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Posted (edited)

Baptists

 

I was raised Baptist.  In Texas, no less, where Baptists reign.  Sunday school, Sunday service, Vacation Bible School, Royal Ambassadors, countless potluck dinners, no dancing, no alcohol (but I did wonder about all that interest the men would find in ol’ so-and-so’s pickup truck parked behind the barn) – yup, all that.  A good, clean, wholesome upbringing.

 

Sunday services were wonderful.  We all dressed nicely in our “Sunday-Goin’-To-Meetin’” duds.  Sermons were captivating.  Singing… when it was time for hymns, some the choir would sing and for some of them the entire congregation would raise our voices in wonderful chorus.  When we sang, we put our hearts into it.

 

And then there was Communion.  I always thought this was a bit mysterious, but enjoyable.  Unlike my Catholic friends (whom I had accompanied to their services a few times), we did not line up and get handed a cracker.  Rather, we would sit and wait patiently and respectfully in our seats, as trays of little wafers (Saltines?) were passed down, followed by trays holding little “shot glass” wine cups.

 

During the Communion ceremony, on cue from the pastor, we’d all munch our crackers and drink our “wine.”  Welch’s grape juice.

 

When done, we would place our empty cups into the little wooden communion cup holders conveniently built into the back of the pew in front.  Well thought out!

 

Okay.  Jump ahead to about 1987.  With the whims of fate, I found myself married to a Catholic girl. 

 

One day she announced that two of her friends were going to get “re-married” for their twentieth wedding anniversary, and we were invited to the ceremony.  Oh good!  I always enjoy a good wedding – ‘specially the reception!  And she tells me, they’re Baptists.  Cool!

 

So on the given day and time, we reported to their church.  Actually a bit early; much better than being late.

 

And then the day got weird – it seems the now-former-Missus-Hardpan had never been to a Baptist church.  When we walked in, she looked about with some bewilderment.

 

“Where’s the Holy Water?”  she asked.

 

“Why… we Baptists don’t do that Holy Water thing,” I advised her.

 

Continuing her confused lookabout, she asked “Well… where are the confessionals?”

 

“We don’t need ‘em.  We are allowed to talk to God directly – and if we mess up, we can ask for forgiveness without a mediator.”

 

She seemed surprised, then followed me into the sanctuary, where we found ourselves a pew.  A very nice, very comfortable pew… a thickly padded and upholstered pew, as it was.  Much different from the hard oaken seats in her church.

 

I plucked a hymnal from the rack on the back of the pew in front of us, and began leafing through it, enjoying finding some of my old favorites, as she gazed about, visually exploring the strange setting.

 

“So where’s the baptismal font?” she suddenly asked.

 

“Oh, we don’t do it that way here,” I explained.  “See that curtain up there?  Behind it is like a giant aquarium.  When baptizing time comes, the pastor takes the candidate in there for a full immersion.  We're dunkers, not sprinklers.”

 

“Really??” she asked with astonishment.

 

After a bit, she asked “Where’s the altar??”  Obviously, she was used to seeing an ornate station with statuary and such.

 

“Nope.  We don’t do that either.”

 

A few minutes later:  “Who’s that guy up there wearing a suit?”

 

“That’s undoubtedly the Pastor.”

 

“What??  Where’re his robes and stole and such??”

 

Again… nope.  Our guy doesn’t need that.

 

Then, looking down, “Wait!  There’s no kneeler!”

 

“Nope. We don’t kneel.  We might stand for some prayers and songs, but nix on the kneeling.  We can kneel at home, but don’t have to here.”

 

“Um… no statues or paintings or stained glass windows of saints?”

 

“Nooooo.  But ya might see St Nick at the Christmas potluck!”

 

And so it went.  On and on; I was starting to get a little annoyed.  Maybe even a little more than a little.

 

Just as I was really getting in to “How Great Thou Art” in my hymnal, singing robustly in my head, she discovered the wooden communion cup holders on the back of the pew in front of us.

 

“What on Earth are THOSE?” she demanded, pointing to the li’l holders.

 

Okay.

 

That does it.

 

I turned to her and, after taking a deep breath, asked “So, have you noticed any sort of a different theme between our churches?”

 

“Whaddaya mean?”

 

“Okay.  Have you noticed that the pews are more comfortable than those at Saint Basil’s?”

