Little Religion

I think I've always had a religious bent, though it's taken a lot of twists and turns. As a child, I would bury dead birds in coffee cans lined with Kleenex, and read Bible verses over them.

My earliest memories of "church" (at the suburban Methodist church my parents attended) have to do with the organ. I can recall asking my mother why we couldn't see the music come out of the holes in the big pipes. Other early memories include the sound of walking on the flat brown linoleum that covered the church hallways and fellowship room, and the smell of coffee from the giant urns there.

On the backs of the wooden pews were small holders for pledge cards, with little yellow pencils for people to fill out the cards. There may have also been envelopes for the weekly collection. At any rate, I can recall drawing and writing on these with the pencils, or perhaps on the index cards my mother kept in her purse. For I didn't understand the sermons and felt very bored and restless.

I did like singing hymns. I was in the children's choir and enjoyed wearing the white choir robe. At Christmas time, all the candles were magic for me. The Sunday-school children would put on one of those excruciating Christmas pageants for the congregation. All I remember about these is that one time some little kid threw up.

At Easter, I went to church with my parents wearing new patent leather "mary-jane" shoes and white gloves and a hat just like a grown-up lady. Only I hated wearing hats, always, and doubtless tried my mother's patience with my protests. I liked the Easter candles and music also.

There was, of course, Sunday School. One summer I also attended Vacation Bible School and recall only that we made "flannel boards" -- blue flannel for the sky and tan flannel for the ground, wrapped around a piece of cardboard. Then we cut various Biblical characters out of paper -- like paper dolls -- and put flannel on their backs so they would stick to the flannel boards (sort of like primitive Velcro). I had a shepherd and a bunch of sheep, which I enjoyed moving around on the board.

In 7th or 8th grade, my classmates and I were prepared for Methodist "coming of age" -- Confirmation. We were given a little Catechism book, which I believe we were supposed to memorize, and we went to class once a week with the minister of our church. At that age, I was already starting to really search. As I recall it, I would ask the pastor questions about the real meaning of various passages in the Catechism, but he never seemed to answer them. He usually just quoted the Catechism back to me by rote, leaving me frustrated and still wanting Answers.

I guess it was after these classes that I decided I was an agnostic and wanted nothing more to do with the church. So, that was the end of religious phase #1.