"Lucy was a fox terrier," Faye Swanke explained. "She always followed us to church. Lucy always at the church waiting for us. How she got to church before we did we never figured out. It was a mystery, like so much about dogs. Maybe that was what we loved about Lucy. She kept us guessing.
She never barked at the church. She seemed to know that making noises around the church wasn't a good thing. She never jumped up on us when we came to greet us at the church, like she did at home. She didn't even lick our hands or wag her tail. She just laid down in the grass. She'd wait patiently there for the services to end."
"I think Lucy enjoyed going to church. She never tried to follow us into the sanctuary. She seemed content just to wait. She somehow knew how important church was to us."
"After the services, Lucy would sit up. Sniff the air. She understood we'd be coming down the church steps. She liked that and she wagged her tail in anticipation. As well the congregation had become accustomed to seeing her, so it was common to find Lucy being petted. She was popular at the church. There being no other canines around to compete with. She stood out like a sore thumb. Not that she was out of place. Not in the least."
"Almost from the first day Lucy accompanied us to church she got a lot of attention. And within a few Sundays of regularly seeing Lucy at church, she was called "The Dog Who Loved God" by Reverend Ederly, who would come out on the church steps and pat Lucy on the head."
"How'd the like the sermon today," asked the Reverend as he scratched Lucy behind her ears. The whole congregation laughed.
Faye Swank smiled and said. "Strange how Lucy had a few bad habits, like barking at the postman and chasing the neighbor's cat. But after come to church she changed. Loves the postman, and we've noticed she even lets the cat hang around our yard without chasing her out."
"Church does us all good. And why not a dog? It makes sense. And Lucy seems always excited to be at church. Her ears stand up every time someone says her name, which they do quite often. No one had ever heard of a dog who loved God. But now they do."
The Watchdog
Henrietta, a fox terrier, sat outside the Dover Baptist Church every morning at nine o'clock. She often reached a state of excitement, wagged her tail and eyed the treetops. Sniffed the air. She watched the lawn. How the squirrels scampered across and up the old walnut tree. No one knew why she came to the church. After-all, she was a long way from her home. Three and a half miles. But she made the run each day. We'd come to accept her journey as a part of life in a small southern town, where just about everyone goes to church. And why not Henrietta?
Sometimes she sat on the church-steps. She arrived panting. The minister often left her a bowl of water. Occasionally a member of the congregation arrived to provide a few bones for Henrietta to chew on. Though she didn't always accept the offerings. She watched. We weren't sure what's she's looking for. Whatever it was we somehow felt safer for efforts.
We often drove by and waved to her or blew our horns. Conversation in town had it that Henrietta was performing a valuable service. She was our defender. A peacemaker. Often we wondered what Henrietta knew that we didn't. She could've just be playing it safe. One thing was for certain. She found the church fascinating. It drew her there. Almost like a calling. And quite naturally we could understand that. Our own devotion to the old church. Dover Baptist was genuine. The church being the center of our community and as such we looked to it for spiritual guidance. Our safe haven. The old church with its white facade, cone-shaped spruce shrubs and tall steeple had been around since the early 1930s.
Sometimes Henrietta trotted down from the church-steps and strolled the lawn. Or chased a butterfly or a junebug around the corner. She was also observed catching a field mouse headed for the church basement. She clenched the mouse between her teeth, carried to the edge of the road. Let it go.
At no time did Henrietta ever stray very far from the church. She faithfully clung to her post. Once in a while she would meander out to greet the postman. Always she'd lick his extended hand, stare up with her brown eyes.
And before lying down under the shade of the walnut tree, she turned a circle counterclockwise, then sat down. Her tail wagged in time with some universal clock that all canines keep. She rarely barked much after that, except as friendly acknowledgment to the children riding their bicycles along the shoulder of the highway.
While there were a few people in town who cast aspersions on Henrietta's motives. Discounting her presence at the church as a household pet who seemed quirky, a touch neurotic for her obsession with the church. Her run each day a mark of a dog after rabbit or squirrel. The woods not far away. And her behavior reinforced by food, water and attention practically from the whole town.
