothered him. Knowing he couldn’t eat or drink dad stayed in his seat during the communion service the first time he attended. The servers, unaware that dad couldn’t eat or drink due to a feeding tube issue, brought communion to where he was sitting. When he was offered the body and blood of Jesus he touched it to his lips and disposed of it in a Kleenex. Wipe that shock from your face, God understands. (And apparently so did the communion servers, which meant a lot to him!)
Now when I sit at my kitchen table for my time with God it’s just for hors d'oeuvres before I go to the bigger kitchen table for a full course meal. I just pray that no one from my past learns I switched denominations or that maybe my new church will convert over to my old denomination. Don’t laugh, apparently God hears my prayers, after all we (God and me) got my son back into his fellowship!!! And he in turn got his step brothers, me, his granddad and eventually his sister there. What a fireball.
Luke 9:49-50
John 1:43-51
Rom 10:15
Rev 3:14-22
