Dear Jimmy,
I don’t know what the matter with me was last Sunday, but I just couldn’t seem to keep my mind on Brother Bobby’s sermon. It wasn’t that he was hard to listen to. No, in fact, he has turned into a right fine preacher since commin’ to us. I remember after his trial sermon overhearin’ two choir ladies over at Fill-a-Belly Deli after church. One asked the other what she thought about the sermon. The second one said, “Well, I just have three things to say about it. First, he read it. Second, he wasn’t much good at readin’ it. And, third, it wasn’t worth readin’.”
I reckon Brother Bobby has had some of the same thoughts about choir specials we’ve heard from time to time since then.
Jim White
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But, gettin’ back to what I was talkin’ about, I was havin’ a dickens of a time listenin’. It was like my mind had a mind of it’s own and it kept wanderin’ off.
I think what got me started was just lookin’ around durin’ the prelude and seein’ all those folks just a visitin’ like it was a family reunion. Well, in a way, it guess it was. Now, Brother Bobby has tried at times to get folks to sit quiet-like and listen to the organ, but Bluebell Baptist just doesn’t work that way. But what rattled my brain was seein’ how everybody looked like they didn’t have a fret in this world. Why, I know different.
There was Calley Donya sittin’ over there like a queen surrounded by her court. Calley met one of our local boys when he was in the service and they got married over in Scotland where she came from about 10 years ago. I happen to know ‘cause she told me so that she’s real lonely like. She’s missin’ her family real bad and just can’t seem to feel at home with us—as fine as we all are! But, I think the real trouble is that she has wanted to be a mama so bad it’s eatin’ away at her insides, but they don’t seem to be havin’ even a speck of luck in the baby department. But, you’d never know she was a-hurtin’ by lookin’ at her.
Then, at the other end of the wagon, so to speak, Inman and Irene Justice who have had nothin’ but heartache out of their boy were sittin’ two rows in front of her on the aisle. Now they don’t want this known, so I know you won’t tell a soul, but he’s just nothin’ but mean to his mama and daddy. He cusses them and steals from them and mistreats them somethin’ fierce when he’s home. They have sat in our livin’ room and cried buckets of tears over that youngun. They haven’t said so directly, but I figure he’s gotten all mixed up in drugs and just stomped all over their hearts.
But there they sat Sunday talkin’ to the folks around them like the only thing they had to worry about was death and taxes.
Well, it got me to wonderin’ about the other folks. I recon when Bluebell Baptist gets together, we’re all just a big jumbled-up mess of hurts and problems. Now, to be sure, we’ve got a lot of happy times thrown into the mix, but what grabbed ahold of me was that a lot of folks have a lot more goin’ on inside than they let show on the outside.
Maybe it’s a good thing. Maybe when they come to church they can forget about how knotted up their innards are, and just be regular folks for a spell. Maybe that’s part of the peace that passes understandin’.
But, sittin’ there Sunday mornin’ I had a different take on it. I just couldn’t get rid of the feelin’ that we’re offerin’ folks a lot less than they’re needin’. Now, I don’t mean to be critical ‘cause some mighty fine things are a-happenin’. The Bible gets taught in Sunday school when we finally get around to the lesson, and doggone it, you have to hand it to Brother Bobby. He teaches us and scolds us and inspires us and sometimes even entertains us. That’s good — so far as it goes.
Maybe that’s all a person has a right to expect from church. But, I guess my problem is what I read in the book of Acts. I want church to be more like what I see goin’ on there. At least I think I do. That kind of church can get a mite intense, let’s say. Maybe it’s just too much for us. Maybe we just couldn’t take it.
Naturally, I bent your uncle’s ear about it. He said he knew somethin’ was a-botherin’ me cause I shot out of church like a mule on fire leavin’ the barn. But then, after hearin’ me out, he said, “Well, don’t forget that church is a heap site more than what happens on Sunday mornin’. When you sat down with Miss Calley and listened to her, that was Bluebell Baptist being the church. And when Irene and Inman came over here and bared their souls to us, and we cried with them over that boy of theirs that was church.”
Well, bless his ol’ heart, Orley has always had a way of seein’ right to the heart of things and I have to admit I felt right much better.
Still, it’s been weighin’ pretty heavy on my mind since Sunday and I’ve decided something. I’m goin’ to remember that what I see on the outside may not be tellin’ me the truth about what’s goin’ on inside. So, I figure I need to be more patient with folks than I tend to be ordinarily. Could be it’s about all they can handle to just show up for worship. I’m goin’ to quit thinkin’ that other folks ought to pull their share of the load at church ‘cause I don’t know what loads they have to tote at home.
What I’m goin’ to try to do is just be the best part of Bluebell Baptist that I can be and to, as the good book says, “rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep.” And one other thing, I’m goin’ to take more time to thank the good Lord that my problems are as few as they are.
Well, it’s about time for the mail so I’d better close and get this in the box. Come see us when you can.
With all our love, Aunt Ida
Jim White is editor of the Religious Herald.