Different ethnicities, age groups, and, personalities but we all have that one same belief. My church may be small in numbers, but the genuine spirit of your fellow members is great in mass. To be a member of my church can be a joyful setting to fellowship with those you love, an adventure, and at times a brutal war zone.
The beat of drums, the shake of tambourines, the melody of the organ, and the angelic voice of a young child make the building one joyful place to be. Every church member is off the pews and on their feet rocking to the inspiring gospel music. The shiny-suit-wearing men with the matching shoes in the pulpit sing along with their tenor and bass voices. The overly-perfumed, short women, with the big fancy hats and the matching dresses hum rhythmically. At this particular moment the usual sleepy-heads that you catch every once and a while dozing off are also amped up. After all the devotion is done next it’s time to hear the preacher bring The Word. All the members rest on the burgundy pews anxious to hear the sermon, with The Holy Bible, and a pen and pad in hand ready for the important notes to jot down.
The adventure begins after the sermon, when we extend the doors of the church to those who want to join, confess, or just recommit themselves to the Lord. The ushers, dressed in their clean, crisp white blouses and there just dry-cleaned black skirts, with sharper moves than the U.S. Army, motion there way to the front of the alter to place the tan medal chairs in their position. A disheveled lady hesitates to stand but then continues. Slowly but surely she makes her way up to the front of the church. Her hair is tousled all over her head her eyes are a piercing blood shot color. She’s wearing a very bright and vivid red spaghetti strap blouse that shows all of her cleavage, a short mini jean skirt which shows the unpleasant blue veins running up and down her long legs, and four-inch high silver stiletto pumps.
As the members of the church try not to stare we can’t help but notice the discoloration on the inside of her arm and the bruises on her high cheekbones. She looks to be beautiful. She has a model’s look, with her long legs and the special facial features she is blessed with. She sits down on the cold medal chair fidgeting with herself. She has come to confess and repent her sins and to recommit herself to the Lord. We, the congregation, know that this is going to be a long difficult journey for her, but we are all supportive and are here to help her through this challenging crossing.
With all the different personalities we all have it’s sometimes difficult to agree on certain things. The youth of the church and the parents get together on certain Saturday mornings to clean and decorate the church. As we all stumble to the church in our worn out, raggedy, cleaning threads. The children enter the church with crust still in the corner of their eyes you could tell they had just woken up. It takes the whole group a while to fully awaken and ready to start cleaning. We begin by assigning the long lists of tasks that need to be complete by the end of the day. The younger kids are to dust, vacuum, and sweep. The older kids are to clean the bathrooms, and the kitchen. But of course there’s going to be arguments of whose cleaning what, and then there are the ones that don’t do much of anything to help. Thankfully, at the end of an extended day of sanitation the church is sparkling and smelling country breeze fresh when we depart
Although my church can go through its shares of ups and downs, like many other churches. With the long roads of adventures every day and the occasional war zones. It still turns out to be one of my favorite places to spend my lenient time. It’s a place where those who may only have one specific thing in common, but yet and still, can come together and commune with one another.
