RE: One Thing I Miss About Church is....
September 13, 2015 at 10:09 am
(This post was last modified: September 13, 2015 at 10:18 am by MTL.)
I love church architecture, too...but you don't have to be a church member to appreciate that.
Funny to say...the stuff I hated most about it is also the stuff I now miss, in a sense:
It did provide you with structure, a sense of purpose,
...and it also gave you a sense of maintaining HIGH STANDARDS...
This is what I suspect is at least partially responsible
for the smug, self-satisfied "holier than thou" attitude you so often get from church folk
(especially coupled with the idea that they are going to Heaven, and you are not).
I think this, and perhaps the sense of a big, extended family,
is what some former church-goers miss, without even always realizing it.
It began with getting ready Saturday night
as my mom put these torturous, tight curlers in our hair for us to try to sleep on
(my hair is naturally poker-straight)
and then the solemn business of Sunday morning:
up early,
the pleasure of the curlers' protest at being extricated,
and your unnatural new frizzy poodle-curls being shellacked into place
with lots of ozone-killing, hard-core, old-school 80s hairspray,
then getting into those uncomfortable, stiff, hot, itchy polyester dresses
and circulation-restricting tights in lovely shade of Pepto-Bismol pink;
(However I do remember that it was nice to see Dad looking dignified in his charcoal-coloured suit,
and well-worn but highly-polished black shoes,
hair and beard neatly trimmed,
after seeing him in workclothes all week
...with his dog-eared and heavily-underlined black leather Bible in his hands)
the cramped ride to church with my sisters in the back of the car,
with the youngest being forced to sit "over the bump" in the middle of the car
(yes, I'm that old)
Then marching into church, shaking the hand of the 'greeter' at the door,
being ushered to your seat, given a programme (which would be folded into a fan by the end of the day)
listening to the low, soothing, beautiful organ prelude (I liked that part)
then the service and hymns,
then Sunday school,
then refreshments (Kool-Aid, coffee, and usually carrot-cake squares)
for "fellowship hour" (socializing in the foyer)
I also miss the teenage church boys, older than myself,
that I had crushes on,
despite my heartbreak at the fact that they weren't into gawky pre-teen girls
with poodle hair and braces.
And then finally escaping into the sunshine of the parking lot,
the ride home,
getting the hell out of those clothes for another week,
and furiously brushing the lacquer out of your tortured hair,
then lunch,
...and then the agonizing ennui of trying to "stay quiet" ALL Sunday afternoon,
as per Mom & Dad's bidding,
while Dad listens to chamber music on CBC Radio.
Funny to say...the stuff I hated most about it is also the stuff I now miss, in a sense:
It did provide you with structure, a sense of purpose,
...and it also gave you a sense of maintaining HIGH STANDARDS...
This is what I suspect is at least partially responsible
for the smug, self-satisfied "holier than thou" attitude you so often get from church folk
(especially coupled with the idea that they are going to Heaven, and you are not).
I think this, and perhaps the sense of a big, extended family,
is what some former church-goers miss, without even always realizing it.
It began with getting ready Saturday night
as my mom put these torturous, tight curlers in our hair for us to try to sleep on
(my hair is naturally poker-straight)
and then the solemn business of Sunday morning:
up early,
the pleasure of the curlers' protest at being extricated,
and your unnatural new frizzy poodle-curls being shellacked into place
with lots of ozone-killing, hard-core, old-school 80s hairspray,
then getting into those uncomfortable, stiff, hot, itchy polyester dresses
and circulation-restricting tights in lovely shade of Pepto-Bismol pink;
(However I do remember that it was nice to see Dad looking dignified in his charcoal-coloured suit,
and well-worn but highly-polished black shoes,
hair and beard neatly trimmed,
after seeing him in workclothes all week
...with his dog-eared and heavily-underlined black leather Bible in his hands)
the cramped ride to church with my sisters in the back of the car,
with the youngest being forced to sit "over the bump" in the middle of the car
(yes, I'm that old)
Then marching into church, shaking the hand of the 'greeter' at the door,
being ushered to your seat, given a programme (which would be folded into a fan by the end of the day)
listening to the low, soothing, beautiful organ prelude (I liked that part)
then the service and hymns,
then Sunday school,
then refreshments (Kool-Aid, coffee, and usually carrot-cake squares)
for "fellowship hour" (socializing in the foyer)
I also miss the teenage church boys, older than myself,
that I had crushes on,
despite my heartbreak at the fact that they weren't into gawky pre-teen girls
with poodle hair and braces.
And then finally escaping into the sunshine of the parking lot,
the ride home,
getting the hell out of those clothes for another week,
and furiously brushing the lacquer out of your tortured hair,
then lunch,
...and then the agonizing ennui of trying to "stay quiet" ALL Sunday afternoon,
as per Mom & Dad's bidding,
while Dad listens to chamber music on CBC Radio.