The only great thing about my grandparents church was that it was next to a McDonalds. Secondly there was an elderly lady who passed out candies to the children after church. Thirdly my best friend David went there, but it’s not like we had a lot of time to play together.
My parents church at least had breakfast or pastries and juice in the morning before church. So I was able to get something to eat. Beyond those refreshments, I did not find the services to be overly refreshing or invigorating.
I was an acolyte at my parent’s church. Of course not by choice. My dad made me do it. I had to wear this long white robe (as if it isn’t hot enough already in Florida). Before church I had to light the candles while the organ played some very still sober funeral music. Then during the service before communion, I had to walk up to the altar and pour oil and wine for the priests. The wierdest part was one instruction I was given to pour a bit of wine on the priest’s hands during his cleansing. It seems to me that would make your hands sticky. Lastly at the end of the ceremony I was to extinguish the candles. Believe me, by the end of the service, I felt both extinguished and exhausted. Nothing said or done during the services necessarily added to me but primarily seemingly subtracted from me.
It was always good to leave church because the services always seemed to drain my energy. I felt diminished and contained the whole time in church. It was like walking around in a straight jacket being told what to do. I never saw anyone real exhuberance, expression or supernatural breakthroughs.
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