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"My Church Going Days"

A subscriber to my column 
wrote and asked me about what church I belong to. 
I don't actually have one now, 
but I still feel a connection to The Plymouth Congregational Church, 
at Lincoln and Amherst, in Buffalo, New York . 

The church I joined at twelve years old 
was neither progressive nor fundamentalist... 
just an old fashioned Northern church with a choir and an organ. 

I'm not aware of any dogma that could be considered radical 
by anybody's standards. 

The whole thing seemed to be based on the Golden Rule. 
The minister, Mr. Seidi (sp?) spoke in a reasonable, conversational manner, 
and nobody got overly excited. 
I did feel better after going to Sunday Service. 
I think I felt rather saintly. 
Elderly ladies with flowers on their Sunday hats told me I was a nice boy. 
Little did they know. 

We sat for some hymns and stood for others. 
I never figured out the system. 
I was always sitting when everybody else was standing, 
and vice versa. 
They should tell you if it's a standing or sitting hymn, 
or put buzzers under the seats. 
They could call them Pew Buzzers. 
I think that's the name of a hip-hop group.. 

I went to Sunday School and Boy Scouts in the church basement, 
and practiced on the upright piano down there when nobody was around. 

I was a failure as a Boy Scout, 
being a Tenderfoot for two years, and then quitting. 
I think I just liked the uniform. 
I still know how to tie one knot...the sheepshank, 
but I've never had an occasion to use it. 
There are no sheep around here. 

The congregation had a Mayberry RFD look. 
Of course I haven't been there in a while (about a half century), 
so things may have changed a little. 

The church was a friendly place. in sort of a staid New Englandish manner. 
I liked it that way. 
If I could find one like it now, 
I might stop being a sinner. 

Here's a picture, courtesy Images of Western NY... 

Copyright  August 20, 2006 by Jack Blanchard. All rights reserved.
Reprinted by permission.


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