Marty farm, ca. 1962
East Rock Baptist Church was my first church, and our family attended three times a week: Sunday morning, Sunday evening, and Wednesday evening (prayer meeting). It was a country church that served mostly dairy farmers who milked cows morning and evening, so Sunday school was at 10, worship at 11, and evening services started at 8 o'clock.
In this photo, my dad and I are on the way to church or have just come home. Dad has his Bible in hand, and I'm feeling very grown up with that purse. We're standing outside the big farmhouse where Gramma, Uncle, and Auntie lived—you can see our smaller house in the background on the left. The photo may have been taken by Gramma Marty, because she had a simple camera and we often drove her to church.
Now I live in northeast Minneapolis, home of dozens of churches for generations of immigrants. This year, Easter is the same Sunday on both the Roman and Orthodox calendars, so bells have been pealing during all of Holy Week. Dawn will be noisy and glorious.
My own church, just down the river, will be fragrant with potted lilies and other spring flowers. One of them will be labeled in memory of my dad and Uncle Gaylon.
Comments