There is a time and a place to be a rebel, of course, truly it only
works out in movies or TV. Where it most
certainly does not work out is a Baptist Church in Mississippi.
Feeling that life
had dealt me an unfair hand, I was on the lookout for instances of unfairness
(against me or others) and tried to fight them as best I could. As I was desperate for acceptance by anyone
and everyone, it wasn’t a true fight. I
never came to fisticuffs literally or figuratively; however, I did take a stand
against what I thought was wrong and didn’t involve actually protesting or
other forms of exercise.
While in high
school, we attended a small, country church on the outskirts of a small,
country town, in a small, country (dry) county situated atop the toe of the
(work) boot of Louisiana. There were
about 80 people who attended on a regular basis, so you knew just about
everything about everyone, including the state of their salvation, which leaned
heavily on attendance, and some sort of participation, at church.
As a rule, I am
nice to most people, whether I like them or not, at least at church. If you’re going to be fake, that’s the best
place to start; only God can see into your heart of hearts and He’s not going
to tell anyone anything, no matter what those televangelists and snake-handlers
say. God will keep your secrets,
y’all. At least until the End Times,
when everything will be shown to everyone on a big screen like those cineplexes
with the reserved leather recliners.
You’ll need to be physically comfortable when everyone finally sees the
sins you committed in the dark. Am I
right?
The one person (or
at least the one that I am discussing this time) was a man who I shall not
name. I will give you a small hint: He shares his first and last name with a
former Miss America. Happy hunting,
y’all. Seriously, you will never figure
it out, so stop trying. Even though
Evelyn (1954) is sometimes a man’s name in England, I can assure you there is
no man in Mississippi that was ever named Vonda (1965), Kaye Lani Rae (1988) or
Savvy (2017).
This particular
gentleman was our little church’s Director of Sunday School (or whatever the
title may have been, I can’t remember as it was 1989 or so), but was often late
to Sunday School, if he and his family came at all. They had perfect attendance for what is
called Big Church or The Worship Service or The Sermon (depending on how old
you are). As someone who was dragged out
of bed each and every Sunday morning by the 5’2” inches of Jesus Shining known
as my mother, whether I wanted to or not, I found it to be profoundly unfair
for someone to be in a position of authority related to our education in the
House of the Lord, who didn’t find Sunday School important enough to attend on
a consistent basis.
It irked me to no
end and I mentioned it several times to my mother who told me to “Let it go,
son” long before Elsa sang that song and created a house with her dramatic
gesture. As I am persnickety on a good
day, I just couldn’t do that. However, I
am nothing if not quick on the uptake, so I stopped mentioning it and bided my
time. As the year rolled to a close, we
had to elect new officers at our church.
Well, elect is not the correct word as most people were nominated for
the same position every year until they declined and no one dared vote against
them as that could be viewed as impudent and you must not be impudent with
Jesus lest you feel all the wrath of God poured out on your heart that is
apparently black with sin, or so we were told each and every Sunday and sometimes
Wednesdays.
Okay, maybe I’m going a little overboard, but Baptists
really, really don’t like anyone to make waves; not even ripples that you make
when you throw a rock into a puddle. As
we have discussed before, Baptists are under the impression that God is
skittish and likes only smooth sailing as we are taught from the time we burst
forth into life that one must never be bold in church or be loud in church or
have a contrary opinion in church.
Well, I had a contrary opinion and since I was already
resigned to being cast into the Lake of Fire because I was gay (closeted, but
still), I felt it wouldn’t do much harm to vote my conscience. When the time came for voting, I was sitting
in the choir loft as I was a member of the choir; a Tenor, if that makes any
difference. Everyone would see how I
voted, giving maximum visibility to my stance.
I was Reality TV before Reality TV was a thing, y’all.
The Chairman of the Deacons droned through the list of
the same people as the year before, repeating the parliamentary phrasing of
“All in favor say Aye. All opposed same
sign. The Ayes have it” and I waited my
turn. When he got to the Sunday School
Superintendent or whatever, he said, “All in favor say Aye” and almost everyone
said, “Aye” even though I don’t think they realized that is how it is spelled. When he said, “All opposed, same sign” I
said, “Aye!” A hush fell over the
crowd. Well, they were already hushed
but the silence was more silent than before, as everyone froze and the more
pious in the audience began to search throughout the Biblical information in their
memories, trying to figure out which Commandment I had broken. My mother, from the front row of the choir
loft (she was an Alto) turned and gave me The Look. My sister tried to give me the same Look as
my mother, but I could tell she secretly thought it was funny.
After what was probably only a few seconds, but seemed
like an eternity, Mr. Chairman broke the silence by saying, “The Ayes have it”
and giving me a look that must have been his version of The Look, which was
inferior to my mother’s I can assure you.
I tried to look appropriately chastised, but my smile betrayed my sinner’s
heart.
It wasn’t much of a rebellion, but it happened in open
forum and from that point on I knew I had to be true to myself. For the first time, I think my family thought
it might be in my best interests to finally take the plunge and switch to be a
Methodist. It was our (Baptist)
understanding that Methodists could get away with more sin and still get into
heaven. And I truly wanted to ensure my
name was on that “Roll Up Yonder.” I
currently attend a non-denominational church; which Baptists figure is a nice
way to say I am in a cult. But to quote Dolly Parton, as Truvie in Steel Magnolias, “God don’t care where
you go to church, as long as you show up.”
And show up I still do almost every Sunday and have
for the last 30 years. I know that needs
an Amen, y’all. All you Baptists on the
back row, need to give one up!
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