Take Me To The River

I`ve always wanted to be deep. How many girls did I regale with buckets of whimsy and insight only to asked “Who is your friend …the quiet one.” Its enough to sap your faith in the Protestant work ethic.
Speaking of which, in what was probably largely an attempt to dab a little profundity behind the ears,the Newmans returned to Church . Starving people ,I `ve read,wait in the food queue when they know nothing has been delivered and I seem similarly unable to learn from experience.
Anyway, for whatever mixed and ignoble reasons,along we went,Marian and I had been arguing all week so chit chat was minimal.The trundle of Elliot’s push chair accompanied our grim silent simmering plod .Soon we were within sight of the spire, nestled in the crook of an ferociously busy arterial road in the picturesque Hamlet of London .My first “Damien in the car”, moment came when I saw the of the Alpha Course banner.
“Oh fuck a duck ,” ..“this lot are really full on”….
“Don`t you want to go?”
“ I said we’d go didn’t I..Jesus..”….

Smiles fixed, we charged the door,it has been over twenty years, barring the Christmas sing-along .I peered like curious Alice around a stone pillar into the gloom , while Marian,who knew someone from toddler group, gabbed enthusiastically.I was left with devout hubbie,a man of about 13 in M and S smart casual .At 43 I retain the black leather and jeans uniform .A Classic I like to think.
“ So first time ?” ..
“ Uh sort of .. I did loads of god bothering as a child though”
…a wifely eyebeam slashed across my forehead,and I was back on message.” I mean I was in a choir and things I ..we live nearby , We thought we`d come along you know “. Fortunately Elliot , at sixteen months is getting a handful to hold and my intermittent wrestling gave me useful cover for a strategic retreat.
We found some seats ,but by this time the venue was hopping with even standing room under pressure Marian was still smiling like the bloody Joker and a couple of crazed notices later we launch into the first number. I soon discovered that the bums on pews strategy here, revolves around never being more than a minute from a song. They know the business called show …oh yes.
Unfortunately I like music and , damned though I may be , I very much like Hymns. This was something else ,a new sort of experience I would call…torture.
The ensemble was guitar, violin ,Cello ,drum`n`bass and backing singers .No more than three chords were involved and as we munched laboriously through about eight of them I grasped the formula .
You start with a simple repetition.
“Jesus loves me “.. eyes begin to close in rapture “Jesus loves me”
Then some explanatory notes concerning time and place”
“ He loves me in the morning as a make a cup of tea
Even when I comb my hair ..he loves me “
And so we proceed to the crucial moment when the drummer ,who had been snare tapping,exploded into action ,up a fourth ,and the righteousness starts to blow your hair back
“ HE`S MY LORD..” now they are swaying and oddly holding a hand aloft “HE`S MY LORD”
Numerous sticky moments followed in a service of which I recognised not a syllable. Clasping complete strangers was tense . Directly communing with the spirit of the Lord in a terrifying five minute period of “Bearing witness”.. …. was another highlight
Elliot’s voluble complaints required my frequent absence and , trotting to and fro ,I noticed a softening in Marian ,who in prime form can maintain frosty mode for months . After about an hour of unremitting “Joy” , we simultaneously realised we were only at half time .I look at her in speechless conspiratorial despair and .. her lips form the silent word “Help!”. We were once more ,the only two sane people in the world .
We will not be returning but ,for all I know ,god has a sense of humour. His flock helped me to a most enjoyable Sunday afternoon . Besides which,if I can locate a church in which doubt is tolerated , and the Book of Common prayer an occasional guest, I may have another go. As I say , I`ve always wanted to be deep. “Why?” impresses people so much more than ”why not? “.