The torture that was church

[susandennis]

As a child, I was hauled to church every Sunday.  No excuses.  No misses.  Looking back on it now, it's kind of curious as to how it actually happened.  My father traveled 8 days out of every 7.  I remember his being gone all of the time.  Family lore sounds like we really only saw him on Christmas Eve but I remember going to church every single fucking Sunday of my youth and I remember his being part of that.  Weird.

My mother's parents were big shots in the Disciples of Christ denomination.  (Those of you semi in the know can translate this to Presbyterian without the pomp - and if you are really in the know you'll say 'what pomp???' but I digress.)  Daddy was raised as a Baptist.  Mom won and we always went to a Disciples of Christ church.  For most of my youth it was the First Christian Church in Winston-Salem.  The preacher was a close family friend who was about 500 feet tall and very strong and while he thought he was giving you a friendly pinch or hug, he was really hurting you.  Best steer clear.

We went to Sunday School - religiously (pun, of course, intended).  We learned that there were heathens out there.  People who did not go to church.  It was our job to bring them with us to church.  I was in college before I ever met anyone who was not forced, as I was, to go to church every single fucking Sunday.  So, of course, I could never find any heathens who were everywhere according to what the Sunday School teachers told us every single... wait for it... fucking Sunday.

My friend, Mary Stuart, went to the First Baptist Church.  They had a roller skating rink.  Now, there was a reason to go to church.  My friend, Connie, was a Catholic.  Every once in a while I got to go to church with her and it was ever so much more interesting.  They got up, sat down, kneeled on those cool carpeted things.  They had church jewelery!  And their preacher was not basketball player size but normal size and he had pretty outfits and his sermons were mercifully short. 

But, I was stuck in dullsville.  The TALL preacher would drone on for hours and hours.  There were only 3 hymns every Sunday and mostly they were not the good ones.  If you were really quiet and slow and sneaky about it, you could commandeer one of those little stubby pencils and an offering envelope and draw for a while before Mother or Daddy made you put it back and sit still.

I was forced to study the backs of heads.  There was a lot to look at there - one woman who sat in front of us a lot had a quite elaborate 'do' that I never could figure out how she got it put up like that.  (Actually, you can blame one of my LJ friends for this entire entry.  Her entry is locked but she shares this today that her husband of many years, standing behind her this morning remarks  "It amazes me how women can put up their hair and it's all smooth and tidy at the back and they can't even see what they're doing.")

I never did get with the church program.  I had a couple of comparative religion classes in school and it was only through them that I actually kind of got the point.  I have over the years now met and loved many a heathen and wouldn't dream of dragging them to Sunday School.  I love a good gospel sing. And I, to this day, know 3 and 4 verses of an amazing number of old standard hymns.  I know right from wrong and I think I have a pretty good handle on what makes a good person and even where I fall short.  I have never subscribed to any after life theory.  It's a nice thought - the idea of reward or punishment afterward but I just really don't buy it. 

And I really don't have a point or a nice summation here... If I get one later, I'll edit it in.