This story is based on a dream that I had one nite, and completed with the kind help of "Gee". It is a work of fantasy, involving religion and nudity. It is NOT an attempt to demean the belief or practices of ANY religious group or person. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, or incidents is a coincidence.
I had been sent by my editor to cover a "special" evening service at a small, rural congregation. I wasn't too thrilled about the assignment, seeing as it came on one of the few evenings I get to relax. But, as he was paying my salary, and I want to keep eating, I went.
It was a drive into the middle of nowhere. Out in the country. As I drove up to the small church, I was surprised to find that cars and wagons filled the adjacent field. "Must be some show!" I thought to myself, as I parked the car in the field. Little did I know.
I entered the church and, as always in such settings, the front pews were empty. I walked to the front of the church and my seat. Right down front. The front of the church was pretty plain, with only a raised floor. A single wooden beam stood upright in the center of the floor. A pulpit stood off to the side. A small organ over on the other side, with some little 'ol lady looking over her music.
Nothing fancy. I looked around. I had never seen so many folks in a church, especially since it wasn't Sunday morning. But then again, how many country churches have I been in? Perhaps there was something out here that made people look diffrently at worship.
Everyone was chatting with their neighbor. "You new here?" I turned to see the tanned, lined, face of the man next to me. "I don't believe I've seen you here before." he said. Rather friendly like.
"Yes," I said. "This is my first time here." I wasn't going to tell him I was a reporter just covering a story. "Uh, my name's Jon." I stuck out my hand.
"Pleased t'meet cha, Jon. I'm Mark." he said, wrapping his calloused hand around mine, giving it a firm shake. "This here's, Amy, my wife." he said, elbowing the woman next to him. "And, Josh, my youngest." I nodded to them both, and smiled. "We are pleased to have you with is this evening." he remarked.
Before I could say another word, the organist begin to play. Everyone stood up as the minister strode to the pulpit. He wore a simple suit and tie and looked pretty much like my image of a young country preacher. I began to wonder what in the world was special about this church, other than the fact that it was packed out for an evening service way out here in the country.
He nodded at the congregation, and everyone settled into their seats. The buzzing conversation died down quickly as he looked over his flock and smiled. He started the time with a group of routine announcements about upcoming events. It all seemed both boring and ordinary.
Then the service began. A group of young people came up to join the old woman at the organ. They carried guitars and other instruments. I noticed then that there was also a drum set in the back. They started to warm up, tuning their instruments. And then, all at once, there was singing... a country up-tempo beat, far cry from my image of staid old hymns. It was amusing to see the old grandmother-type banging away at the organ with the rest of them.
The people got into it, singing, raising their hands, swaying back and forth. It went on for fifteen minutes and, looking around, it was quite a show. I was amazed to see tears flowing down the faces of several people as they sang, looks of bliss on their faces.
Then there was a time of prayer. Led by the young pastor, people shared from their heart. Requests for prayers, for a job for an out-of-work man, for healing for various illness, for an operation this week, for the ability to meet a large financial emergency, and, most of all, that some friend or relative would "be saved" or some variation on that line.
