Is church a part of your life? Or is your life, church?
Growing up? Our entire lives centered around the church. Every time the doors were open, we were there. Dressed up in our little, lacy frocks for all of the world to see. Every Sunday morning. Every Sunday night. Every Wednesday evening. Sometimes on Saturday. GAs. Choir. Church Training. Youth Group. Bible Drill… need I go on?
Twice while growing up, Dad was Chairman of the Deacons. He was always at meetings. I hated that time of our lives the most. Until, our church decided our aging minister was getting too old. And too boring.
So a big group of them got together and decided it was time for Dr. Matthews to “retire”. Yeah. That’s what they called it. No one wanted to admit that they were just outright FIRING him. He’d been there for over thirty dern years. And he was sweet. So sweet. When he’d do his children sermons, and we’d all go down front and sit on the steps with him, he’d pull out this monkey puppet…you know, the kind with the long arms and long legs that wrapped around your neck? And he’d talk to us like we were real people, not just little dummies to program.
Anyway, Dr. Matthews “retired”. The deacons were such complete bastards, they weren’t even going to give him a severance package. Nope. Thanks for the FREAKING THIRTY YEARS. Don’t let the door hit you in the arse when you leave.
So, my dad stood up and convinced them to pay of his house to the tune of $78,000. I respect my dad for doing that. At least, he had some cajones.
But with Dr. Mathews gone. That left a hole to fill.
And guess who was elected Chair of the Pastor Search Committee?