My parents grew up going to church every Sunday morning and night, as well as Wednesday night. That was pretty much what you did in the hills of Kentucky in the 1920s and 30s. But when they got married and moved to northeast Ohio, church ended. There were no churches around the area like good old Grace Baptist Church in Russell Springs, Kentucky. So, we just didn’t go. I was five years old when a fellow my father knew invited all of us to his church. I think the only reason my mother and father went that first time was because it had the same name as their home church; Grace Baptist Church.

          I knew nothing of church, but from the very beginning, my two sisters (6 and 3 years older than myself) were expected to not only behave, but to know and understand everything that was going on. Included in that was the ability to know all the songs. The sisters had the advantage over me in that they could read, but I listened well and actually had a very good vocabulary. As I have said before, music hurts my ears and gives me a headache, so I listen closely to the words. I believe that started back when we attended Grace. I distinctly remember being scared half out of my mind the first or second Sunday there.

          “Y’all take the thin black hymn book out of the rack and turn to page 47. ‘There is a Fountain’.” (For some reason that little church had three different hymnals in the book rack on the back of the pew. A regular sized green one, a regular sized black one and a thin black one.) I was listening intently, and this is what I heard;

There is a fountain filled with blood, (WHAT??? I knew what a fountain was and I knew what blood was, and they had a fountain of blood?)

Drawn from Immanuel's veins; (No way! This bloody fountain had blood from some kid named Immanuel?)
And sinners, plunged beneath that flood, Lose all their guilty stains: (They put bad people under that blood? I whispered to my mother, “What’s a sinner?” She told me it was someone who wasn’t saved. I told her I didn’t want to be saved if it meant going under blood. She laughed out loud and told the story quite often until she died. Thought it was funny I didn’t understand. Never tried to explain it to me, either. Just assumed I should have understood.)
Lose all their guilty stains, Lose all their guilty stains; (I gotta do that?!!?)
And sinners, plunged beneath that flood, Lose all their guilty stains.

The dying thief rejoiced to see, That fountain in his day; (I had no knowledge of a dying thief, but apparently he was happy to see Immanuel’s blood spurting up into the air.
And there may I, though vile as he, Wash all my sins away:
Wash all my sins away, Wash all my sins away;
And there may I, though vile as he, Wash all my sins away. (Again, I was going to have to wash in that blood!)

Dear dying Lamb, Thy precious blood, Shall never lose its power, (Wait, OK, it wasn’t a kid named Immanuel. It was a lamb named Immanuel. Must have been a powerful lamb. At least it wasn’t a boy like me.)
Till all the ransomed ones of God, Be saved, to sin no more: (‘Ransomed’ wasn’t a word I knew, but I understood I couldn’t sin anymore. Didn’t know if I could do that, but if it meant not going under that blood again, I guess I would try hard.)
Be saved, to sin no more, Be saved, to sin no more;
Till all the ransomed ones of God, Be saved to sin no more.

E'er since by faith I saw the stream, Thy flowing wounds supply, (I wasn’t confused. I understood most of it. The wounds meant Immanuel was alive, but bleeding. Now, he was bleeding so much that it was like a stream, like that drainage ditch way out in the field behind the house. Man, Immanuel had to have been one BIG lamb!)
Redeeming love has been my theme, And shall be till I die:
And shall be till I die, And shall be till I die;
Redeeming love has been my theme, And shall be till I die. (No idea what ‘redeeming’ or ‘theme’ meant, but I understood ‘love’ and ‘die.’ ‘Redeeming’ and ‘theme’ had to be pretty bad things if they were going to kill me.)

When this poor lisping, stammering tongue, Lies silent in the grave, (Now, the thing is, I did lisp as a kid. Still do when I am real tired. Sometimes, as a kid, I stuttered if I got to talking fast. When I heard this verse, I realized IT WAS TALKING RIGHT TO ME! I was going to be in a grave if I didn’t wash in that sheep’s blood.)
Then in a nobler, sweeter song, I'll sing Thy power to save:
I'll sing Thy power to save, I'll sing Thy power to save;
Then in a nobler, sweeter song, I'll sing Thy power to save. (Oh great! I was not only going to have to wash in sheep’s blood but then I was going to have to sing, too, and I didn’t know any of these stupid songs!)

          I didn’t like church there ever. We only went a few years. Before we went on Sunday mornings my father would get the beer bottles out of the car. Once in the car my parents would each smoke a cigarette and then chew gum like mad so no one would know they smoked. Maybe when the church folks could smell the smoke on our clothes they thought my sisters and I were smoking, but then again, they were all probably doing the same thing before church and couldn’t smell it anyway. Nothing that we did at church made it home. No prayer, no Bible reading, no controlling your language. In time, the folks figured it was too much trouble doing the things they needed to do to get us all to church. Farming needed to be done, sometimes fishing, sometimes Saturday nights were pretty rough. My sisters were fine with not going, too, since they now got two mornings to sleep in. As for me, I was more than happy to stay away from church. It was years later that I accepted Christ at a camp for athletes. My salvation had nothing to do with church.

          Most of you will read this and see humor. I was scared to death. Songs like “Power in the Blood” and “Are You Washed in the Blood” and “Nothing But the Blood” had me living in fear by first grade. My mother thought I was silly, but I just had no clue.

          Do I think we need to do away with songs about the blood of Christ? Absolutely not! Well, maybe “There is a Fountain.” That thing isn’t even Biblical. This edition of the blog really isn’t about songs. It is about understanding. When we are in church, we do ‘churchy’ things. We stand at certain times, we sit at certain times, we pray at certain times. We talk in ‘churchy’ language. It is like a club that has its own secret words and order. When someone comes in, particularly if they have little kids, how are they supposed to understand? When people understand the world and then come into an atmosphere that is totally different, will they ever come back? Will the words in the songs we want to sing scare a child?

          It is going to be different no matter what we do. But there is a way to bridge that gap of misunderstanding. Be friendly. Be loving. Reach out. That may mean getting out of your pew and walking a little bit to greet someone. Also, greet one another. Visitors see that. When you talk to someone new, get their name. Quite often someone will come up to me after church and say, “Who was that couple sitting five rows back?” Folks, when I am in the pulpit area and someone stands to ask for prayer, I don’t know who it is until they speak. My vision being what it is, I can see you but cannot tell who you are. Unless that visitor comes in a little early while I am getting around and saying “Hi,” or if they go out the front door afterward, I don’t even know they are there. You talk to them and get back to me with it, and we will contact them.

          Step out of that cocoon of church we wrap ourselves in and start doing things for the Kingdom.

Blessings.