Others, more generous, explained Henrietta's journey to the church as one of inspiration. The fox terrier had been chosen by the Lord to bear witness to the Christian life and while at it, defend the church from mice or junebugs. Another theory was that Henrietta had a companion dog. One which she had fallen helplessly for and couldn't keep herself away from visiting. But as no male dog ever showed up at the church to meet Henrietta this theory proved incorrect.
Finally the mystery was finally resolved when the local newspaper published a snapshot of a stranger standing on the church lawn. He was wearing old, wrinkled clothes. Reverend Wittson of the Dover Baptist Church was quoted as saying the man was a hitchhiker and apparently had been sneaking into the church, lifting up a window to crawl through. The hitchhiker had been sleeping in one of the rear pews for some time, till Henrietta decided it best to keep him out. As well a few items had been reported missing from the church kitchen. Half a fried chicken, potato salad, cornbread and pickles. Henrietta had been keeping the hitchhiker out. Not allowing him to trespass.
The Lord Made Electricity
The First Baptist Church of Mocking Bird, Tennessee hasn't paid their electric bill since 1947.
"The Lord powers our church," said Paul Rivers. "He gives it to the church. The lights in the sanctuary are luminous. Our organ is powered by celestial forces. Angel juice. And yes, we have air-conditioners, a refrigerator, a couple of fans and a half dozen heaters. And we got three toasters, four toaster ovens, a juicer, a blender and a microwave oven. But we don't need no electricity."
"What we got is the Lord. And he's pretty much all we need. When the temperature outside begins to climb, the Lord provides the power to the church. We can hear the hum of the air conditioners in the sanctuary. The refrigerator in the kitchen basement whistles. You call it electricity. We call it the power of the Lord." And we ain't going to pay for it. Since it come from Heaven. The Lord invented electricity.
"He watches over us. That's what the Lord does."
"Last week Reverend Hampton plugged his electric toothbrush into his right coat pocket and you know what? It worked fine. There are many examples of faith-based electrical miracles. Mrs Helen Jenkins cooked an entire dinner in her hat. Boiled a chicken, made soup and mashed potatoes. The Lord gives us what we need."
"And what about Cecilia Duncan frying those buffalo wings on the back of an old National Geographic? Amazing, ain't it? You think pagans can do that. No way. Pagans got to plug their gadgets into the wall and wait for the current. That's so old fashioned."
Christian Spaghetti
There's nothing like Christian spaghetti. Anybody who has eaten spaghetti at a church dinner knows that. It just tastes better. It's biblical. Got that celestial tomato sauce made from tomatoes picked right from the Garden of Eden. And then the prayer and a few Bible verses thrown in.
What you need is your Bible and some pans and some water. What else is there? Christians know how to cook, don't they? You bet they do. Get out your ingredients. Noodles, cottage cheese, spaghetti sauce, and mozzarella cheese.
Then get the holy water will start to boiling. Add the noodles to the water. After the pasta comes to the top drain the water. Next, add the sauce and cheeses, then mix it up plenty good. And sprinkle some parmesan cheese.
As for Christian spaghetti sauce, it's heavenly. Please use a minimum you have to have garlic, onion, oregano, salt, and oil. Add some basil, a bay leaf and mushrooms.
Maybe a dash of white pepper, thyme, and rosemary, too.
The Baptist Spaghetti sauce relies upon saute some diced onions in olive oil until they turn translucent. Add a can of tomatoes. Though Presbyterians may use diced tomatoes with basil and garlic.
Saute the tomatoes and oil for twelve minutes. You can add some tomato paste at this point for some extra flavor. Remove from heat and add salt & pepper. Then add a dash of cream, milk, or sugar--any of those will sweeten the sauce.
The Lord Has Sent Us Rabbits
When rabbits started nibbling carrots and cabbage in the First Baptist church garden Reverend Hinkley didn't know what to do. "They eat our lettuce, cabbage and carrots," Reverend said. "I don't know how we going to stop them," the Reverend said. "I mean the church doesn't appreciate having its vegetables eaten."
