Sunday Service

     "I like your Christ.  I do not like your Christians.  Your Christians are so unlike your Christ!"  I think about Mahatma Ghandi's assessment of Christianity just about every time I find myself rolling through downtown on Sunday mornings to get Sam from his father.  He can't keep his son past noon on Sundays because...well just because.  But, that's another rant.  I used to feel bad about not being in church every week because I claim to be Christian,  but as I have lived and learned, a steady church-goer does not a Christian make.  I know God wants us to congregate for fellowship and I am more comfortable in small groups of people I know who walk their talk rather than with a pew full of folks who live lives of hypocrisy and self-righteousness.  I absolutely loved the Christian Women's Club I used to attend in Tallahassee, but they quit meeting a few years ago.  The small and eclectic group of women, the inspiring speakers and the foundations of the CWC in general fit me perfectly.
     The first church I attended regularly was a great big Baptist one and I had a lot of friends who went there, but I felt awful every time I left.  My mother made my Sunday dresses and I felt so pretty in them, but the pastor's daughter was in my Sunday-school class and she made fun of me for being so poor my mother had to make my clothes.  Thirty years later, I gave that same church another try.  This time the sermons left me feeling guilty and horrible because I wasn't able to give as much financially to the church as the pastor said we should.  Without fail, every week the sermon came around to money and the reasons people go to Hell and I left in tears.  I just didn't believe that this is how God thought a church should treat its parishioners.  I had been baptized in that church and felt secure in knowing I was saved,  but this guy left me feeling like I may as well be at the bar drinking myself to death because I was going to Hell anyway.  Shouldn't a service be focusing on God's glory and praising Him?  I decided that since Christ himself was poor and didn't confine himself to a sanctuary I would follow His lead.
     I know that there are some wonderful churches out there and I know they have a lot of true Christians in them.  I have attended quite a few over the years, looking for one that felt like home.  One that accepts me for the sinner that I am and doesn't judge me or require me to be there every time the doors are open.  I'll find it eventually, but until then I maintain a close walk with the Lord and do my best to live according to His Word and be grateful for all that I have.  I read the Bible daily and do a morning devotional.   I try to model these ways for my children as well.
   My grand-folks were church-going people at times.  I remember going to a service, maybe for a funeral, with them once when I was about ten years old.  Grandma Margaret got so mad at Grandpa Major because he never went inside the church, preferring to hang out with the other menfolk in the yard.  She said he had kept those men outside on purpose to listen to him talk.  I thought to myself that what Major had to say was probably more interesting than what we had heard, but what did I know?
    The photo above is Grandpa Major's mama, Fannie Langston and preacher Obe Revel.  I love everything about this photo, from Fannie's church hat and sunglasses to Mr. Revel's fan.  Fannie was reputed to be quite outlandish at times, often wearing huge blossoms pinned to her blouse, the petals spread out and pressed flat.  I don't doubt that a bit.  The more I learn about her, the more I think I take after her.  My mother is a lot like Margaret's mother Jennie, but I got the best of Fannie.  And my daughter has a penchant for church hats!