Ahh...Sundays; who doesn't love them?
Well, probably all the folks who have to punch a clock. This means anyone employed in a service industry, such as retail, restaurants, or the medical field. I spent many years in the retail sector and don't miss working evenings, weekends, and those frantic holidays.
Some of you may remember when stores were closed on Sundays or had reduced hours. The idea was to keep the day free for church and family. My first job at 16 was at a grocery store, open from 9 am to 9 pm, Monday through Saturday. However, we were closed on Sundays. A few years after I started, they began Sunday hours from 10 am to 2 pm.
For Christians, Sunday is a day of worship. I have fond memories of attending church with my grandma, where the members were called "born again." I didn't understand; I thought being born was something you only did once. Later, after listening to enough sermons, I understood the concept. Whenever someone asked if I went to church, I said I went to the Born Again church on Cedar Avenue.
The building was small, with a center aisle leading to the altar, which consisted of a raised platform with a rail around it. In the center was the podium that held a large Bible. All the women sat on the left side and wore dresses and what appeared to be doilies on their heads. Pants were not allowed. They also weren't permitted to wear jewelry other than wedding rings. The men sat on the right in dark suits and shoes. It had a simple design; minimalist with no ornate architecture or stained glass windows. The church was plain like its members.
I enjoyed the hymns and listening to my great-aunt's voice quiver as she tried to hit the high notes but failed. The organ was played by the pastor's daughter, an awkward teenager who managed a few notes off-key each week, but I still thought it was lovely. She wore a doily, and I was jealous. Neither she nor I were old enough; you had to be 18. But, they made an exception because she played the organ.
After the gathering prayers, there was a Bible study for the adults, while the kids had Sunday school in one of the back rooms of the church. I loved Sunday school and hearing Bible stories like Noah's Ark. There were fun crafts with cool things like pipe cleaners and pasta noodles. We sang songs and learned Bible verses. If we minded the teacher, we usually got a cookie. After that, the children joined the adults for the main service.
I tried desperately to pay attention, but it was hard. The pastor was a lovely man who gave long-winded exhortations and heavily punctuated them with the word "Lord." I remember most of his stories about hell, that fiery pit of damnation, where all sinners went after death. Sinning involved things like gambling, dancing, and going to the movies. Spending time in beer gardens would earn you a one-way ticket to the devil's house. Then there was the sin of coveting. You could covet your neighbor's goods, including their wife, but it wasn't advisable. Interestingly, I never heard him talk about coveting your neighbor's husband.
I was still young and had no interest in gambling or beer, but I liked watching American Bandstand and movies. And jewelry. I was guilty of wanting some things the other kids had, so that meant I was a coveter.
He went into great detail about the horrors these evil-doers could expect and described the "grinding and gnashing of teeth" when they were thrown into the fiery pit. I didn't ever want to go there but constantly worried about whether I could tow the line.
Sometimes people from other Born Again churches came for something called Fellowship. I liked Fellowship Sundays because they involved a luncheon and yummy desserts like Grandma's pineapple squares (recipe below.) They would set up a long table filled with mismatched dishes for a potluck feast in a room off the kitchen. These delicious foods were put in the oven at low temperatures until the end of the morning services. The kitchen was next to the room where the congregation sat. The tantalizing aroma made it especially hard to focus on the pastor's lengthy sermon.
It was fun playing with the kids from the visiting churches, whom we only saw once in a while. The downside was the extra-long homilies. Our pastor and the visiting one both took a turn at the pulpit, and it cut into the fun parts of Fellowship.
There are also pleasant memories from our Sunday school holiday programs. Before Christmas and Easter each year, we would receive a typed out Bible verse on a scrap of paper, which had to be memorized. If I received one longer than two sentences, I panicked. I was terrified of forgetting my lines and believed anything over two sentences was tempting fate.
I managed well enough with the verses I was assigned, but the one I still remember to this day is from John, chapter 3, verse 16:
For God so loved the world, that He gave his only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life. ~John 3:16
After our Christmas program, we received a small box of candy wrapped and tied with a pretty bow. We received a small chocolate bunny for Easter, but these gifts came with a stern reminder of the true "reason of the season." We were never to forget that it was Christ's birth and resurrection. Therefore, I always thanked Jesus before enjoying the Christmas candy or biting the ears off the rabbit.
