By Staff
Leada Gore, Editor
I grew up in a large Baptist church. Greg grew up in a small Methodist church. And even though we grew up in different denominations and our home churches are of vastly different size, many of our experiences are the same.
We both spent our childhood in church, though I do hold the distinction of having attended a church that once had a "collect the disciple" charm bracelet promotion as a way to get you to attend Sunday School. Our churches sang almost the same songs, worship services flowed close to the same pattern and we both know all the verses of "Have Thine Own Way."
So, we were both thrown off our game recently when we attended a friend's church. It was a lovely Presbyterian church, similar in size to the church I attended as a child. I had been to a Presbyterian service before, but Greg had not and, as with any new church, we didn't know quite what to expect.
"It's always interesting to visit another church," I said before we walked in to the sanctuary. "It's so easy to get lulled by the routine of the familiar."
We arrived just in time to hear the speaker say the church was hosting special musicians that day, along with a guest speaker. The musicians came to the front of the church and began playing a beautiful song and invited everyone to stand and sing along.
Most people knew the words. We didn't, though I did make a valiant humming effort. They then launched into another song, though no one seemed to know this one. We just stood and listened.
I noticed Greg shifting a little from one foot to another.
We sang another song and someone delivered a prayer. A short inspirational thought was delivered, followed by another song.
We were still standing. By this point, I had slid one foot out of my pump and rested it lightly on the floor.
We prayed again and, after what seemed like about 15 minutes, the worship leader invited us all to sit.
Greg leaned over to me.
"I didn't know other churches stood this long," he said. "I never would have made it through when I was a kid."
We enjoyed the rest of the service, standing again only at the end. We adjourned and made our way over to visit our friend.
"Just tell him you enjoyed the service," I whispered to Greg. "Don't say anything about how long we were standing."
We neared our friend and he gave us a smile.
"Glad you both made it," he said. "Sure do hate the standing thing, though. We never stand that long. My feet are killing me."
We both laughed. At least we weren't alone.
I'm glad we visited our friends' church. It's wonderful to see how God's love and mercy is shown in all settings. It's also good to be shaken out of our routine, even if it means some sore feet.