The last few days I have been reminiscing about growing up in a small town and how nice it was not to have to worry about a lot of things we do now.
Parents didn’t worry about us playing outside in the dark as long as we didn’t drift too far from home. We knew that at 9 o’clock the siren from the fire station would sound the curfew that meant everyone under a certain age should now at the very least be in their own yards if not tucked inside reading a book or perhaps doing homework.
I grew up in church and had a mixture of friends. Some went to church with me; quite a few didn’t. I never really considered myself popular but everyone knew my dad was the pastor of the Pentecostal church on Cody Avenue. It was a good life. We didn’t really worry about how much money we had or what people thought about us.
Sure there was some expectation from my friends. They knew what I was about. They knew what I would do and what I wouldn’t. It never seemed to matter to them that I didn’t do all the things they did. I didn’t go to the theater; didn’t have a TV in my house; didn’t go to dances and no one even brought up smoking or drinking because they knew what I believed and what my Dad preached. If I would have done any of those things I truly believe my friends that didn’t go to church with me would probably have been shocked, maybe even disappointed. And so would a lot of my teachers.
And no I wasn’t perfect but my faith kept me living the life as best as I could, even if it meant repenting in my bed late at night before I fell asleep about being mad at someone.
In My House
You see in my house we ate dinner together as a family. We got up every morning before school to read the Bible and pray before Dad left for work. We read a lot of books, listened to mystery stories, Ranger Bill, and Uncle Charlie on the radio, and we played outside.
Looking back I am not sure how we didn’t get hurt more often with some of the forts we built and the bicycle jumps in the field near our house. We fed the pigs and chickens of the landlord and he would give us a couple near the end of the year for our trouble. Dad worked several jobs it seemed but he always had time to go hunting and more importantly to be active in our lives.
Whether it was studying up on bees to tell my 3rd grade class about since I had bragged he grew up on a farm and had bees, ( I didn’t know it wasn’t as big of deal as it was in my head), or the time he helped me carve a piece of wood into a race car for the pinewood derby. He did a lot of things like that, but come Sunday he was on the platform leading worship, maybe singing a song, and preaching to us and telling us about the power of God and His love. We had a lot of miracles in our church. It became so common that if someone had a need they were calling my dad to pray, sometimes before they called the ambulance. I could tell you lots of stories about things that happened growing up. Maybe some day I will, but for right now I want you to remember the scripture that says ‘train up a child in the way he should go and when he is old he will not depart from it.’ That was and is my life.
The Other Family
I won’t mention their name but I am sure if you know me it won’t be hard to figure out who I am talking about. This family too ate dinner together. Usually most of it was homemade and from what I recall there was always fresh biscuits. They seemed to enjoy hanging out with each other but if you were to visit you would almost always hear one of them yelling at another.
Sometimes it was the adult yelling at a kid. Sometimes kids yelling and fighting with each other. Sometimes it was the kids yelling at the parent to be followed by a quick yelp as a hand or maybe a switch touched someone’s backside. I don’t know if they had a TV but you could be pretty sure if they wanted to watch something they figured out a way to ‘visit’ the neighbors who had TVs, even if it was ‘supposed to be babysitting.’
Remembering back, most of the kids in the family never finished school. It just didn’t fit with their life’s goal I guess. They didn’t really get involved in a lot of the stuff I did, although a couple of them hung around with me on occasion. I remember seeing black eyes and sometimes scratches on their arms and neck, but knew it didn’t come from the parents but most likely they had been in a fight with someone.
I spent the night there a couple of times and I don’t remember them reading the Bible and praying, but I do know that they had a couple of Bibles laying around. Most of them could sing fairly well and it was common for them to a sing a special in church or be part of a choir. They loved those old gospel hymns. It didn’t seem to matter what all happened during the week, come Sunday you knew that family would be in their Sunday best and sitting a couple rows back from the front of the church.
