Old-time religion

Have you been to church lately? It has really changed.

I grew up going to a Nazarene Church, which is sort of like the Baptist Church without money. My parents believed in going every time they opened the church doors, which meant Sunday mornings, Sunday nights, Wednesday nights, and revivals.

I can't say I always went willingly. I'm not sure I can say I EVER went willingly, come of think of it. But go I did, and I guess it didn't do me any harm, except I missed seeing the endings of a few football games.

These days, I go to a Methodist church. Some things I like more about church now than I did then. For one thing, the preacher never mentions hell, or the devil, and this is a good thing, cause those Nazarene preachers used to scare me to death.

Hell never really sounded like the place to be. Any little sin would get you there – lying, stealing, impure thoughts. I didn’t lie unless it was necessary, and I never stole, but you’re talking about a teen-aged boy here. I pretty much did that last one about every 5 minutes.

Things were especially bad during revivals, when evangelists would come in and preach for a week. For one thing, you had to go to church every night during a revival, and these preachers acted like they got paid according to how many people they go to go down to the altar. Sometimes I was tempted to go myself just to avoid hearing another verse of Just As I Am.

I’ve seen evangelists wade into the congregation and grab people by the arm to try and force them to the altar. This wasn’t one of those Oral Roberts pretending-to-heal-people deals, either. The people being singled out were not in on the gag. More than once, I saw somebody shake the preacher off. I’m surprised none of those preachers ever got punched out. If they ever came for me, I was prepared to fake a heart attack.

The Nazarene Church isn’t that well-known. I remember taking a girl one time to church with me, and she had never heard of the Nazarene Church, and I could tell she was a little nervous. She kept asking me on the way to church what it was like, and what they did during the service. I tried to reassure her and told her it was just like any other church, there was nothing to worry about.

Then, just as we were getting out of the car, I looked at her solemnly and said, “Now, listen, if they try to hand you a snake, and you don’t feel comfortable taking it, just politely say no, thanks. Nobody will hold it against you.” Her eyes got as big as Frisbees and it took me about 10 minutes to convince her I was kidding and get her out of the car.

The music has changed drastically in church. Now there are “praise bands,” and they play something called “praise music,” which is basically just light-rock songs, but instead of saying “I love you, baby,” they say “I love you, Jesus.” Well, whatever floats your boat. These praise bands have electric guitars and bass and even drums. My mama would roll over in her grave at the thought of drums in church.

I must say, I prefer the old hymns. My mama and my brother, who’s gone now, too, and my father used to get up and sing some Sundays as a trio. They would sing old hymns like I’ll Fly Away, and Love Lifted Me, and Victory In Jesus.

I don’t hear those kinds of songs enough in church anymore, but every now and then we’ll sing one, and I get a tear in my eye every time. What I wouldn’t give to hear that Williams trio harmonize one more time on those old songs. That would be the sweetest music I could ever hear.