"How do we communicate with rabbits? We could pray. Ask the Lord if he could impart some commonsense to the rabbit. Tell the rabbits. Explain the church is off-limits. That the church has special rights. And rabbits shouldn't violate these rights. The Lord has reserved our territory, our sovereign ground. The church garden being a place of reverence, an essential part of the church grounds. A symbol of our faith. It being so glorious and beautiful. The rabbits should help themselves to someone else's garden. I'm sure there are plenty of tasty cabbage and lettuce and carrots just up the road."
"Prayer is always a good response in these dilemmas. Some years ago we prayed about the bear problem and we haven't seen a bear since. And I remember the blue-jays that nested in the maple tree in the front-lawn of the church. They made the most awful noise during Sunday worship. You couldn't hear yourself think. Then after praying about it, bring it up, merely mentioning it in passing, we never heard from the blue-jays."
"We need to get behind this just as we did the others. And as a congregation pray that the rabbits refrain from eating the vegetables in our garden. Tolerance between rabbit and congregation needs to be strengthened."
"This is a test. The Lord has sent the rabbits to test our resolve, our generosity and patience. It's a blessing in disguise."
"I think it's a message," Clyde Barlow said. "The church or a member or members of the congregation have committed a sin. And as a result the Lord has sent us rabbits to eat our lettuce and cabbage and carrots. What else could it mean?"
Within a few days the Reverend had received various explanation as to why the Lord had sent the rabbits.
"Did you see that necktie Billy Brewster was wearing?," Catherine Hopper said. "Ugly ain't the word for it. How could anyone wear that to church. Poke your eye out. And I seen Greta Paultz wear her sneakers to Sunday Worship. How uncouth can one person be? And did you see that hat Kitty McCall had on. It looked like she was wearing birdcage on her head."
Lydia Gomez suggested there too many in the congregation was more concerned with golf, fishing, ballgames and watching television and going to movies. And a few who didn't read their Bible as much as they should.
Tom Danicco, the choir director, blamed it on the congregation for singing poorly. "It's embarrassing." Tom gripped. "They just aren't filled with the holy spirit. Balloons, when you let the air out of them, sing better."
And the complaints didn't end there. "I seen Norman Street doodle on his church program," said Granny Hark. "Ain't that a sin? I think he was drawing a horse. Or something."
"And women with all that make-up and perfume on," said Gloria Empson, eighty-seven year-old grandmother. You gotta put a gas mask on to sit in church. Gimme some air."
And according to Luke Wells, "Some folks do things on Sundays they shouldn't do. Paint their garage, mow the lawn, trim the hedges, wash their cars."
"And I don't mean to make a big deal about it," Clarence Barlow said. "But ever since we stopped throwing horseshoes at the church I haven't enjoyed going as much. The Lord knows we love horseshoes. Maybe he's trying to tell you that."
"I can't say I know for sure," Sammy Gault said. He tapped the Reverend on the shoulder after Wednesday Night Prayer meeting and whispered into the Reverend's ear, "I seen six, maybe six members of the congregation yawning. Three of them dozed off in church last Sunday. That could be it right there."
How To Recognize The Long-Tailed Atheist
We live amongst beasts. The long-tailed atheists have invaded our community. We must identify them
and expel them from our community in order to achieve lasting peace. The atheists are fur bearing mammals, around three-foot tall, weighing less than a hundred pounds. They gather in the woods at dawn and holler at the rising sun. They dance around a big fire and swap atheist stories with no morals to their stories.
Therefore the beasts can be easily identified. As well they have long ears and tails. Similar to the agnostic and existentialist which have lived in the woods of East Tennessee for centuries. Perhaps you have seen one, or heard one growling at you from behind the church bushes.
If you see an atheist do not hesitate to call the church. We have ways of convincing the atheist of his wrongs. We do not seek to abolish civil rights for the wild animal. But we do aim to expunge the wickedness from our midst.
Here is a twelve step program that will assist Christians in defending their community from these nasty wild animals. Beware the atheist has no ethics. They roam the hills and woods, questioning the existence of the Lord.
The 12 step track record over roughly seven years is excellent. It can serve you if you follow it closely. Together we shall root the atheists out, cage them at the Knoxville Zoo. We plan to tag them. And if they escape hunt them down and restore our community to its natural beauty.
