Drove up to Maine for Thanksgiving week, which is why I found myself away from my church yesterday. Don’t talk to me about cold New Englanders. I felt warmly welcomed at a nearby Baptist church, chosen for convenience and my Baptist heritage.
The minister , no transplant, welcomed, then prayed for “God to minister to ahh hahts.” (our hearts).
Before he preached, he asked for testimonies. I haven’t heard one of those in a very long time. So many people stood to express gratitude to God for something or someone. One shared, to much applause, “I’ve been sober and off drugs for seven years.” Sounds safe to be a sinner in this church.
Aren’t we all?
A teenage girl played the piano for some of the congregational singing. A visitor “blessed” all with his guitar and led in praise songs. One of the congregation introduced the tall bearded musician as one he’d met working at a lumber yard. “I could tell he was a Christian by how he acted, how he treated other people.”
Quite the recommendation. Made me stand up and sing when I prefer sitting. As too often, the church held more senior citizens, than young families but they were there, too. Older folks, like I, gripped the pew ahead of us to keep standing and singing for as long as possible. Perhaps, like I, they wanted to show solidarity with younger people newer songs, despite our preferences. Who wants to exit kicking and screaming for what was? Not I.
Well, the pastor had me at his announcement for Wednesday night’s service. “It’ll be special. Pies and prayer. Not sure which’ll come first.”
A slice of pie with prayer midweek, these Maine folks know how to bait the hook.
I just need to confirm the time.
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