Sing Them Over Again to Me...

My first church memories are centered in a white painted concrete block church in north Florida... Pinetta Baptist Church. On Sunday morning, the men would be gathered around outside smoking and talking. Even though a few women smoked, they did so at home, never in public. When you entered the front door, the first thing to catch your eye was the large framed Church Covenant hung behind the choir loft. The knotty pine paneling had turned orange over the years and the wooden pews were too upright to be comfortable... and not padded. The boards that held the Sunday School reports hung on the left side of the platform... attendance, offering, how many read their Bibles last week, attendance from last week. The board to the right held the hymn numbers for the morning... but those numbers were subject to last minute changes.
We were a very poor church financially. It stretched the budget to hire a pastor. Most of our members were dirt farmers with poor dirt... sandy north Florida soil did not grow cash crops easily. A few of the members worked at the local paper mill and had a steady income but most of our congregation lived well below the poverty line. I don’t remember feeling poor or deprived in that church though. It lived large... peanut boilings at the Woodard house after Sunday night service... home made ice cream at the Buchanan house... VBS with cookies and Kool Aid... dinner on the grounds at least four times a year... twice a year revivals... traveling teachers from the Baptist Convention who came to teach everything from music to books of the Bible... gathering at the Ellington house to help with the cane syrup making... and the singing... the songs that lived in the hearts of those people were joyful and spirit filled.
On fifth Sundays, we would have hymn sings during worship. You could call out the name and number of your favorite hymn and we would sing it. Our pastor, Brother Rowan, loved to sing and sort of sang tenor. Mr. Crafton always wanted to sing "How Tedious and Tasteless the Hours" and he wanted it sung s-l-o-w-l-y. Mr. Buchanan loved the old gospel hymn "No, Never Alone" with its chorus punctuated by staccato "No’s". Miss Jeanette loved "How Great Thou Art". I loved them all. I can still sing them today... remember the key in which they are written... feel the joy of singing that surrounded that poor little Baptist church worship on Sunday mornings. I can hear Mr. Buck singing bass... Miss Jeanette and Mrs. Tyre singing alto... Mrs. Ellington singing soprano... Mr. Crafton singing notes of his own choosing. The music lifted our hearts and souls to God leaving behind the struggles of making it in this world. I give thanks for the great gift of joy in music they gave me.
The pianist was a teenager, Carolyn Woodard. She played beautifully and was a music major in college. I wanted to be like her... play the piano like her. Her music gift shared with the church family provided a model for me... a place for me... My first piano lesson was at Mrs. Buchanan’s house on her piano. She was keeping us during the summer while mama went to business school. I learned to play "Wonderful Words of Life" by memory... key of G major... one sharp.
"Sing them over again to me, wonderful words of life; Let me more of their beauty see, wonderful words of life. Words of life and beauty, teach me faith and duty; beautiful words, wonderful words, wonderful words of life". And those wonderful words of life sung every Sunday morning in worship and sung while I iron and feed the cows continue to teach me faith and duty... show me the beautiful way of Love. How can I keep from singing?