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Nancy Evins: On not going to church... Nancy Evins: On not going to church because of the hypocrites. Nancy says that she decided to spend some Sunday mornings, wandering out in parks and on nature trails, looking for the congregation of The Church of God in Nature and Babbling Brooks. The writer is a resident of Lebanon, TN; who is widely published and was discovered for ColumbiaMagazine by fellow townsperson Robert Stone. Now retired, she is a former member of the American Society of Mental Health Counselors. By Nancy Alley Evins On not going to church because of the hypocrites One of the questions I ask my clients is "are you religious?" Ninety-nine times out of one hundred, they answer, "I'm spiritual. I'm just not into organized religion." I restrain myself from asking, "Just what disorganized religion are you into?" Hardly before I can muzzle my mouth I can count on them to add, "I never go to church -- because of the hypocrites, you know." The church now serves humankind in a wondrous new way: It keeps the hypocrites off the street. May the Lord help the golfers should the hypocrites take up golfing and start invading the courses. One client tells me he caught his wife in bed with their minister and he resolved never to go to church again. I congratulate him that it was only the minister and not someone in the grocery business. Hypocrites are now the most looked down upon people in the United States, if not the world. We aren't fond of politicians who cheat on their wives or who can't get a massage without getting an urge but we beat up men of the cloth more about it since the average minister holds, or should hold, higher standards than the average politician. Society may be divisive over the rights of artists who paint pictures of crosses in urine but hypocrites piss everybody off. When I would brood about this, my client would begin his rhapsodic commentary about the wonders of meeting God in nature. Devotees of the god Pan could hardly put it better. It doesn't matter if I miss a sentence. I've heard it all before. I've heard it from so many people that I decided to spend some Sunday mornings, wandering out in parks and on nature trails, looking for the congregation of The Church of God in Nature and Babbling Brooks. I must have missed the exact location or something. Where are all these people? The closest I come to a worship service is when I stumble on a couple who must have taken their text from the begats. Shall We Gather by the River? I hasten there. I see some fishermen and, as I draw near, I hear them muttering the names of Jesus Christ and God, so I leave them to their praying. I did see one group having communion. How clever they were to substitute beer and pretzels for the archaic wine and wafer. Statistics have shown that when the interstate took the business commuters out of the slum areas, charities lost much funding. What you don't see, you can't be too much concerned about. I wonder who, of those nature lovers, might organize groups to help the aged, teach the children, give their tithes, visit the sick, clothe the poor. Where do they go to hear of Jane Doe's leaky roof and Mr. Doe's piling up hospital bills? Sure, everyone knows the Church hasn't always been intellectually honest and everybody points to the unholy Holy Wars. Back in the 19th century, during the Great Awakening, when there were no massage parlors, people just had to get rid of their emotions the best way they could. One minister of that era noted disgustedly in his diary that at such revival meetings, "'Becca Bell often fell -- and rose again with child." The present day Jims and Jimmy and Tammys all get our danders up. But what about the unnamed churchgoer who helps collect stuff for foreign aid or gathers articles for those whose homes have burned to the ground? What about the beauty of the sanctity of the sanctuary, the thrill of the choir, the peace that passeth all understanding? One church in desperation offers "cots for those who say Sunday is my only day to sleep in," blankets for those who think the church is too cold, fans for those who say it's too hot. They promise hearing aids for those who say the preacher talks too low and cotton for those who say he preaches too loudly. TV dinners are there for those who can't go to church and cook dinner also, and even score cards are provided for those who wish to list the hypocrites present. As for me, well, I'm still out looking for everyone I haven't seen since last Easter, but if I don't find them soon, I know I can see them once again shortly in the church of their past choice. Merry Christmas. This story was posted on 2013-12-22 03:24:55
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