The first thing I ever remember doing in church was singing. And the first song I remember is, “Are You Washed in the Blood.” I remember sitting in a church pew in the little church where I was raised, (and my mother before me), with my mama and grandmama at a Decoration Day (homecoming) service. The preacher yelled and hollered and his face turned really red, and I thought he was going to jump over the altar rail!
And I asked my mother, “Mama, why is he so mad?”
I didn’t enjoy his message.
But I did like the singing! “Have you been to Jesus for the cleansing pow’r...Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?” Being washed in blood didn’t even seem gross to me. The woman who played the piano had a tendency to bang on it a little too loud, and the man who led singing sometimes sang off key, but it didn’t matter to my little 3-year-old self. I loved singing with them, and I loved singing with everyone else. The brown paperback Favorite Songs and Hymns was well-worn, and the pages felt soft somehow, and I loved holding that book, though I could not read a word and the notes meant nothing to me. It was obvious, though, that they were a secret code that allowed all the older folks to know the words and the pianist to play the music.
I didn’t know how to decipher it yet, but I promised myself that someday I would.
That piano now sits in my living room. It is well worn, and out of tune, but it has been played and loved for many, many years. I can’t bring myself to get rid of it. I even have a copy of the old Favorite Songs and Hymns paperback somewhere, and every once in a while, I visit a church that still uses it.
It’s full of “blood songs.” The songs I grew up singing. The songs I still know by heart. The songs that introduced me to Jesus for the first time.
No, I didn’t get a whole lot out of that first sermon, but God touched me though the music. It wasn’t perfect. But it held my attention on that hot summer day so many years ago. And my mama and grandmama sitting with me with a jug full of cold water and some saltine crackers to tide me over until that incredible lunch placed on flat-bed trailers was served after preaching and before “the singing”...those memories helped me know what church really was.
Isn’t it interesting that *imperfect* worship still has an effect on me all these years later?
We strive for perfection.
But what if, just maybe, our attitude and our sincerity towards the worship of God has a longer lasting result on people than our perfectly coordinated songs, liturgical colors, and beautiful sanctuaries? Don’t get me wrong...I LOVE all of that as an adult! But as a child, what stuck with me was that I was loved, I was fed, and I could sing as loud as anyone else, even if I didn’t know all the words yet. Later I learned to appreciate the sermons (some more than others!), liturgy, and all the things we do to make worship meaningful.
But I remember when all it took for me to feel God’s love was some blood songs, some off-key singing, and some saltine crackers. May we all remember what it’s like to be a child and experience the love of God for the first time. Amen.
And I asked my mother, “Mama, why is he so mad?”
I didn’t enjoy his message.
But I did like the singing! “Have you been to Jesus for the cleansing pow’r...Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?” Being washed in blood didn’t even seem gross to me. The woman who played the piano had a tendency to bang on it a little too loud, and the man who led singing sometimes sang off key, but it didn’t matter to my little 3-year-old self. I loved singing with them, and I loved singing with everyone else. The brown paperback Favorite Songs and Hymns was well-worn, and the pages felt soft somehow, and I loved holding that book, though I could not read a word and the notes meant nothing to me. It was obvious, though, that they were a secret code that allowed all the older folks to know the words and the pianist to play the music.
I didn’t know how to decipher it yet, but I promised myself that someday I would.
That piano now sits in my living room. It is well worn, and out of tune, but it has been played and loved for many, many years. I can’t bring myself to get rid of it. I even have a copy of the old Favorite Songs and Hymns paperback somewhere, and every once in a while, I visit a church that still uses it.
It’s full of “blood songs.” The songs I grew up singing. The songs I still know by heart. The songs that introduced me to Jesus for the first time.
No, I didn’t get a whole lot out of that first sermon, but God touched me though the music. It wasn’t perfect. But it held my attention on that hot summer day so many years ago. And my mama and grandmama sitting with me with a jug full of cold water and some saltine crackers to tide me over until that incredible lunch placed on flat-bed trailers was served after preaching and before “the singing”...those memories helped me know what church really was.
Isn’t it interesting that *imperfect* worship still has an effect on me all these years later?
We strive for perfection.
But what if, just maybe, our attitude and our sincerity towards the worship of God has a longer lasting result on people than our perfectly coordinated songs, liturgical colors, and beautiful sanctuaries? Don’t get me wrong...I LOVE all of that as an adult! But as a child, what stuck with me was that I was loved, I was fed, and I could sing as loud as anyone else, even if I didn’t know all the words yet. Later I learned to appreciate the sermons (some more than others!), liturgy, and all the things we do to make worship meaningful.
But I remember when all it took for me to feel God’s love was some blood songs, some off-key singing, and some saltine crackers. May we all remember what it’s like to be a child and experience the love of God for the first time. Amen.
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