I remember their singing. I even remember some miracles that took place in their lives and lots of shouting and worship growing up with them. But I also remember the smoking, the chewing, the talking about dirty movies, and in general the chaos that was their lives. Sure, they did come to church. And I am certain they loved God, but the depth didn’t seem to be there when I look back.
The father was quick to point out what I should or shouldn’t be doing since I was the pastor’s son but the same rules didn’t seem to apply to his kids.
It has been quite a while since I heard from any of them. I know the parents have long since passed away and from what I have heard through the grapevine, none of the kids still serve God or even go to church. It is sad really. I wonder about them often. What happened in their lives? Is there still some place they can go to remember back to what it felt like to be slain in the altar or the worship that cascaded from the prayer rooms? What do they do on Sunday now?
Sunday…
We have a tendency to place a strong influence on going to church on Sunday. Whether you are a Pentecostal or attend another denomination, for most people come Sunday they are visiting a church somewhere. They might be quick to point out how important it is to be in church, or perhaps even look down their nose a bit if you aren’t there like they expect. And maybe they do miss you if you aren’t there but what is Sunday to them? Really?
Is it church? Is it worship? Is it a time filler before football? Is it just something they do?
Serving God is more than what you do on Sunday. Being a Christian does not mean you go to a church, pay your tithes, drop a few bucks in an offering plate and sing a song or two.
Sunday is the day we have come to delegate as time for worship, but serving God is what you do during the rest of the week. It is how you live your life with your family. It is the way you act in the supermarket when someone is slow. It is looking past that temptation to take that thing that isn’t yours or to forgive those who don’t quite act the way you expect them to.
Sunday should be a time of reflection, worship, thankfulness, and love for the Almighty. It is not about the pretty dress you have on, or the fact that you combed your hair a certain way, or the fact that you have your ‘assigned’ seat right near the back so you can run out to the restroom during prayer without anyone noticing.
Sigh…
I remember many services that were long but driven to worship. Celebratory times when people were baptized and it wasn’t just what we did because someone asked. Fellowship meetings where others who believed the same came together for some good preaching, singing, and worship and then stayed after long enough to chat and have a sandwich and chips.
I remember many who were overcome with the power of God and with long drawn out emotions as they bowed over at the altar. No one was going to drag them away; you just had to wait until they were done.
Everyone shouted Amen to the preacher and stood to their feet with their Bibles in hand excited about the presence of God. We believed in heaven and hell. We didn’t look for excuses as to why we weren’t there. We didn’t want to miss service because we knew if we did they were surely ‘going to have a good service.’
But the thing is most of those who used to do that aren’t there anymore. You might catch a glimpse of them around town but you can see their lives have take a different turn. It isn’t judging. It is more a sense of why? And no, going to church doesn’t make you a Christian. I really believe that. What transpires in your life during the week and how you spend time with your family is much more important. Do we have Bibles catching dust on the shelves? Or do we even know where they are anymore?
Come Sunday…
There are a lot of people who put the blame on others. For many years I have heard them say society started going down hill when they took prayer out of school; we need to get it back. And while I agree that played a big part it is not going to come back.
Besides, how is that going to help your child? Your wife? Your parents? Will having a Bible in school or prayer even reach them? Your kids used to go to church. They may have even spoke in tongues. Sunday School played a big impact in how most of us were raised, and yet most churches see it as a form of babysitting now. It isn’t about the word. It is about making sure someone watches your kids while you listen to someone theorize about why society is the way it is and that maybe we are just not forgiving enough. We just don’t understand them being the way they are. You have heard it. You know what I am talking about.
And yes, God forgives all manner of sin. I truly believe that. But I am sorry if you think getting prayer back in schools is going to make a difference. You are wrong. How about instead we start working on getting prayer back in our homes.
Crack open that dusty old Bible. Put down the phone, or the Ipad, turn off the TV and spend some time with God in your prayer closet. And come Sunday it will be a whole new day!
