Wednesday Night Churchin'

I grew up going to church every Sunday morning and every Wednesday night. Sunday worship meant waking up early, bathing, hot rollers, restrictive tights, itchy petticoats and sitting quietly through long boring sermons with only donuts and lemonadedrink to look forward to. Wednesday nights were a whole other story. Wednesday nights were like a ruckus frat party compared to Sunday morning worship.

Wednesdays were my favorite.

There was no bathing or formal dress code on Wednesday. My family would arrive around 5:00 pm in our grubby school clothes to a fellowship hall full of silver hair and the smell of meatloaf. On the table they would lay out the deserts - a few varieties of jell-o, some kind of pudding thing and, if I was lucky, chocolate cake with white frosting and chocolate chips. The dessert table was always my first stop. My mom would pay the small fee for dinner and we'd grab a tray and wait in line for ham and beans and cornbread or fried chicken and mashed potatoes with green beans or some other Heritage Cafeteria style meal. I would quickly abandon my family and set off to find my friends. We usually ate in secret locations where we would plot our evening shenanigans.

Wednesdays were full of shenanigans.

I've always been a rather observant person. I pick up on things easily. This skill has been very useful in my adulthood, especially in my work as a therapist. However, in my childhood I seldom used this skill for good. Mostly, I used it for shenanigans. For instance, on Sunday mornings I noticed the teachers getting supplies out of a locked closet. I noticed the closet contained glitter and yarn and various other fun craft items. I also noticed they kept the key on top of the door. On Wednesdays I noticed the classroom floor was usually empty because everyone was eating dinner. I noticed that if you ate dinner quickly there was at least a half hour of free time...for shenanigans.

For the children at University Heights Baptist Church Wednesday night programing meant a hearty dinner, children's choir and then sexually segregated Christian education. The boys departed to RAs (Royal Ambassadors)- a Christ centered version of Boy Scouts. They talked about Bible stuff, made man-crafts and discussed missions around the world. The girls departed to GAs (Girls In Action) - a Christ centered slumber party.

Immediately after finishing our chocolate cake me and my girl posse jumped into action. We would break into the Sunday School supply closet taking yarn and sequins and glitter and head to our GA classroom. There we would sprinkle glitter and sequins all over the top of the fans. Then we would create a web out of all the yarn - tying yarn to the door knob and weaving it through the chairs and tables and toys and drawer handles until the entire room was covered in yarn and impossible to walk through. We'd crawl on our bellies, turn off the lights and squeeze out the door. Then we would trod off to choir full of mischief and giggles and anxiously await the moment our leader, my beloved Nana, would open the classroom door.

We did this at least once a month. Yet, she never saw it coming.

Nana is in blue - not the best pic, but the only one I had.

My Nana, a Jesus loving rhinestone jean jacket wearing pink lipsticked innocent with a heart of gold, would fuss over how the door was stuck. We tried to stifle our giggles - hitting each other and biting our lips. She'd pull harder and the chairs would topple and the door would give way. She'd turn to us and give us all a death glare. Pushing open the door she would flick on the lights and scream out in terror at the sight of the mass destruction we created. We would burst into hysterics. She would scream at us to "clean up this mess right now!" And we'd start cutting down the yarn while hunched over crying with laughter. My Nana had a way of yelling that was not only completely non-threatening but also very entertaining. She had a slightly high-pitched country twang to her screams that made us roll with laughter. We'd be on the floor in tears with balls of cleaned up yarn in our hands barely able to breathe through our cackles.

Once everything was cleaned up we were scolded and told to sit in our chairs. She would begin the lesson standing at the chalkboard and writing something about missions work. One of us would complain that we were hot so she would walk over to the wall and turn on the fan. Then, little colorful flakes of glitter would rain down from the ceiling covering us and the desks and the floor. Even though we'd done it multiple times before, she screamed out in shock and horror. We howled with glee. By this point she would become livid and irrational. She would just start yelling random bizarre things out of exhaustion and frustration. Once she was so angry that she yelled at me to "get under the table." Sitting on the floor under a tiny table, my loud gasps for air between laughs made it impossible to carry on with the lesson. In fact, for the several years that my Nana taught us in GAs I don't think we ever made it through one single lesson.

Now, I'm sure you think I'm a horrible person to have repeatedly pulled pranks on my sweet little Christian grandmother. I can't really argue with you, but keep in mind that I was a child and children are horrible. Nana took it all in stride though. She was a generous and forgiving person (and fortunately quite forgetful). Eventually she would give up, break out the cookies and we would sit around and chat about nothing. Even though we were little shits she loved us anyway.  She was even willing to take us on field trips (mostly to the pool). I learned more about God's love through my Nana's kind and gentle ways then I ever would have from some silly GA workbook. ( <-- classic Sarah Goes To Church sappy moment.)



My best church memories are Wednesday night memories. Wednesday nights always felt more real to me than all the formal Sunday fare. So, I felt like it was important to seek out at least one Wednesday evening church service during my church adventure. Lots of churches have started offering informal weekday services so I figured I would have a few to choose from.

