Stop-Over on Sunday Morning

By Talmadge F. McNabb

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     "Did you see that church the Baptists are building over there?" queried the lady in the flower-spangled dress and red and white shoes. She was sitting just behind me. I had seen her come in and hold a stalling conversation with an usher who tried to seat her more toward the front. She wanted to sit in the very back so she could slip out in case she started coughing.

     "I just hate to sit up toward the front--you feel like everybody's watching you," she said to her companion, another lady in a bright red dress with blue shoes and gold straps. Both ladies had silvery-blue hair which looked freshly tinted and marcelled. Every hair was in place. There was a slight dab of rouge on their cheeks.

     "Those ushers! They always try to stick me up front! Who are they to tell me where to sit? I was going to this church before they were heard of. The very like!"

     They had sat down, read through the bulletin for a brief silent moment, and then had begun to talk in low volume.

     "You say the Baptists are building a new church? Where do they get the money? My grand-daughter started going over there with some friends. She's not left the church, but she says we have no young people here. To think! She was raised in the church, and would even think of worshipping with the sects!"

     "I don't know what's coming with the young folk. My grandson went to that thing in Dallas last summer. Did you hear about it?"

     "What thing in Dallas?"

     "You know--that Expo '72, or something. Anyway, I saw it on television, and do you know? Some of them were dressed like hippies, and some had long hair. There was handclapping and that sort of stuff...you never saw the like. Billy Graham was there and he..."

     "Billy Graham?"

     "Yes, and he held a meeting at Houston one time and the preacher warned us against going. But you know what..."

     "What?"

     "Some of the members went anyhow. Well, I told Sister Johnson, I told her good and plain that I wasn't going to support the sectarians, that Billy Graham didn't preach the five steps..."

     "I watch'im on TV."

     "Well, anyway, my grandson came

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back from that thing in Dallas, and you ought to have heard him-- he was all raving about it. You would have thought they hypnotized him or something. But the boy's a dear. He will have to learn. I wanted him to go to Abilene, but he's going to State instead. The schools, you just don't know what's going on. Why I've heard they're teaching..."

     An elder stepped up to the podium and announced the opening song, "The Church's One Foundation." The church was perhaps a third full, all the worshippers in the back half. The minister was on vacation and a ministerial student substitute was going to speak. I had been traveling that morning on the long stretch of the Interstate highway, but thought I would like to stop somewhere and worship with the saints. A huge sign just outside the city had told me the location. And here I was, finding myself both irritated and interested; irritated at the two old ladies who were talking just loud enough for me to hear, and yet interested in what they were saying. Whenever someone got up to make an announcement, or read the scriptures, they started in.

     "Did you hear over the radio about the earthquake in Nicaragua? Thousands of people killed...homeless...everything destroyed. Too bad...and it is so near Christmas time..."

     "I know. I thought we were going to have something like that the other day. It looked like a tornado, and I thought...what if it..."

     "The last time we had one, a tree blew up by the roots and took off the whole front of our porch, just tore it right off. Four years ago. No five. And you know, the insurance wouldn't pay a dime. Then when that other storm came. The basement filled with water right to the top. You know what they said? An act of God. Water in the cellar, and they call it an act of God!"

     By this time the young ministerial student was stepping up to the platform. He talked about Job. Things were bad in his day, too, and Job was not exempt from troubles and sorrows, but God looked after him. God is the same today, and He is our God. We can expect to go through trials and disappointments, but Job's God is still with us.

     "Thelma doesn't know what she's going to do when Dick retires. He only has about a year left. She's talking about selling out. Selling everything! Moving to California. What in the world would they do in California? I hear it's got all kinds of pollution. Smog. Why you can't see on the freeway? Twenty cars were stacked up..."

     "The Hardemans went to California. I don't think they found it what it's cracked up to be. They might be coming back."

     "Well, I said to Albert, we're not going to California, or nowhere else. We're staying put--right here. We've got the church and everything, and I don't want to leave. He's got three years now. But I'm going to see he has something to do. There's all kinds of stuff to do in the yard, in the garage, and cleaning out the basement. I'll find plenty to keep him busy."

     "I wish I could get Hank to..."

     And that sagebrush out in the backyard. It's taking over. And he just lets it go. Don't bother. But when he retires, I'll put him to work. He won't find an excuse then."

     The younger generation forsaking the status quo, the fear of personal disasters, apprehension at approaching old age, fear of being contaminated by the sects--these were things occupying the minds of the two old ladies.

     Instead of paying attention to the sermon, I found myself listening to the chit-chat of the two women, and feeling guilty about so doing.

     They had gotten out of bed, put on their Sunday's best dresses and shoes. I wondered why. A habit, perhaps? Because they felt they were coming to the True Church? Because they felt a smugness over not belonging to the sects? Church was a place where you could dress up and go, and give your offering, take communion, and feel you had done your duty for the week?

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     But listen to the message from the pulpit? Forgetting about the cares of the week? Assemblying together to worship in spirit and in truth?

     This seemed the farthest thing from their minds.

     After the benediction and handshakes, I got in my car and continued up the freeway.

     On either side of the Interstate were seemingly endless expanses of rolling hills, ranchlands, and fields. Over all was a wide blue sky scattered here and there with fleecy clouds, spangled by the bright morning sun.

     I thought of the greatness of God. I worshipped Him and found myself singing, "How Great Thou Art."

     And there were no conversations going on in the seat back of me.

     (Editor's Note: Chaplain Talmadge F. McNabb resides at 1401 Elm Street, El Paso, Texas 79930, and can be addressed there).