Rodent of Revival

Because some ear-worms deserve to be shared, and it is Sunday:


Way back when, during the summer my parents shipped me (and Sib) down to the Gulf Coast to stay with our maternal Grandparents for up to a month. Spending the summer in Houston and the winter in the Midwest probably explains a lot about how Sib and I turned out, but I digress.So in June-August we got taken to church twice a week, Sunday mornings and Wednesday evenings. We attended Bible classes in the Children’s Department and sat through the service along with our Aunt and Grandparents. And sat, and sat. The preacher Brother Billy, was old school Southern Baptist and firmly believed that the length of the invocation and the message matched the quality. I suspect, had I timed them, the services would not have been as long as they felt, but I was small and easily bored. How bored? I counted the holes on the floor-to-ceiling latticework over the organ pipes. I counted the spikes on the metal trim on the lights. I memorized a large chunk of the Broadman Hymnal, including every verse of “Just as I am.”

Dozing off was not an option. For starters, Brother Billy preached energetic, hand-waving sermons. Second, the air conditioning in the building probably came from a US Navy nuclear submarine or aircraft carrier. It could have quenched the flames of Hell.

I could have done with the occasional squirrel. All we got were little lizards, and the ubiquitous roaches. I did mention that this was in Houston, didn’t I? The occasional tree roach would wander in and be chased back out.

3 thoughts on “Rodent of Revival

  1. I’d first heard this tune on the Dr. Demento Show, long after my folks had given up on getting me (and $SISTER) to church regularly. I think they tried because “that’s what was done” but Pa hadn’t gone to church in ages. I don’t recall the details, but they made the mistake of arguing with him about something (funds for new steps, something like that) and how it was handled and well, he asked them to show where in The Book it said what they wanted. He did go back a few times, I’d heard, much to my surprise, but usually I’d only see him in church for weddings or funerals – or, at a different church, for Wednesday night Lenten fish fries. Big on Lent? Not at all. Big on fish fries. A preacher friend spoke at his funeral – which was not held in a church. I can only wonder if he had the same reaction I did to the preacher at my grandmothers funeral – he might of thought it was being comforting, but it felt too much like he was trying to convert me/us. And now? I only go to churches for weddings (if then) and funerals. I wonder if there’s a good fry to be had.

    • Out here it’s sausage. You can get German, Polish, Czech, and a different German sausage (with trimmings, to eat there or to go, and sausage by the pound) from the different small-town parish fund-raisers. Oh, and the Coptic Orthodox church’s Greek and Ethiopian bake sale. No. I don’t have any of these marked on my calendar, either. 🙂

  2. I grew up in the Southern Baptist church, also. Somewhere between the time I joined the Air Force and the Carter Administration, I became non-denominational. Love singing in a choir, whether it’s a dozen people, or the 200+ in the mega-church we attended in Denver. I, also, spent a summer or two in Houston — or more precisely, in Channelview, Baytown, and Deer Park. My brother and his wife live up in Spring, north of Houston, and a dozen cousins and an equal number of high school friends live elsewhere in the city. It’s a nice place to visit, but not for me to live in. My arthritis drives me crazy here — it would kill me in Houston.

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