Christmas caroling is another beautiful memory I have of those days. It was always snowy in December, and we crunched over the icy sidewalks singing in our best voices. People would open their doors or come onto their porches smiling broadly and nodding. Sometimes they joined in with our singing. Then, after we finished, they would clap and thank us for bringing them good tidings of great joy. It made me feel quite important and happy inside. After all, it's not every day that you get to bring good tidings of great joy.
Caroling at the nursing home was another story. I didn't understand why some old people didn't smile and nod. Or clap when we finished. A few of them would stare at us, expressionless. They suffered from awful bedhead, and their eyes appeared to see things I couldn't, which scared me. It also felt far too warm for the weird smells that circulated. I thought a few cracked windows might do the trick. There was a mixture of sadness and fear in my heart every year we visited. Once we were back outside in the fresh air, there was a relief. I never outgrew these feelings, and they remained as I saw my parents in their respective nursing homes for different reasons.
Our memories are selective, and we tend to recall happy times while letting the somber ones slip away. So reminiscing about those early years at the Born Again church makes me happy. It's a solid connection to my elders, who are now all gone. My grandma, great-aunts, and great-uncles. The friends I made back then are also gone from my life.
I left the church around the age of 15. I wanted to wear makeup and jewelry and go to the movies and dances. I wanted to play card games and do many frowned-upon things. But, I believe you could be a good person with or without the doily.
I learned the stories of the Bible, the Ten Commandments, and that we're supposed to love our neighbors. I learned about forgiveness and being forgiven. Despite rejecting some of their practices, I kept the precious lessons.
I'm grateful to my grandma for helping instill the tenets of what it takes to be a good and decent person, with or without the church. She gave me many gifts throughout my life, but that was the most precious.
Every time I do the right thing or make the right choice, I think of her. And that's a legacy that I know she would be proud of.
I'm afraid I never shall get religion, for all that's offered me seems so poor, so narrow, or so hard that I cannot take it for my stay. A God of wrath I cannot love; a God that must be propitiated, adorned, and adored like an idol I cannot respect; and a God who can be blinded to men's iniquities through the week by a little beating of the breast and bowing down on the seventh day, I cannot serve. I want a Father to whom I can go with all my sins and sorrows, all my hopes and joys, as freely and fearlessly as I used to go to my human father, sure of help and sympathy and love. Shall I ever find Him? ~Louisa May Alcott, "Through the Mist," Work: A Story of Experience, 1873
Yummy pineapple squares…but I have to confess that I’ve never made this delicious dessert. I enjoyed them throughout the years that my grandma, aunt, and mom made them. Unfortunately, the instructions are very basic and don’t include much detail. There are many variations on the Internet, but these are the measurements/ingredients of our recipe. Please let me know if you attempt to make them and learn how to modify the recipe to make it better.
GRANDMA’S PINEAPPLE SQUARES
Crust - Mix together like pie dough:
4 Cups - Flour
4 tsp. - Baking Powder
1 tsp. - Salt
1 Cup. - Sugar
3/4 Cup - Crisco
Divide dough into two balls. Roll one crust thin enough for a 9 x 13 pan (this is what I remember, but the recipe doesn’t reflect the size of the pan.) This should cover the sides with enough excess to crimp. Set aside.)
Filling:
2 - Large Eggs
1/2 Cup - Milk
1 tsp. - Vanilla
1 Large Can - Crushed Pineapple
1/2 Can - Water
1 Cup - Granulated Sugar
4 TBSP. - Tapioca
Pour mixture into prepared crust. Roll the second dough ball out to fit over the top of the pan & crimp the edges.
Bake at 375 degrees for 35 minutes (crust should be lightly browned on edges.) Cool completely. Then dust with powdered sugar.
But, before a yummy dessert, we must serve a (hopefully) delicious meal. If you love your crockpot, here’s a link to Southern Living’s After-Church Slow Cooker Recipes. Let us know which ones you tried and recommend!
Remembering the Sabbath