Nope.

Two. I found two. One nearly an hour away and the other in a slightly dangerous part of North City St. Louis. There was no way I was taking a two hour drive Wednesday night. That only left one option - danger. 7:00. Pitch black. North City. Totally alone. Awesome.

I found a parking spot right in front of the Transformation Christian Church and World Outreach Center which put my mind at ease. I walked through the heavy green metal doors into a large gymnasium that's been turned into a worship center equipped with speakers, big screens, office chairs and your standard Christian shrubbery - ferns. A lady handed me a stack of mustard yellow church papers and I found a seat on the aisle.

A few minutes after I arrived it was time...

CONTEMPORARY CHRISTIAN WORSHIP MUSIC (CCWM) TIME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


I've searched over and over for a church that just sings THE WHOLE TIME, because I love love love singing CCWM. "Here I am to Worship" - love it. "Awesome God" - ugh fantastic. "Lord I Lift Your Name on High" - my favorite ever. I can't help myself. When these songs start playing I flash back to my youth and sing with the passion/insanity of an impressionable young girl at Christian Bible Camp. On Wednesday night I was rocking out with some sweet harmonies. CCWM often repeats over and over giving you plenty of time to work out different harmonies. The first 20 minutes of worship service I was in heaven - singing and swaying my little heart out.

Then, once CCWM time was over, I traveled to place I rarely ever go except when flying or watching episodes of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic on repeat - Bordemville.

It began with a soloist, who started out strong. I thought perhaps my joyful energy was going to carry on throughout the whole service. She sang out "HALLE" and the congregation would repeat "HALLE". Then she'd sing out "LUJAH" and we'd repeat "LUJAH". Then we repeated the cycle. Then repeated it again. I'm not joking when I say we did this FIFTY times. I had a brief freakout moment thinking there was some glitch in the universe and like a needle that's stuck on a record I would be stuck in this HALLE(halle)LUJAH(lujah) moment forever. The whole congregation was in a trance after the song ended. We'd been hallelujahed into a coma.

The Hallelujah Coma.

As the sermon began people slowly started coming back to life - getting out their Bibles and notebooks and pens ready to hear The Word of God. I don't own a Bible and never think to bring pen and paper to church, so in order to feel part of the group I pulled out my handy dandy iPhone and used Notes to document interesting points from the sermon.



"Seven Steps to Prayer That Brings Results" was the title of today's lesson. Here is my interpretation of the seven steps based on the sermon I experienced Wednesday night.

Step 1: Don't pray to Jesus. The Bible specifically states that you are to pray to God. If you pray to Jesus you are doing it wrong.  All prayers that begin with "Dear Jesus" or my personal favorite "Dear Lord Baby Jesus" will be promptly ignored.

Step 2: Read the King James Version of your Bible as it is the simplest to understand. The frequent double negatives, old world terminology and circular language are your quickest route to answered prayers.

Step 3: Don't dream it. Be it. Imagine your prayers are already answered and it shall be so. (For more information on Step 3 read The Secret)

Step 4: You can't just have faith in God. You have to
                                                                       read your Bible too. Fill yourself with the Word. The
                                                                       more you put in you - the more you are able to spit out.
                                                                       Otherwise the enemy will get you off. (Those are actual
                                                                       quotes from the minister. It took everything I had not to
                                                                       burst into juvenile laughter.

                                                                       Step 5: I missed the last two steps, because...I left.


At one point in the sermon the Minister repeated the same Bible verse three times. Not for dramatic effect or emphasis, but solely because he forgot he had already read it. After each step he would say, "It's just like that verse - I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me" but he'd say it as if he hadn't already said it five times before. He went off on tangents about not gossiping and how our cars are covered in the blood of the lamb. I deeply deeply dislike when people talk about being covered in the "blood of the lamb" because 1. it's disgusting and 2. not accurate. Jesus wanted us to drink his blood, not bathe in it. (Religion is creepy)

Everyone needs one of these. No plastic bottles!

Since we are all friends now, I will be honest and tell you that I brought wine in my brand new stainless steel mustard yellow Klean Kanteen. Don't judge! Jesus drank wine at religious gatherings! Just trying to walk in Jesus's footsteps. But sadly, not even wine could make this boring sermon interesting. I kept checking my phone. At 8:00 I was antsy. Four hours later at 8:06 I was planning my exit strategy since I was near the front of the silent room. At 8:16 I finished my last sip of wine. At 8:17 I was out the door.


This Wednesday was not my favorite.



I didn't expect it to be.







Nothing can beat being high on sugar and childhood and yarn bombing your grandmother.




I went home, finished the leftover wine and reflected on this Bible verse -


1 John 4:8 - Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love.


Amen. I'll drink to that.









*Monday posts are damn near impossible these days. So, most blog posts will happen on Wednesday for a while. There are only seven Sundays left....holy crap. Only 7?!?!?! I'm not ready to be done!!!