To quote Gladys off of the Ellen Show - "I love Jesus, but I drink a little" -- so admittedly I am not a perfect Christian, but it is purely by choice.
Here's the scenario -- we go to a really small church (by small I mean that my family with all my kids and their wives/girlfriends/girlfriends' kids make up over half the congregation). The music minister guy is from California and a really nice guy in an irritating holy-roller sort of way. The past few weeks he and the pastor (who is from North Dakota - so he's a Yankee, but I think God lets that slide) have been asking if there were any particular songs we would like to be singing during the service. And they kept asking and they kept asking and they kept asking. So finally I relented (like a fool) and mentioned to the pastor that I grew up with a lot of the old southern small town Baptist hymns like Old Rugged Cross, Amazing Grace, etc. (you know, pretty much anything off of an Elvis gospel album) and told them I would like to have one of those to sing once in a while. Well last week - the music minister guy was out of town and the pastor chose some music for us to sing that were "old hymns" to him. After the service he pulled me aside and asked if any of the songs he sang were ones that I was familiar with - I honestly told him that I didn't know any of them... maybe it was a regional thing and that us Southern Baptists just had way different stand-bys when it came to church songs.So last week during the week MyPoolBoy gets a phone call from the pastor, then one from the MusicMan - who told MyPoolBoy that his "eyes had been opened" after he talked to the pastor, then the pastor comes OVER on Friday night to talk to him about what exactly kind of music I liked. At this point I'm telling MyPoolBoy that they are like 2 old women and if they don't have anything better to do except worry about what songs to sing on Sunday to appease me I could tell them plenty of other REAL problems that I have that they could be praying for to take their mind off of the music controversy. I don't know what the two of them were saying to each other to get each other so worked up, but I really didn't care and they were making a gigantic deal out of something really nitpicky and stupid.
So today we go to church -- last day of spring break -- getting ready to wind down before we start the downhill slide for the rest of the year. And the music service started and smack in the middle of all the other songs was "In the Garden." I'm thinking - cool. That'll hold me for a couple of weeks, maybe everybody is finally getting it, and they'll leave me alone.
no.
not at all.
Because obviously MusicMan doesn't respect the dead and he was going to beat a dead horse right there in God's house.
Service goes on -- and at the end the pastor usually opens up for praise or discussion or testimony before we all go home. MusicMan starts to tell about blessings he's received from some people when he lived in California for his music ministry there, and then he launches into how he knows his ministry can bless people no matter what songs he chooses to sing and that people need to open their hearts to a more "normal" way of worship, don't worry about the King James version, "thys and thous don't make it holy" blah blah blah. (Never mind that the people who spoke with thys and thous were the very people that came and founded this whole crazy idea of freedom of worship in this country 400 years ago so that HE would have the right to sing whatever he wanted) It was like he was peeing on the music portion of the service so that his territory was clearly marked. Everyone knew who he was talking to - I DID defend myself a little, just commenting that some of the older hymns are almost poetic - like the Psalms - and there is a traditional, historical value to them. That was about the end of it, then they did the service dismissal and I left VERY quickly.
Thunderduck noted that I was out the door and sitting in the truck yelling at no one before my seat in the pew had even gotten cool.
Here is where it is a good thing that we are Baptists and there is not any communion wine anywhere near me during worship-time (considering that I am a major lightweight and even a sip of alcohol puts my mouth in gear) because I did NOT:
*Stand up on the pew and tell him to Eff off
*Bi+ch slap him
*Throw a hymnal at him and tell him to pick a song and shut up
*Light the wooden cross in the churchyard on fire in an attempt to scare his hippie a$$ back to California
*Draw a line through the middle of the sanctuary for North vs. South so the yankees could have the front half with the musical instruments and sound system and us southerners could claim the back half of the pews so we can sit in the last row like good Baptists
*Toilet paper his house - yet (I'm thinking I could write the lyrics to a lot of songs/hymns on the paper before I wrap his house and he could learn them as he cleans it all up)
Thunderduck's girlfriend said later at lunch (right after I asked the waitress if she could bring me vodka straight up in a Mason jar) that she couldn't believe that he would poke a stick at the beehive like that (meaning our family - since we ARE about half of the congregation) - and for SURE couldn't believe he was stupid enough to poke at the QUEEN BEE.
(Sidenote: I'm thinking of calling her Deuce - as in 2 - cuz her nickname is the same as MyPoolBoy's name and if she and Thunderduck get married there will be two of them with the same name).
Thunderduck said I am the alpha male of the family and we could pay him a visit later - in the Sopranos sort of way, not in the Welcome Wagon with the iconic Protestant casserole dish in hand sort of way... unless I was gonna knock him upside the head with said casserole dish.
Corningware - the southern Baptist lady's weapon of choice.
No comments:
Post a Comment