Any Sunday, Most Anywhere...

There's a little white church lying just outside of town where folks go to prove their humble, honorable piety, and love of the Lord. The name of the church isn't important, as there are millions just like it, all over the world. Some are large, some small... yet aren't ALL pretty much the same?

 

In the front few pews sit wealthy and middle class ladies, some with haggard husbands in tow, old and middle aged. They wear the finest suits of clothes, and, as they toddle by on their expensive Sunday shoes, the odor of their perfume is so strong you feel a sneeze coming on, though it's a nice enough scent. Then, the middle fills in with Middle Class families with children, and the back with the impoverished, of all sorts- families, lone women, men looking to meet lone women.

 

As the organ or a tape recorder plays the opening hymn, thinking the music completely covers them, they begin, before the priest or pastor has even approached the pulpit, to show just how pious they are:

 

"Psst... Henry.."

 

RIsing from a stupor in his seat besider her..." Wha? Oh, sorry. I wasn't asleep. Promise, Esther."

 

"Didn't Ella Mae wear that dress LAST Sunday? Do you think they're having money troubles again?"

 

"I dunno dear, I dunno. Hope not."

 

Now, of course, someone else heard. A white hat tips to an ear just behind Esther and Henry...

 

"Lord, if that Esther isn't one to gossip. What a way to act in front of the Lord on Sunday, in his house. I bet she's hell to Henry at home, too. I heard she won't cook that poor man a proper meal even..."

 

"Now, Marie, you can't always believe what you hear, and someone may hear you. You can tell me about it when we get home..."

 

Harumphing, "Well, Frank, it's true. I just get tired of hearing her tales about town..."

 

Now of course, Esther, at this point, has heard her name spoken, just ever so slighty, and nothing else that Marie has said. That Lowe woman is jealous of me. Always talking behind my back. How dare she do that in church?  Yet she decides not to reawaken Henry, who has, by now, already passed out again in the pew. Looking down the aisle, from her perch in middle of the second row of pews, Esther resembles a hawk, examining prey. As the Youth Minister gets up to speak, she is only half listening, and not really hearing, but is scanning for colors that don't go, hairstyles that don't flatter, skirts that are obviously cheap, and women that are obviously loose. She can always spot all of the above. She prides herself on her powers of observation. Henry starts to snore a little, and she nudges him a bit to reawaken him, so no one will know, smiling as she does so, as though she's not just a little preturbed that he may embarrass her. Since when have I been married to a lazy old man who sleeps at service? she wonders...

 

In the back row, Tommy and LaFonda James sit, half paying attention, half whispering to one another....

 

"Look at that, 'Fonda, that old bird is looking everyone over, all stuck up because she has a little money in her wallet to put in the collection plate.."

 

"Her suit probably cost enough to buy us a car to replace that hunk of junk... ya reckon?"

 

"All those people in the front pews have no right to be so flashy in church. Their danged hats block half our view, too. Inconsiderate and immoral."

 

"Ah, well, Tommy. Hey, did you pay the water bill yet? It's well past due. We better get on that soon..."

 

The pastor takes his place, and begins to read a bible verse. Most in the church have never read the Bible all the way through, nor are they listening as Brother Bob reads some verse whose name and numbers drift in one ear, and out the other, along with the rest of it. Many drift off, a-la Henry.

 

Organ music begins again, as a repast before the sermon: another chance to chat a bit.

 

A few seats to the right of Esther, three female voices this time...

 

"Hey, sis, why do you think some folks are poor, while our family is doing okay?"

 

"I'm not sure, Cindy. Ask momma."

 

"Hey, Momma, why are some folks poor?"

 

"Because they aren't as close to God, honey. They do wrong in God's eyes, so he doesn't make things easy for them like he does on your father and I, and you kids. They don't work hard enough, like your daddy whose working right now, or they don't listen to the rules God gave us for how to live.. So they do it to themselves, and don't you worry your pretty little head over it Cindy."

 

The mother pats the child's blond head and once again, as the music closes, tries to pay attention as the sermon begins. She wants to at least get the gist, so she can comment to the Brother Bob afterward; so she won't seem she didn't pay enough attention at service.

 

Half are asleep, half paying half attention, though Brother Bob is doing his best work, raising his voice to shout out just why they are all sinners, and that only by (insert platitude) may they be redeemed. As he finishes, and the closing music begins, he rushes to the back doors to get all of his handshakes and praise. Lord, I'm bringing them home to you, one at a time. Though, Lord, should I go to that other town that offered me more money to be their pastor? I know you want what's best for me, so I will. I'll tell them next Sunday.

 

All are, in fact, in a rush to escape the dim, stale church air. It is summer, and not too hot yet. Most have other plans of where to go out to in their Sunday best. First will come a gluttonously huge lunch, that costs too much... at least for some. Others will just go home and fry a few chicken legs, or put a TV dinner in the oven and veg out in front of the tube.

 

As Tommy and Lafonda try to start their old rusty Chevy, the engine dies. There is a backfire of smoke, and it is clear that they're going to have to walk home. Everyone has heard the backfire, and all have turned to look. It's a small town, and everyone knows that Tommy and LaFonda live clear on the other side of town.

 

Brother Bob to parishoner: "Poor souls. They always seem to have the worst of luck. Wish I could help. Maybe someone else can? "

 

Brother Bob to self: Damn, here I am having a nice conversation, with this pretty little young widow, and they go and interrupt. Trailer Trash! Why do they even bother to come to service in the first place?

 

One by one, the church's parishoners all turn away, and either remain standing before the pastor giving handshakes and praise, or leave.

 

LaFonda, in a summer dress that she bought at the Salvation Army, looks towards the church and feels like burning the damned thing down. "Screw your holier than thou organized religion mumbo crap," she mutters under her breath, taking Tommy by the hand and beginning their long walk home.

A few blocks down the road, as they amble, begrudgingly, in the bright sun, a stranger sees them, and stops to offer a ride. He has no cross on his dashboard. He's been eating breakfast at Hardee's after his hangover finally subsided a little (had a big party on Saturday night, you know, like usual) rather than attending any service. In fact, he's never stepped foot in a church in his life, but he can't not stop when he sees someone walking who looks so unhappy with the world. He thinks back on people who've helped him, and knows the right thing to do.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately? I see the world's poor all turning to walk away from their churches and all sense of faith, just as LaFonda was made to do. Honestly, it only takes one soul to make a church different from the majority of others. Just one, who inspires beauty and kindness in the rest. But why do we have to be in church to do that? So what are churches for, again?

I know that many of you will be incensed by this piece, but I don't care. I was inspired to write it, so I did. And if you look around your church on Any Given Sunday... you'll see it for what it is, if your eyes are open.