40 Years Away From the Church, But I'm Back

My last post was about politics and this week it'll be about religion. I know I'm treading on dangerous ground because those are two things guaranteed to get an argument started, if not an all out brawl when discussed in a crowd. Fact is, I didn't need to be in a crowd when I was growing up. All I had to do was sit, listen, and watch my own family when they started to discuss either one, especially religion.

On one hand was my Dad. He was what I called a "functioning drunk." He would work all day, but then stay out drinking and partying most of the night. Then there were the occasional binges where he would stay drunk for days on end but, he somehow ended up sobering up and heading back off to work. He was a new car salesman, and one heck of a salesman because when he sobered up his job was always waiting on him. I was watching him work his magic on a young couple one day when the dealership owner walked up behind me, put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Boy, that man could sell ice to eskimos." One day at the dealership a few of us were talking about our beliefs when my Dad walked up. I asked him what he believed in. He smiled and said, "I believe there's a butt that fits every new car seat made and I believe in 100 proof JW Dant." He laughed and walked away. To him that pretty much said it all. He didn't have a lot of religion in him, or at least none that he talked about, but say the Lord's name in vain and he'd backhand you across the room.

On the other hand was my Mom. She was the daughter of a Church of God minister and evangelist, the Reverend "Happy Tom" Brooks. She didn't attend church a lot but she made sure that her children were there every Sunday, even if it was to simply put us on the church bus or drop us off at the church. We would go see my Grandfather preach occasionally in Greenwood at his home church, or if he was near Augusta preaching a revival she would take us to hear him. While Mom and us kids were in the church Dad would usually sit in the car drinking. Mom believed in God but I saw her start to question her faith and beliefs as she started approaching mid-life. She finally divorced my dad when I was about ten and I watched her as she drifted farther and farther away from her long held beliefs. This sure didn't help me because by then I was questioning my own faith and as I watched her I became even more disillusioned.

Then there was a silver lining. All I had to do to renew my faith was to spend time with my grandfather. He had always been my hero, the person I looked up to. I would go spend weeks during the summer with him and my grandmother. I loved them so much and they were the stability I didn't have in my life. Every evening we would gather in the living room where my grandfather would read a passage from the Bible and then we'd kneel and pray. He instilled a deep love of God in you and was an inspiration to everyone he met.

I continued in the church as I became a teenager, attending Southgate Baptist in Augusta, Ga where I had been going since I was a little kid. After I got my license I would drive myself to church instead of hanging out with my friends somewhere. Even though I was watching my mom drift away from religion I was starting to find my own way. When I was seventeen I was dating a young lady from my high school who was also a believer and we would attend services together. Usually she would go on Sunday mornings with her parents to their church and we attended my church together in the evenings. We were always dressed for church and never would go in jeans or anything loud, which was the norm in the early 70's. I had let my hair grow out although it was no where near my shoulders and it was always neat and clean. One Sunday night after church as we got in the car and were preparing to leave someone tapped on my window. I looked over and it was the good preacher, Reverend Kent. He told me, "We don't need your kind in this church." I was puzzled and asked him what he was talking about. He said, "Long haired, dope smoking hippies," and he turned and walked off. The good Reverend, calling me names without even really knowing me. I had never and, by the way, have never, smoked dope. Sure my hair was a little long, but like I said it wasn't even down to my shoulders. I was not a happy camper. I called him a hypocrite and drove off.

The Long Haired Hippie

Reverend Kent had been my preacher since I was a young child  and a he had demeaned and embarrassed me in front of someone I cared about and it cut me to the core. This really made me think and I thought about it for a long time. Maybe mom was right to leave her beliefs behind. I would not go back to church after that incident and shortly after that started to go downhill fast. The church had been a calming influence on me and since it wasn't there I began staying out late, skipping school and even work. My girlfriend broke up with me, partly because of the way I had started acting and treating her and partly because of the fact that I refused to step into another church although she tried. I never spoke of that incident to my grandfather because I didn't want to hurt him and I knew what it would do to him if he knew I had walked away from the church. He died a few years after that thinking I was still in the church and I was glad he never knew.

About eleven years after that incident I still hadn't stepped foot inside another church other than for my grandfathers funeral and a couple of other special occasions I felt obligated to attend. I was working as a Detective with the Greenwood Police Department and working part time at the Chrysler dealer as a salesman with my father. One afternoon my dad called me back to his office and there was another man sitting in there with him. He asked me, "Do you remember this man, he's your old preacher, Dr. Kent." I told Kent that I definitely remembered him and also told him that he was the reason I had never been inside another church. I reminded him of the incident that night and you could see the blood drain out of his face as he remembered. This time I was able to turn and walk away.

Over the years I've mellowed and I knew in my heart that I still believed in God, even if some of his messengers were hypocritical. My wife and I tried going to several different churches in recent years but something was always missing. It seemed as if everyone was looking at you, judging. I felt like I was under a microscope. Was my car nice enough? Was I dressed right? Then there was the constant dissention within the churches, people talking about other people in the church. It was just reinforcing my belief that I was better off without a church. God knows I believe and if the churches are like that I'd be better off to only worship in my home. I'm sure it all stemed from the incident at Southgate. Still I still felt like something was missing in my life. My wife was feeling the same thing.

One night I was sitting out in the middle of nowhere in my truck and just messing with the computer and looking at Facebook when there was a mention of Faith Riders Fellowship Church in Aiken. I had heard of them before but hadn't really given it much thought. This night I was bored so I started looking at anything I could find about the church. The more I found out the more I liked and I thought, "What the heck, worth a try." The next morning I called the wife and told her what I had found and asked if she wanted to give it a try. She agreed and since I was on my way home and would be there on Saturday we decided we would go that Sunday. We got there and saw the motorcycles under the porch and cars in the parking lot and I almost backed out thinking that maybe this wasn't quite what we were looking for. It was ironic that we had first really had our first "semi" date there and I kissed her the first time near where the entrance is now back when the place was a bar. I say it was curiosity, but more likely it was the hand of God, that got the better of us so in we walked in. From the minute we got to the door we were welcomed with handshakes and hugs and it felt truly sincere. Everyone made us feel at home, as if we had been members forever. I found out the Preacher, Reverend Jack Atkinson and I had worked together in the late 80's and early 90's at the Sheriff's Office in Aiken and I had also worked with the associate pastor JD Bledsoe at the Sheriff's Office. I had casually known some of the other members through the years and so did the wife. The sermon was fantastic and the music was wonderful. I left there on cloud nine. I didn't want to put any notions in Diane's head because I knew she would go along with me regardless of how she actually felt so I casually asked her what she thought after we left. She said she loved it. So did I. She asked if we were coming back that night and I told her I didn't think so since I had a lot to do to get ready to go back on the road the next day and I really didn't want to overdo it that quick. After we ate lunch I asked if she really wanted to go back and she said she did. I agreed and off we went to another great service. She has been there for every service since and anything else they need help with. I go every time I'm home.

Some people are former, retired, or current law enforcement officers and some are hard core bikers with records. There are all ages and races. No one looks down on anyone else and I have yet to hear any of the dissention or back-stabbing that I saw so frequently in other so called houses of God. I'm sure from time to time things aren't perfect here, but these people have learned to look inside a person to see what is there and work through their problems.

Diane and I have finally found that church home we have been looking for.