Day 6

It’s a Baptist church in Corinth, Mississippi. It’s a large building that Greg informed me could hold well over a thousand worshippers. We parked nearby and Terry got onto a wheelchair that Greg provided her from the back area of the Kia SUV she had bought a while back.

We walked in through the greeting area that already had a number of people congregating and chattering among themselves about the weather and local happenings that I half heard as we meandered about the flock. Greg introduced me to the Sunday School teacher who would guide us through a lesson from the Bible. Later, I was to meet Brother Jim, who I was told was the pastor here. I didn’t recall the Sunday school teacher’s name, Brother Bill maybe? At any rate he was a tall gentleman with friendly smile. Greg then introduced me to Sister Agnes who was all a flutter that I was from Washington State.

“I lived in Olympia for a spell,” she told me in her most eloquent Mississippi drawl.

“I always lived on the east side of the state. I think Greg calls it the ‘right’ side of the state, though I don’t share many of their views,” I replied.

“He’s a democrat,” Greg pointed out as if this fact alone had me destined to the gates of hell.

“Oh, you are one of them,” she accused in a chipper laugh that seemed to lighten the mood a bit. “I went up there when my husband was stationed at Fort Lewis years and years ago. After he passed away, I came back here to my home. I just missed everything so. I did enjoy the forests and the pleasant weather y’all have up there in the spring and fall. Summers aren’t so bad neither.”

As luck would have it, I ended up sitting next to her in the Sunday School class on folding cushioned chairs. It’s funny but the last time I was in a Sunday school class was well before smartphone technology. Where back then one brought the Holy Bible with him or her, now it was a tablet or smartphone that everyone possessed. I used to be able to gauge a person’s Bible reading skills by the dog ears on the Bible’s pages as they were flipped through to find that certain verse, chapter, or book that had the most compelling argument to their belief. Now I had no such advantage.

I decided not to bring my cell phone with me, figuring I didn’t need it. But as it turned out, I felt a bit lost by not bringing it because the parishioners in this class effortlessly Googled the passage we were to study, and I felt a bit overwhelmed by their abilities. Do they actually offer smartphone classes for these people? Obviously, they’re a lot smarter than I gave them credit for.

By the same token, I’m sure I impressed them with the limited Biblical knowledge I possessed. The discussion delved into the Phoenician woman whose daughter was possessed by a demon and begged Jesus to exorcise it as in Mark 7:25-30. There were lessons learned that obviously could be applied in today’s trials, not least of importance was the newly opened conflict in Gaza between Israel and Hamas.

After that we went to the sanctuary and listened to music from their choir and then a sermon from Brother Jim. He was altogether a much different minister than the last Baptist preacher I was forced to listen to when I visited my grandma in Childress, Texas in 1978. He was about forgiveness and caring, whereas the one I listened to in Texas was about damnation and fire and brimstone, going to hell unless I repented and sought salvation.

I felt moved by his sermon, though for the life of me I can’t now remember what he said. I looked about the large gallery of this church with its cathedral ceilings and balconies where the choir sat, and behind me more worshippers who appeared as interested in the message as I was. Greg sat next to me, his eyes closed, obviously deep in prayer or meditation.

The service ended after about an hour and we all moved out to the greeting area where Brother Jim stood ramrod straight, a genuine smile on his weathered face, his white hair neatly combed. Greg introduced us and I shook his hand with a firm grip. “A very fine sermon sir,” I complimented him before releasing my hand from his. He then handed me a coffee mug with some other swag thanking me for coming.

“It’s a pleasure meeting you. Brother Greg and Sister Terry have told me much about you.” I thanked him and left the building to get some much-needed fresh air.

After we arrived home Greg and I grabbed his guns and we went out to a back portion of the ten-acre property his father-in-law, Terry still owned and did some familiarization of shooting paper targets with handguns. He had an AR-15 he recently purchased, but it wasn’t sighted in and shot well right and up from the target he aimed for. It was getting dark by then and we made haste to call it a day.

Tomorrow, I go home back to Spokane.