Happy Low Sunday
Now that Easter has concluded triumphantly, clergy and religious leaders have a chance to rest.
Members of the governing body of local congregations can enjoy a pleasant evening meal now without the telephone ringing with complaints about the boring sermons or the screeching sopranos in the church choir.
Speaking of screeching sopranos, have you noticed how the music used in Easter television specials is powered by screeching sopranos? I also wonder why all church music has to be sung at a volume that could crack the vault of the world's stingiest miser.
In a church I attended for a number of years, there was one large soprano who warbled and shrieked through every choir performance.
I finally asked the choir director why this person was singing at such an intense vibration while all other choir members seemed to be singing with a more earthly attitude. He replied, with his snoot in the air, that he counted on the large soprano to give the choir bulk and body.
But I was speaking of low Sunday, the first weekend after Easter, when people are just too drowsy to come to church again after such a huge dose of victorious talk and song. Easter can be an exhausting adventure, especially if a person signs up for the entire worship agenda.
If you make a total commitment, you should be at church around 5:30 a.m. to start frying eggs and flipping pancakes for Easter breakfast. Just as the sausage begins to sizzle, the organ starts to rumble upstairs in the sanctuary. All the burners are turned off, and the crew rushes upstairs to see the beginning of the worship service. As the preacher is winding down the most dramatic sermon of the year, the kitchen crew has to rush once again into the basement to get the vittles heated up.
Year after year, the people enjoy their Easter breakfast at the church. The food is fatty and loaded with carbohydrates, but it tastes heavenly, and the price is right.
As the pancake eaters file out of the dining hall, the festival worship is about to begin, and those services will continue until the day is half over. Everyone goes home and takes a nap. The preacher is crazy with exhaustion. That's why low Sunday happens -- because everyone is too tired to sustain the momentum.
After a couple of low Sundays, the church leaders start to get nervous because they haven't been doing much leading for several days. So, in a spirit of leadership and righteousness, the fathers and mothers of the church start coming up with new initiatives.
For instance, some church people will start thinking about who actually came to worship on Easter. "Well, Hank was there, but he didn't bring his children. And Bertha was there at the 10 a.m. service, but I didn't see her husband. Charles and Lucy were at the sunrise service, but they didn't come back for any of the festivals."
That kind of talk will be epidemic in the weeks to come. Sooner or later, one of the officers of the church will suggest a review of the church coffers -- just to see if any members have backslid. That's an old churchy word that signifies a member has slipped a little in the long climb up God's hill to eternity.
Before you know it, one of the congregational power people will suggest kicking out all those people who have allowed their offering to dwindle. Kicking people out of the church is known in some circles as giving them the "left foot of fellowship." This will act, they say, as a friendly reminder of the enormous expense of ministry.
You can see the reasoning behind those drastic measures. Of course, we know it's all because of low Sundays and the cataclysmic impact low attendance can have on the church leadership.
So, just to keep everything moving along, let's all go to church tomorrow, surprise the preacher and get the church leaders off our backs. Happy low Sunday.
Clark D. Morphew
4-28-01
