Each summer during my formative years, Mom packed me off to my Grandma Grubb’s farm for two weeks so I could attend Vacation Bible School at Oakthorpe Christian Union Church. She helped me haul my bags into Grandma’s huge kitchen, kissed me on the forehead, then cupped my face in both her hands and said, “Young man, you’d better behave yourself!” With no further ceremony she broke for the station wagon, her hands raised to heaven. I was never sure if she was offering thanks or if it was a two-handed, celebratory fist pump.
It was the 1950’s and Oakthorpe, like most country churches operated on EFT – Eastern Farmers’ Time. “Farmers’ Time” meant they honored the farm families by adjusting the church schedule to accommodate the farmer. For instance, in the springtime, they’d back up the evening service start times from 7:00 PM to 7:30 or even 8:00 PM to allow the farmer to make the most of the late sunset. This was well before Daylight Savings Time.
Planting and harvest seasons multiplied the farmers work by an exponential factor. Things like plowing, planting, cultivating and harvesting added to an already demanding list of chores. You see, at that time most farms were self-supporting. They raised crops to sell and raised crops to feed their cows, pigs, chickens and children. Each farm family produced its own meats, vegetables, eggs and dairy—not to mention the constant work of caring for the buildings and the property itself.
Because Grandma Grubb’s farm was near the tiny community of Oakthorpe, I was permitted to ride my bike to and from VBS each day. I thought that was the most exciting thing imaginable. Each morning I’d park under the massive oak tree, its huge biceps holding shade umbrellas at arm’s length all day without breaking a sweat. It not only provided a great parking garage for bicycles, but it also protected the white clapboard country church from the blistering July sun.
I jumped from my moving bike, piling it into the random assortment of bicycles leaning against one another as though the rapture had occurred—their riders having been snatched away. The bikes were as different as the kids. Some were decked out with handle bar streamers, twin mirrors and chrome fenders while others, like mine, were stripped down, sans fenders and no fluff—ready for action. This was before the British invasion, no three speeds or rubber band tires in this bunch, just balloon tires and handlebars that swept up and outward like the rack on a long horn bull.
The church, built in the 1800’s, had no air conditioning—a promise of prophetic heat. I always suspected that might be an omen of things to come if I didn’t behave. I wasn’t a bad kid, but I lived for recess… no, I was built for recess! Like most pre-pubescent boys, I endured the sleep-inducing flannel-graph lessons only by the hope of recess! VBS did have an important impact on my spiritual development, most notably on my prayer life as every day I’d pray like a TV evangelist, “Dear Lord, hear our prayer, please let recess come quickly.”
Decades later, most things have changed though some things remain the same. The Lord still meets regularly at Oakthorpe, just as He does at your church. Listen to Jesus’ own words as recorded in Matthew’s account,
“When two or three of you are together because of me, you can be sure that I’ll be there.” Matthew 18:20
He’s always ready to meet with us where ever we gather. If you’re a regular church-goer, you know what I’m talking about. But my friend, if it’s been awhile, may I encourage you to visit with Him. Give it a shot…besides I’ll bet the church of your choice will take a recess just about noontime.
Read Ron’s column, Simple Faith, each Saturday on the Faith Page (page 3) of the Lancaster Eagle Gazette, or visit www.lancastereaglegazette.com.