After capturing the atheist, it is important to note they should be skinned for their fur, as the winter months chill a body and Christians need to protect themselves and their young. Disinfectant spray should be used to de-lice the atheist and otherwise eliminate parasites in our community. You can expect the atheist to forfeit their fur without a tussle. So be prepared to argue, wrestle and grapple the beasts.
Understand the 12 Steps of Christian Lessons to Atheists:
1. They must admit their sins. Their lives had become wild, unmanageable. Godless.
2. They must believe that a power greater than themselves.
3. They must reach a decision to give their lives to the Lord. Jean Paul-Sartre is the devil.
4. They must take a fearless moral inventory of their lives.
5. They must accept believe in the church.
6. They must assume all guilt for defects of character and spirit.
7. They must ask the higher power to remove their shortcomings.
8. They must awaken from their stupor and love the Lord.
9. They must amends to all Christians wherever possible.
10. In their spiritual awakening, they must take personal inventory of their weaknesses and pray for guidance.
The long-tailed atheist must accept the Apostle's Creed. Must read the Bible and go to church every Sunday. They must as well adhere to the teachings of the Lord. By recognizing the brokenness of their human condition, atheist can find the Lord and lead happy lives. The birth of faith will save them from the fires of Hades. The Lord will change the lives of Atheists.
The Glorious Lives of Gospel Singers
One summer when I was in high school I joined a gospel group called "The Five Little Deacons" and traveled around East Tennessee. We sang "Amazing Grace" and "Peace In The Valley" so many times we lost count. We went from church to church, a few schools, local auditoriums and enjoyed many enthusiastic receptions. In Johnson City, people got so excited they followed us from the church to our bus. A blue utility van with chipped paint and a sign on the side that said, "Gospel Music Can Save Your Soul." They stood on tiptoes to get a look at us. They jumped up to shake our hands. They cheered wildly like we were rock stars.
Sometimes during our performances people stomped their feet and held their hands in the air and swayed back and forth. It was all a mix of worship and entertainment. We shared our passion for the good news of the Christian faith. Every day we had rehearsal. We worked hard at becoming harmonious. We tried to smooth out all our rough edges.
From one day to the next we were constantly in motion. We had a road map and we followed it carefully, hoping we didn't get lost. The contributions we received paid for our gas and oil. We had to sleep in the van. Though we also had a tent and a portable barbecue we could throw hot dogs and burgers on. We were living the life of gospel singers.
Often when we spoke to each other it seemed we were singing a hymn. It's what was on our minds. We couldn't help ourselves. We were driven to sing those hymns better and better. And so we practiced continuously. Once I was awakened in the middle of the night by one of my buddies singing a hymn in his sleep. He sounded pretty good. I didn't have the heart to wake him.
Whenever we had time we listened to gospel music on the radio and sang along. It filled us up with a joy we couldn't explain. It just did. Gospel music has a supernatural effect on us. Our voices turned angelic. We felt lighter than air. Like if we didn't hold onto to something we would float upward. We changed inside so much they we weren't the same people. We forgot about anything that bothered us. Our faces beamed, our eyes sparkled. We grew taller and smarter. We didn't things we didn't know we could do. Things that surprised us.
Twice in Bristol, Tennessee we sang on a street corner and folks listened politely and smiled. It seemed natural to them a group of boys would burst into "Rock of Ages." In Kingsport, Tennessee, we sang "This Little Light" in the grocery store. People couldn't believe it. They applauded us. And in Elizabethton, Tennessee, we sang "Nearer My God To Thee" in a Dairy Queen. Folks bought us ice cream. We'd never seen anything like it.
In private, we joked how the gospel singer had powers above and beyond mortals. They could save souls, make people forget their troubles and if you allowed them, they would change your life. Turn the unfaithful into believers. Just a few bars of "Do Lord" and you could do just about anything that came into your head. You had confidence. You were more determined.
Though of course we understood we weren't really great gospel singers. We lacked musical training. That didn't stop us from singing our hearts out. If we sang well it was in praise of the Lord. If we hit a few sour notes we blamed it on the devil.
