The day I went to church

I was desperate; maybe religion would help. My wife had just been given three months to live, and so I decided to go to church.

I admit I was a bit reluctant. I had no idea what to expect, and didn't know anyone who went there. I thought a couple of Scotches would steady my nerves, but realized everyone would smell it on me. I decided to take courage in both hands and just front up.

Firstly, there was the problem of what to wear—dressy or casual? I found a clean shirt, and settled for jeans and jacket.

I made it to the building on the corner without knowing quite what to expect.

As I came through the door I was given a “Hullo” and three books. I said “Thanks”, without knowing what they were for.

A couple of strangers said “G'day” before I found a seat.

The organ sounded mournful—reminded me of a mate's funeral a few years ago.

People were chatting around me, but there was no swearing or dirty jokes—at least, not where I was. About five minutes later, this bloke came in dressed in something like a woman's nightie. Nobody seemed to think it was strange. I wondered whether he was queer, but I found out he's the minister.

He announced, “No. 361” and everyone stood up to sing the song. By the time I worked out which book it was in, and found No. 361, they were nearly finished. We all sat down again. (Very embarrassing if you are the last one still standing!)

We were told to find page 39 to start the service. I couldn't figure out which book. It was getting me down. I felt foolish.

When he started to read, the language seemed different somehow. It wasn't bad language, or everyday language. You just heard words you didn't hear the rest of the week. He seemed to be talking to God.

Every so often he stopped, and a few people said, “Amen.” Wasn't sure why. (For that matter, wasn't sure why the others didn't!)

“Psalm 110, Page 439”, he said. More fumbling around.

When the Bible reading came on, people around me got out their Bibles. Then he said: “Obadiah Chapter 2”. What's that? There seemed to be a mild panic. He was half-finished before everyone had found the place. Some of them didn't try.

Perhaps the worst part was the singing. Most of the women handled it all right. But Aussie men are not great singers. At any rate, I could hide in the crowd and leave it to the others. When I looked at the people around me they looked as though they were suffering more than singing. Their expressions were strained, and they didn't seem to know the tune. I wouldn't question their sincerity, but they didn't sound very convincing. Maybe the pace didn't help. I got the impression that the organist wanted to get it over as quickly as possible. I began to wonder why the singing was so soft. Then I thought to myself: Who's got enough puff to keep up with a racing organ?

It was a bit awkward when we came to what was called “the Creed”, and then “the Grace”. This little kid alongside me knew them off by heart. I decided to blow my nose—twice.

Then another song, and someone said: “Collection”.

A moment of terror as everyone reached for their pockets. In my hurry to leave home, I hadn't grabbed any change. I had to make a snap decision. Do I put in the $50 note—the only dough I've got with me—or look straight ahead and just pass the bag to the fella beside me? I looked straight ahead. (Even a night at the pictures with the family doesn't cost that much.)

Then this bloke got up to preach. I didn't know they still did that kind of thing! It was a kind of a cross between a lecture and a pep talk. Okay, I suppose, if you like that kind of thing. I couldn't get my eyes off the rig-out. When he waved his arms he looked like a hang-glider. He seemed to be pretty serious about it though.

Then the other fella got up and told us to talk over a cup of tea. They all seemed to know one another. I decided not to interrupt them. One or two waved to me as I left.

Interesting experience. Not what I expected, but then I really didn't know what to expect. I survived okay. Don't know how the fellas at work would go.