THE CHURCHED
Have you ever sat in an argument with someone who tries to defend the practices of his church? To such people, you find that there really is nothing you can say to help them see the light, except such is open to the truth for what it is. Sometime ago, I engaged a close family member in a discussion on some of the practices of her church. I did this not with the mind of spiting what was going on, but because I knew that such was a form of hindrance to true worship. I asked what was the basis for such practice, and how scriptural is praying to saints to intercede or intervene on our behalf. She went on a journey of explaining the long held traditions of the church and how this is an ancient practice. I asked again, if the man whom we all serve, Jesus, gave us such an example to follow. I know there is only one mediator between man and God, Christ Jesus. All I could see was this dear family member had really been ‘churched’. This also gave me occasion to look back at my life and realize that I too had been seriously churched and cannot exonerate myself from the stronghold of church captivity.
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CHURCHIANICS
Way back in the late 80s and early 90s, I was heavily involved with an older church and for what I knew then, I enjoyed every moment of it. I wasn’t particularly interested in what the Minister had to say, because a lot of stuff was spoken above my small head and I sometimes was hard of hearing, especially when sitting with other young men. I was more enraptured by my puberty and the feelings of intermingling with the opposite sex who were a centre piece or focal point of lubricious analysis. Although this was my main preoccupation, I do clearly remember the processes and procedures that consumed the church life and the Sunday services as well. On Sunday mornings, you had the procession led by the choir and then followed by the Ministers, while a glorious hymn was being sung by all. I usually sat beside the organ so I could feel the low notes blasting through the pipes and resonating within my bowels. I loved that moment; it was like one was caught up into the heavens for a moment. It was however a feeling of musical grandeur that enveloped me as I saw old men with all grayed hairs displaying ancient and modern tunes with pure delight, but all sounding so harmonious that I wished it wouldn’t stop. But I assure you, there was no substance to such reverie.
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