Belonging to a Church meant a lot more than just regular attendance in our family. As a young teenager, I had three mandatory appearances that my Mom expected me to attend. We began our week with Sunday Morning Service and Sunday Evening Youth Group and stopped by after school on Wednesday for mid week kids activities. Monday night Boy Scout meetings were also held there. I was at Church more often during the week than some kids had gone to school. In those days our Church is where a lot of adult meetings were held, such as civic service groups and neighborhood fund-raiser planning sessions. The building was a busy place, with activity some times, until late in the evening. Just being near this activity made me feel plugged in. Besides the School building, there was no busier place than our Church. We didn’t have to have meetings and spend money on outreach programs. The community was coming to us. It was the feeling of our congregation that the more the building was available during the week , the more comfortable folks would feel when coming on Sunday Mornings. They were right.
Sunday Morning Service was my link to the past. The wooden pews we gathered in had welcomed families for generations. The pine planked floor creaked when we walked on it and sunlight streamed through the hundred year old stained glass windows as we were seated by the ushers. Hymnals showed their wear, after the funeral home routinely replaced the cardboard fans next to them. The Bibles we used were embossed with gold lettering remembering deceased members and their families. My world outside was moving faster every day, but here in this cocoon of spirituality everything stopped for an hour. I didn’t know it then, but my foundation and my core, were being formed in this place. Here sitting with my family, praying, singing and listening I was being molded by God.
However, as a typical teenager, while God was at work, my mind would sometimes wander. Occasionally, during the service, we were directed to stand to sing. I would often still be seated while my mind was focused on the Saturday night sock hop. My Dad would pop me on the back of the head to return me to reality. Upon returning to awareness, it seemed that the entire congregation would be staring at me. Once on my feet my brothers would giggle, my Mom would grin and my Dad would act like he didn’t know me. When you are a teenager, being cool is the first thing you think about in the morning. However, achieving cool was really hard to accomplish some days.
Sunday Evening Youth Group meetings were co-educational and that was the only benefit I needed, to achieve perfect attendance. Our Youth Leaders were aware of the possibly of hormonal volatility at such a gathering and were ever vigilant for the occasional hand-holding. This was an exercise that was forbidden. So, like many inventive ideas that were born out of necessity, we had to be creative. Long table cloths helped during the dinner meal. The positioning of one’s coat over a lap was a good old stand-by. Best of all, sitting in the last row during lesson time was the most desirable seat so as to escape detection. All of this creative positioning was probably obvious to the Youth leaders but the increase in attendance was enough to loosen the enforcement of some of the rules.
Church participation was in our family DNA. My Dad served at different times as Sunday School Superintendent, Usher, as Chairman of the Finance Committee, was on the Building Committee and acted as Scoutmaster. My Mom was in the Methodist Women’s club, on the Bereavement Committee, in the Welcome Club, was a Sunday School Teacher, and helped keep up the attendance pads. I was in the Choir, President of the Youth Group, on the Building Committee, and gave an occasional Youth Perspective sermon. Little Brother number one was as active as I was and was even a Janitor for a while. We literally grew up serving in the Church. While I was not aware of it then, we were learning that, the more your serve, the more you are served. That is a life lesson that not everyone learns. I was very fortunate to have parents that took me along on the ride of a Life Well Lived. Thanks , Mom & Dad
