Details Matter
For most of my life my community has revolved to a lesser or greater degree around my faith. It is there, outside of family and friends from school, where of much my tribe has been found. It has been consistent, predictable, and for the most part, felt right.
A few years ago, before The Rona was a thing, this changed in a way that surprised me and left me unsettled. My worship community, of a sudden, was just to busy to accommodate those who continued to need a strong element of fellowship in their lives. Much of the community building activities I’d been accustomed to all my life, suddenly were no longer being supported.. It was then that my fraternal community became much more important to me. Some of you may wonder if I am being critical. Not at all. However, I maintain that fellowship is absolutely one of many important reasons that some people attend church where they do. To dismiss that need is to dismiss for whom it matters.
When I was still a little feller, the three hour Sunday meeting block that was, until a few years ago, the standard for most of the last half century, was not yet part of our routine. We attended church on Sundays, often twice on Sundays. We attended church again on Wednesday evenings. We were there very often, just about anytime the door was unlocked we were there.
Every major holiday and more than a few minor holidays found us at the church house, gathering with our fellow Saints. We always had a big Christmas party. There was another big dinner at Easter to look forward to. We celebrated with a meal sometime around Thanksgiving. Halloween, while not a religious holiday was one that saw a carnival put on for the benefit of the kids. This was no mere trunk or treat, no ma’am. It was a sure enough carnival with a cake walk, bobbing for apples, treats, candies, prizes, and loads of fun!
When we were glad, our worship community was glad with us. When we mourned, they mourned with us. This wonderful setting wasn’t just there – that was our community.
We gathered as friends and neighbors, every fifth Sunday of the year at the church house to share a meal. Everyone ate and there was always plenty. The grown people sat together inside talking among themselves. The children played outside. As I write this, forty-five years later, I still smell the food. I hear the voices of the grown folks and the laughter of the children with whom I played.
What happened to it? Why did this have to change? I yearn for a revival of this close knit, wonderfully strong and vibrant community.
There is no time for that kind or degree of close community anymore. Our buildings are over used and there just aren’t enough of them. We get chased out of the chapel after church to make room for the next group to meet then chased out of the hallways to help keep the noise down. We even have leaders give talks about how we don’t come to church for fellowship. But, I do - at least in part. No, our congregations aren’t close like my childhood church back in Beautiful, East Texas. Everyone is busy with other things.
Why did it change? I suppose it doesn’t really matter. It changed. It just did.
I wish it hadn’t but then, if wishes were fishes, we’d eat seafood every night.
Momma, who is just bursting with her own ironic sort of wisdom, would undoubtedly observe, “You can wish in one hand and poop in the other then see which one fills up faster.” Only Momma didn’t say poop. Now that I think of it, in all my life I don’t recall ever having heard her say the word, ‘poop.’
No, Momma has always been more lyrical in her expressions. She is also remarkably handy in a gunfight, as it goes.
My family helped establish The Beautiful, East Texas Branch of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I did an episode about that experience. If you want to hear the story, its titled, “Faith In Beautiful, East Texas.” I’ll include a link for those of you are are email subscribers.
Ours was a wonderfully close community. It was small but we loved each other. That is, until it all changed.
I remember my parents calling me from my playing to speak with them. I’d been enjoying my toy flatbed farm truck. It was made of metal and painted green. The doors opened and closed. I had fencing and farm animals. There was little barn. It’d all been part of my Christmas. Santy Clause brought it to me.
My mother and natural father sat on the couch. Rough plaid cushions dyed in earth tones and set up on a heavy wood frame. Uncomfortable for sitting even less so for sleeping. It was the kind of couch one bought if one had no taste, couldn’t afford anything more comfortable, or if one really didn’t care for company.
“Hank, we are getting a divorce.”
What does that mean to a five year old boy?
It means nothing. Well... nothing except that, everything is about to change and not likely for the better. However, the innocence and inexperience of childhood cannot fathom these things. Children are left with nothing but to trust their parents to do the right thing even when they demonstrate an appalling track record that doesn’t even come close to living up to that ideal. But then, this isn’t an episode on divorce.
Listen to this episode in full in the podcast above! :)
Much Love,HankYou’ve Been Hanked!
