They passed out stout red Bibles with shiny covers, and read the passage from Acts about Philip baptizing the Ethiopian eunuch. Then the lady who was teaching the little children gave them a small sermon about believing, repenting, confessing and baptism, which made me squirm. She defined repentance as “having a bad feeling,” which made me bite my lip. She said “Who rose from the dead? No, not God! The Son of God! Jesus!” I wanted to sprint from the room, but there was no tactful way– especially not when Rose was a few seats away from me, sitting with her friends.
I made a mental list of all the things I had to explain to Rose, once we got back. Rose wasn’t listening, thankfully. She was waiting for her coloring sheet.
I collected the Bibles as the lady passed out black and white drawings of Philip and the Ethiopian, standing fully clothed in the river. I kissed the top Bible as I put it away– and immediately felt guilty for doing so. I was afraid I’d be caught– again, I didn’t know at what.
Savior, visit this plantation.
The children went to do another craft; then they played with blocks and a deck of Bible memory cards.
For we’ve come to desolation.
I excused myself to the bathroom again. I pretended to admire those ridiculous chickens. I wondered if I felt guilty because I was in a room full of avian reminders not to betray the Lord. I couldn’t remember betraying Him lately– may He forgive me for the many times I have. Whatever this feeling was, it wasn’t repentance– not of any sin. I was more than a little sorry that I’d taken the invitation and ended up humming at a strange church. But it was more than that.
All our help must come from Thee.
When the pastor announced that “church” was over, I nearly ran.
That mysterious feeling of unease dropped off like a brick as soon as I got back to my house. I sat down at the computer to write; I mentioned to my facebook friends where I’d been.
A friend who was raised protestant explained. “If I were you I’d stay as far as I can from [that denomination],” she said. “They believe Southern Baptists are liberal.”
Another friend chimed in. “Yeah, they’re one of those ‘special’ denominations that believes everyone except them is going straight to hell.”
The conversation went on, about how lucky I was that they hadn’t guessed Rose and I were Catholic.
Lord, revive us.
I’ll pray with anyone who will pray with me, but I’m not going back there again.
(image via Pixabay)
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