With A Song In My Parts

Sunrise Baptist (I don't remember the real name.) was a nice, homey church of about 120 people and a portly pastor. Over years to come I would realize that whenever anyone would hear me sing in the congregation, I would soon be pressed into some type of service, be it choir, choir leader, Sunday school teacher --- whatever. I never felt that I had that good of a voice, but either I sang more loudly than anyone else, or I could carry a tune in a bucket.

This church was no different. Before long I was their new song leader and choir director. We had to join first, of course. This was done on our Statement of Faith. You just affirmed to the congregation that you knew Jesus and wanted a church home. They generally didn't ask very many questions because they wanted new workers.

Also being a fine arts major (even though I flunked out) and a veteran Campus Lifer, my credentials immediately secured me a spot on the staff (unpaid, of course). I assembled my fledgling choir, some of which didn't even have buckets to carry their tunes in, and began to hone them into a single instrument that wouldn't cause the congregation to squirm in their seats. This would take several Sundays.

On the home front we were getting to know several couples in our trailer park, all of which had at least one spouse stationed at Myrtle Beach Air Force Base, and none of which were professed Christians. It would be better to say that they weren't outspoken Christians, testimony-on-the-sleeve kind of thing. It was a lot like our experience in the Phillipines, where the heathens seemed to be more human, and a lot more interesting.

But even with our off-base relationships we were faithful at church --- both services on Sunday, Wednesday nights, week-long revivals and such. The only Christian couple that we actually met were a lieutenant and his wife. We attended a Christian function with them, had dessert (cheesecake, yuch-h-h!) at their house, and discussed the fact that our relationship couldn't go much further because I was an enlisted man.

I was more likely to have "spiritual" discussions on occasion with other guys at work. But more often than not they merely attempted to embarrass me with dirty jokes, vulgar comments about women and how much fun it was to get wasted (drunk). One guy even brought to church a woman that he was having an affair with. I shook his hand, welcomed her, then tried to avoid eye contact for the rest of the service. I didn't realize then that I was already developing a legalistic outlook on life, even though I constantly maintained that I was not legalistic.

Being able to conduct myself well from the platform, I became a big hit with the church folk. The choir liked me. The people liked me. The pastor wasn't too sure about me. It's funny that the two main things I remember about him was that he was always the outdoor grill cook at church picnics (He would always lick his fingers in between moving the meat around on the grill., and he drove a new car. He would go to car dealers and convince them that if he drove their cars around, it was good advertising for them, not to mention the fact that they were supporting the Lord's work.

Well, apparently I was doing so much that the deacons began to feel badly that they weren't paying me and wanted to come up with some way to encourage me monetarily. I had heard of an upcoming music conference in Boca Raton, Florida, led by John W. Peterson and Don Wyrtzen, and I asked if they would consider paying for my trip. They loved the idea and proceeded to approve it. Only problem was that the pastor was the boss of them, and he wasn't crazy about the idea. They stood up to him, though, and soon my wife and I were headed to Florida, she to spend some time with her parents, and me to join with some of the most talented voices and orchestral performers in the Southeast.

I came back to the church rested and elated at my musical experience, eager to share my adventure and thank everyone for my trip. No one asked. The pastor wouldn't even give me the opportunity to address the congregation on what I had witnessed and learned. It was clear that they feared him. And yet they felt that they needed him. They knew that when my tour was up, I would move on. What could they do?

As I had done before, I felt that I owed it to him to meet with him, one on one, before we were to leave the church. I told him that I felt that he had too much control, that he wasn't sensitive to the needs of the people. He replied, "You may be right." And that was that.

I found out just before we left that my choir director/song leader replacement was one of the guys that had told dirty jokes in the office. Maybe it was time for him to have a little talk with Jesus.