First Impressions

Downey Memorial church was located in Union Park, Florida, just east of Orlando. Interesting thing about "memorial" churches. Their purpose is to provide a place to worship God, but they are dedicated to the people who started them, or who paid for the building, did something heroic or was a pillar of the community. Church wings, pews and hymnbooks are likewise dedicated, thus shifting the focus to man, rather than The Man (Jesus).

Downey was a non-denominational church, and my dad took me there regularly. I was age ten or eleven. My mother rarely went to church, except on Easter or Christmas, and on those occasions she would wear a large, flowery hat that blocked the view for anyone several pews back. My dad taught Sunday School there, and I was in his class. One event I remember in particular was the day he brought saltine crackers and grape juice in order to teach us about communion. He said the saltine crackers were like the unleavened bread that Jesus ate --- I guess because they were flat. I don't think that I was allowed to participate in the real communion until sometime later.

The preacher was a nice fellow with a young family. He lived at the edge of a small lake, and the church would hold baptisms in his back yard. My dad and I went to visit him once, and he was out back, in the lake, taking a bath. He wasn't naked (Thank the Lord!), but was all soaped up and proceeded to rinse off. I remember thinking how icky it was seeing an area that held sacred events now polluted with soapy water.

The small church was quite popular and quickly outgrew its capacity. So I participated in my first building program. Well, not really. I just hung around there. Unfortunately, my dad never taught me how to do things, whether they be fun things (like scuba diving), or work things (like hammering, sawing, etc.). I could only watch. I did, however, enjoy hanging around the work site of the new building after dark, talking with my friends --- boys and girls. I think I was just beginning to like girls, but I wasn't really smitten until high school.

The new building was very nice, but the congregation now seemed small. In fact, they were shrinking in numbers. I remember my dad saying that the cost of construction was so high that more "money sermons" were needed, thereby discouraging folks who felt that more attention was given to their wallets than to their souls. I'm sure that I attended every Sunday, but I can only recall one Sunday in particular, when a fellow two rows up started jerkng, foaming at the mouth and writhing on the floor. It was really quite unnerving, but a couple of guys hauled him out of the building, and he appeared to be fine later. I don't think anyone even prayed for him.

I would return to that church six years later to sing a solo.