From the Bench
BEWARE OF SNAKES AND METHODISTS
You will notice on the front page headline that the annual Methodist
camp meetings have started here in Franklin County. They have been meeting
in July up at Poplar Springs since 1832, except for a four-year interruption
during The Civil War.
I may try to go one night this week, although I have some misgivings about Methodist Camp meetings. It has nothing to do with me being a Baptist. But, then again, it might.
I have not been to a Methodist camp meeting but once, and that was a number of years back, down at Salem Campground in Newton County. The events of that Sunday afternoon left me somewhat doubtful about camp meetings and downright mistrustful of Methodists.
It happened that the music minister at my church somehow talked the folks down at Salem into inviting our men’s choir down to perform. The week-long revival was winding down, and I suspect that the Salem folks were near the bottom of the barrel looking for talent. Besides that, it being Sunday afternoon, and about as hot and humid as it gets in late July around here, I doubt that many groups were beating down the doors to get on the bill.
Despite my apprehension (not to mention the heat), I joined my forty or so vocal companions for the ride to Newton County on the church bus. Trailways had long since got all the good out of the air conditioning system.
We didn’t look too bad as a group. All of us wore long-sleeved blue shirts, which turned a nice royal blue after forty minutes on the bus in late July. All of us had white ties. In short, we LOOKED somewhat like a singing group, although, needless to say, by the time we got to Salem, we were a bit ripe.
We called ourselves "The Singing Churchmen." ( I believe there might be a REAL group somewhere called "The Singing Churchmen." If so, I apologize. We meant you no harm.)
I will not comment on our vocal abilities, except to say that, compared to us, the Mayberry Band sounded like the Boston Symphony; however, what we lacked musically, we made up for in enthusiasm and spirit, even on a scorching Sunday afternoon in Georgia.
Salem Campground is a large open-air shed. The congregation was pleasant enough, and receptive, considering ninety-five degrees of still air.
Our time came to perform, and we mounted the stage confidently.
Then it happened. From somewhere in the congregation, a woman let out an ear-piercing scream. We were bewildered by her reaction. We hadn’t even begun to sing.
What was it? Had the rapture come to this woman? Had she seen a vision? Did one of us have an open fly?
No, it was worse. She had seen a snake. Curled up in the rafters above her head. Why she was looking up there, we will never know.
Everything stopped until the snake was dispatched. Why they did it, I’ll never know. He was minding his own business. Besides, as one of our vocal critics commented, the snake probably would have left on his own as soon as we started to sing.
The snake was a hard act to follow. I doubt that even the REAL Singing Churchmen could have pulled it off.
Our music minister disbanded "The Singing Churchmen" shortly thereafter. I have always suspected that, somehow, he saw the snake as an omen.
I do not agree. I think it was a Methodist plot. I believe the snake was a plant to derail "The Singing Churchmen" as a group, because we were on the rise. We had improved so much that the pastor had agreed to let us sing in OUR church some Sunday night soon.
Alas, what might have been.
You know, the more I think about it, I believe I’ll just stay home and leave Poplar Springs to the Methodists. It’s just too hot, and, besides, there’s no telling what those people will do next.
I may try to go one night this week, although I have some misgivings about Methodist Camp meetings. It has nothing to do with me being a Baptist. But, then again, it might.
I have not been to a Methodist camp meeting but once, and that was a number of years back, down at Salem Campground in Newton County. The events of that Sunday afternoon left me somewhat doubtful about camp meetings and downright mistrustful of Methodists.
It happened that the music minister at my church somehow talked the folks down at Salem into inviting our men’s choir down to perform. The week-long revival was winding down, and I suspect that the Salem folks were near the bottom of the barrel looking for talent. Besides that, it being Sunday afternoon, and about as hot and humid as it gets in late July around here, I doubt that many groups were beating down the doors to get on the bill.
Despite my apprehension (not to mention the heat), I joined my forty or so vocal companions for the ride to Newton County on the church bus. Trailways had long since got all the good out of the air conditioning system.
We didn’t look too bad as a group. All of us wore long-sleeved blue shirts, which turned a nice royal blue after forty minutes on the bus in late July. All of us had white ties. In short, we LOOKED somewhat like a singing group, although, needless to say, by the time we got to Salem, we were a bit ripe.
We called ourselves "The Singing Churchmen." ( I believe there might be a REAL group somewhere called "The Singing Churchmen." If so, I apologize. We meant you no harm.)
I will not comment on our vocal abilities, except to say that, compared to us, the Mayberry Band sounded like the Boston Symphony; however, what we lacked musically, we made up for in enthusiasm and spirit, even on a scorching Sunday afternoon in Georgia.
Salem Campground is a large open-air shed. The congregation was pleasant enough, and receptive, considering ninety-five degrees of still air.
Our time came to perform, and we mounted the stage confidently.
Then it happened. From somewhere in the congregation, a woman let out an ear-piercing scream. We were bewildered by her reaction. We hadn’t even begun to sing.
What was it? Had the rapture come to this woman? Had she seen a vision? Did one of us have an open fly?
No, it was worse. She had seen a snake. Curled up in the rafters above her head. Why she was looking up there, we will never know.
Everything stopped until the snake was dispatched. Why they did it, I’ll never know. He was minding his own business. Besides, as one of our vocal critics commented, the snake probably would have left on his own as soon as we started to sing.
The snake was a hard act to follow. I doubt that even the REAL Singing Churchmen could have pulled it off.
Our music minister disbanded "The Singing Churchmen" shortly thereafter. I have always suspected that, somehow, he saw the snake as an omen.
I do not agree. I think it was a Methodist plot. I believe the snake was a plant to derail "The Singing Churchmen" as a group, because we were on the rise. We had improved so much that the pastor had agreed to let us sing in OUR church some Sunday night soon.
Alas, what might have been.
You know, the more I think about it, I believe I’ll just stay home and leave Poplar Springs to the Methodists. It’s just too hot, and, besides, there’s no telling what those people will do next.