Church attendance was mandatory and your flavor was determined at birth. I happened to be predestined to be Lutheran. (There were no Presbyterians in Lowry). Lutherans are a fractious sort, with denominations to suit every hungry soul. We had the ALC, LCA, ELC, ELCA, Missouri Synod, Wisconsin Synod, Swedish Lutheran, Norwegian Lutheran, German Lutheran... It is ridiculous. In Lowry, the church was St. Pauli - not St. Paul’s, to make clear the Norwegian heritage I guess. ELC. The Swedes went to Norunga or the Gospel Hall.
The Catholics had it all over us on this front. They stuck together. In our fair village, there were just four Lutheran churches to choose from, if you include Indherred, which was 4 miles south and technically in the Starbuck sphere of influence. St. Pauli was the only Lutheran church in the city limits. Even it had been moved from its location the 3 miles west of town to a site on the near west side, pulled on rollers by horses long before my memory. The cemetery remained where it was – too macabre to consider moving lock, stock and barrel I suppose. All four Lutheran churches were different “synods” so there was no chance of merging and little inclination toward cooperation. Outside of church people got along just fine, but when it comes to religious doctrine, there's no compromising. I never understood the theological differences - it seemed to me the biggest difference was the color of the hymnal.
There were also two other Protestant varieties in town – the Gospel Mission and the Covenant Church, both smaller but more fervent than the Lutheran varieties. There was also one Mormon family in town. What they did on Sunday God only knew. 
The largest church, however, was the Catholic Church, located 6 miles north of town in the heart of Bohemian country. What was happening out there was not to be delved into, but I knew it involved wine and incense so it was mysterious and couldn’t have been good. In point of fact, what we did was a mystery to me as well. Our pastor was actually was responsible for four churches, called a “parish” - ours in Lowry, a second, 6 miles west in tiny Farwell, and two country churches farther north, Solem & Trysil. Each Sunday he would conduct services at 8:00, 9:30 & 11:00 at three locations, driving like he was under God’s protection - and I suppose he was - to make the next service on time. Since 11:00 was the most desirable, the times rotated on a weekly basis. Once a month, there was no service, but there was still Sunday School - no rest for the wicked.
The pastor was expected to be the spiritual guide, crisis counselor, youth director, confirmation instructor, bible study leader, lead the church council, conduct Wednesday night Lenten services, be the business manager for all the congregations, perform funerals and weddings and be present at all church functions, including guest appearances at the Ladies’ Aid and Sewing Circles. But he did get Monday off. The pastor’’s wife was expected serve as the volunteer choir director, sing and accompany solos, lead Bible Studies, attend Ladies Aid, and never do anything that could be remotely criticized.
The pay, even by 1957 standards, was dreary, but there were some perks – a “parsonage”, a run-down, three story, drafty old house in Farwell owned by the church; mileage ($.03/mile); plenty of foodstuff gifts and invitations to dinner and always being respectfully addressed as “Reverend”. And of course, suffering the preacher’s kids. A noble calling indeed.
The church service itself centered on the sermon – usually a 15 minute exposition which, unfairly, was the basis for most members’ assessment of his competence. But in general, people were pretty tolerant as long as there were plenty of scripture references. There was always doctrinal controversy swirling about, but a preacher would have to screw-up pretty badly to lose support – although that did happen occasionally. Running off with the church secretary doesn’t sit very well with Scandinavian Lutherans, so that was grounds for dismissal. Members would sometimes up and walk out because the preacher said “Jesus wept” or some such thing. But they usually discovered they weren't comfortable at the country church and would come slinking back to where they knew everyone’s foibles and they theirs.
The service itself was unvarying. Announcements, liturgy, 3 hymns accompanied by the Hilma on the organ, the sermon, some “special” music – the choir or the kids’ choir or some brave member coerced into a solo - the collection (collection - not offering), long prayers, the benediction and the ringing of the dismissal bell. But ritual is a good thing, eh? My attention span was tested. I was waiting for the ushers to appear to pass the collection plate. I watched closely, because I was hopeful that chance would one day come. Only high schoolers were given this awesome responsibility - solemnly walking up the center aisle, accepting the brass collection plate from the pastor and passing the plate from pew to pew. But the usher duty I really envied was ringing the bell at the end of the service. It was always three groups of three rings – followed by the benediction. "Go in peace and serve the Lord". I was tempted many a time to sneak into the church and give that rope a pull, but I never did.
Except for the summer months, half of Sunday morning was Sunday School – also mandatory. While the adults sat down to coffee, cookies and conversation or a Bible study in the church basement, the kids were off to "opening exercises" followed by classes centered on bible stories. Every cranny and nook of that church served as classrooms, from the boiler room to the sacristy. Some very brave, committed and devout members volunteered to teach 1st through 6th grade classes every Sunday morning.
The boys tended toward inattention and hi-jinks but I learned my Bible stories well. God was just, so some of the stories bothered me. Jacob stealing his brother’s birthright. Abraham about to put the knife to Isaac. Joseph sold to slavery and then tormenting his poor father by hanging onto Benjamin in Egypt. Some were pretty thrilling. My namesake knocking over Goliath with a slingshot. Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego in the fiery furnace. Jonah in the belly of the whale. Joshua bringing down the walls of Jericho just by marching around the place. (I suggested to the gang that we try that with the schoolhouse, but they were unbelievers). And, some stories didn't get covered in Sunday School. David and Bathsheba. The 4 horsemen of the Apocalypse. Salome and John the Baptist. Jacob working 7 years for Rachel and snookered with Leah, so 7 more years to get Rachel, wife number 2. Wife number 2? What’s with that? The Song of Solomon, hmm.
At 7th grade I would be entering 2 intense years of confirmation study under the stern guidance and instruction of the pastor himself, leading to full communion rites. I was not looking forward to that. However confirmation classes were combined with the Farwell kids, which meant a class with the pastor’s daughter, who was mighty cute.
Frequently, there was a Sunday night service as well, but these were more informal and social gatherings, sometimes with homemade ice cream. But during Lent things got really serious. There were special Wednesday night services, often including a speaker from the Luther Seminary in Saint Paul journeying to lecture on the seven stages of the cross or the events from Palm Sunday to Good Friday to Easter. And again, attendance was not optional. Grim really, with the somber minor chord music and the emphasis on your worthlessness. I believe this did me little good and probably some harm. The good thing was there was cake after the service.
And then of course, every November, came pledge month. A time to examine your heart and realize that you are simply a caretaker of your possessions, reinforced by a sermon on tithing and the widow’s mite. I was pretty oblivious to all this. But I always regretted that this campaign was timed just prior to the attendant marvels of Christmas.
I truly enjoyed church at Christmas, the Christmas carols, the spirit and bounce in everyone’s step, but I resented the Sunday School Christmas program. Not only the dread of reciting that verse from memory in front of the entire congregation, but having to sacrifice every Saturday morning for a month preparing for the thing. What I really objected to (silently) was the role I was coerced into every year. There was the obligatory memory recitation of course, but the part that really annoyed me was the duet. You see there was a classmate of mine, and I liked him, but he stuttered so badly that asking him to recite in front of the congregation would have been cruel and unusual punishment by anyone’s standards. But he could sing beautifully and flawlessly without a hint of stutter. So hence, a vocal number - “We Three Kings” or “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear”. But why a duet? Isn’t it just as cruel and unusual to force me to stand up there singing my falsetto just so he’s not feeling lonely? Man, I resented being dragged into good deeds. It wasn’t my nature.
Would you believe the church was never locked?
No comments:
Post a Comment