Sunday's Sermon

Oh boy! Dad, sit down before you read this one. I went to church today. That's right. I said church. They used the Bible and everything. They even sang one song I knew from childhood. They bowed in prayer several times, they took an offering, the whole nine.

I was sitting in the market by my house this morning drinking coffee and generally trying to wake up while balancing that with my overwhelming desire to still shut out the world, specifically the gang of bicyclists that descend upon my quaint little canyon market on Sunday's. They are completely considerate and polite, but their numbers are great for such a small space. I like to be curmudgeonly sometimes early in the morning, please don't judge me.

Mark and Burke began playing their instruments of music, as they tend to do on Sunday's. Mark, his guitar, and Burke, his mandolin. I found myself drawn to them, as I often do when they play here, and suddenly, almost magically, my sensory capacity expanded and I was watching everyone and everything all at once.

Mark's face is priceless. Underneath his long, silvery hair that doesn't stop until his beard reaches his sternum, is the face of a cherub. Deep, soulful eyes, and a plump pair of red lips. (He should be Santa for Christmas if he isn't doing it already.) I watched those eyes light up with playfulness as he beckoned for Burke to keep pace with every challenge of dexterity and memory he elegantly put forth with every pluck of the strings. I thought about how joyful he seemed.

I saunter off to one of the handful of churches in this small, Mayberry RFD-like town. It's my second time here, which accounts for both times I have been to church this year. The first time they were doing a remodel of their main auditorium and were holding church in the gymnasium.

Side rant:
Why do I find carpet on the floor in gymnasium's of churches that have school's attached? I have seen it too many times. Have you ever tried to play basketball on a carpeted floor? It's absolutely horrible. And nobody wants to let you have a home game! Forget diving for a ball. I guess you do get good grip and can do away with the boys with the mops. I wonder if there is a need to keep a Dust-Buster boy on duty?

So I return today. There is a Greek church that is now using the gymnasium, and considering that gymnasium is their word, I am a little surprised they agree to hold service there, but I digress.

I wander through, find my way to the new and improved auditorium, and find a seat. The new auditorium is pretty impressive. A huge, and I mean freakin huge, cathedral ceiling. A raked floor to facilitate a theatre-like seating arrangement for the audience, that sits very comfortably on overly cushioned chairs. The funny thing to me is that stage area seems built for an audience about 10 times the size of what this building actually accommodates.

A violin player, a guy with no instrument but a microphone so you have no choice but to listen to him, a drummer, a bass guitarist, and the lead singer/acoustic guitar guy embark upon the stage. They sing songs. That's what they do.

I can't help but wonder. Where is the joy that I saw in Mark's face and eyes at the market? These guys don't seem to have it. They sound good. They sound like they mean it, like they even probably believe it. But their faces tell me they have the bitter taste of swill flowing over their tongues with every measure of every song. That doesn't seem right.

I listen as a salesman gets up and tells everyone why the church needs their help in meeting the budgetary needs this year. I say salesman only because I saw the truth. What strikes me as interesting is that when last I visited, this church was only 4 or 5 months into the year, but they were already over two-thirds of the way to meeting their budget for the year. For the year! Now, it seemed, the budget had increased by about 30 or 40 percent and they were finding themselves at the end of the year in the red. How did that happen I wonder. They clearly state in the bulletin that they have raised almost $600,000 this year. Wow. Impressive. The salesman was really nice, cordial, jovial even, in his delivery. He was good. If you're asleep and blindly following the sheep's ass in front of you, he was good. You could barely even feel the darts of guilt trying to penetrate the soul and mind.

The puppets return to the stage to finish their show. Thanks guys. That was awesome. No. I mean that. Well, I mean it as much as you meant it.

Now, something interesting happened before the preacher got up to speak. In this "Cotton-Candy Church", they have a power-point slide presenter that they use for the words to songs, and if you're an overly lazy Christian, you don't even need to worry about a Bible, they'll let you read off the screen! So, the lead singer/acoustic guitar guy says, "I'm going to read, and then you respond in turn." And right on cue, words appear on the magical screen, and at the top it says "Worship Leader". That's his part. Later we find that there is a "Congregational" part. Long and short, there was a glitch, and no one in the audience knew the words, and without the ever powerful screen perpetrating the literary magic to dance us into hypnotics, the "Worship Leader" awkwardly led the stumbling audience through some exercise of rote.

Now, the preacher. His message? Don't let the words of the Lord fall on your heart emptily. Live in the joy of the Lord. He actually said, "I wish we could all just stand up and shout out in the joy of the Lord." There was a long pause. I felt my body trying to stand up. I felt my mouth and voice trying to form the words, "why not?" I almost did. I almost stood up and asked him. In a Cotton-Candy Church, there is no acceptable way, it would appear, to stand up and actually do what you say you believe. I know the Bible. Dad's a Baptist preacher in Arkansas. I know it says to make a joyful noise unto the Lord. This guy knows it says that. Hell, pretty much everyone knows that just from Christmas music, if nothing else.

Mark and Burke were and are closer to "religion" when they play together. That's communion. That's fellowship. That's real connection. By the way, speaking of connection, I didn't know why I was there in that church, until I knew why I was in that church. It was to meet Laurie. Laurie was leaving for India when I last visited some 5 months ago. She seemed out of place in that church. She serendipitously sat next to me today. She still seemed out of place. I had to speak to her. Turns out, she just returned from India. And after 3 minutes of conversation, she slapped me on the chest, the way an old friend that is comfortable with you would do, and exclaimed, "Do you want to go to India?!"

Yes I do.