 

“Why, yes!  They are MUCH more more comfortable!  I’m actually impressed!”

 

“Well, there’s a reason for that.”

 

“Oh?  Really?  Uh… like what?”

 

“Well!” I continued. “When Church is in service, we Baptists like to be able to focus on the pastor, and give him our undivided attention without any distraction from being uncomfortable.”

 

Her eyebrows ratcheted upward a notch at this hitherto unknown nugget of knowledge.

 

“Okay,” she asked, “so what about those things?” pointing again at the “holey” wooden fixture.

 

“Okay.  So, look around.  Do you see how everyone is dressed?”

 

“Well, yes!  Everyone is dressed very nicely.  After all, we ARE here for a wedding.” She said with decisiveness. 

 

“Okay.  Well, here’s the thing.  You see… this is how we Baptists dress for services EVERY Sunday,” I told her.

 

Wide-eyed, she blurted “What!  Really?  EVERY Sunday?”

 

“Of course!  Haven’t you heard the phrase ‘Sunday-Goin’-To-Meetin’ duds?’” I asked.  Then I continued, “THAT is what the phrase refers to.  Unlike YOUR church, we dress respectfully.” 

 

She pondered for a moment, undoubtedly thinking of her church’s congregation, where on any Sunday you’d see plenty of people dressed in shorts, T-shirts, sandals and flip-flops.

 

 I suspect that by now she might be approaching comparative religion overload. 

 

Finally, her mind seemed to complete its circuit, and she pointed again to the communion cup holders.

 

“So what’s all this have to do with THAT thing?” she demanded.

 

“Okay,” I said with a sigh.

 

“What are you wearing on your feet?”

 

“Why, heels, of course!” with a quick, involuntary glance at her feet.

 

“And the other women here?”

 

She covertly glanced about, and noted that most of the other ladies were similarly shod.

 

“But what about THOSE?” tapping the holder.

 

“Okay.  Dear, we’ve established that the Baptist Church has the parishioner’s comfort in mind, as they want no distraction from DIS-comfort.  Right?”

 

She nodded her comprehension.

 

“So. Would you say that your heels are particularly comfortable?”

 

She admitted that they were not.

 

“Well, with that in mind, the thoughtful Baptist church designers have provided these nifty racks.  You can simply slip your shoes off, and hang them from these racks.  Just hook them heels into the holes, and they’re handy to slip back on when it’s time to leave after services.  This way, the ladies don’t have to grovel around on the floor looking for ‘em under the pews!”  I returned to my hymnal, as she literally gaped at the fixture with an expression of sheer amazement.

 

There are many things that I could say about the Former Missus Hardpan, especially at this time of my life.  But one thing that nobody could ever say about her is that she was stupid.  She may have been uninformed, perhaps, but definitely not stupid.

 

I do not know when realization hit.  I do not know how realization hit.  But it did.  And when it did, she did.  And everybody within a three-pew radius looked up at my yelp of pain when her bony little fist nailed my right bicep.  Hard.

 

At least she let me alone after that; fortunately, the wedding ceremony and reception were pretty up-beat, and for once there was no “carry-over” punishment for me.  Yippee!

 

   

  image.png.b9e3a8e2291811199a3e252671011eee.png

 

 

 

 

 

Edited by Hardpan Curmudgeon SASS #8967
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I was married to a Catholic lady (my 1st wife). I remember the first time I went to church with her. I had been to Baptist, Methodist, and Christian churches while I was growing up and the experience was quite different. I went there for a lot of years. 

 

I have not found wife #2 yet, as I am currently looking, but I have not found the right lady.

I am thinking Cowboy Church on Sunday before the shooting starts on the 2nd day of the matches we will be attending.

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Hardpan,

you described the Baptist church perfect.

I am Southern Baptist and your very description fit my church exactly.   

Born and bread S.Baptist here in E.Tennessee.     

 

Good story.   Thanks.

 

..........Widder

 

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5 hours ago, Hardpan Curmudgeon SASS #8967 said:

Baptists

 

I was raised Baptist.  In Texas, no less, where Baptists reign.  Sunday school, Sunday service, Vacation Bible School, Royal Ambassadors, countless potluck dinners, no dancing, no alcohol (but I did wonder about all that interest the men would find in ol’ so-and-so’s pickup truck parked behind the barn) – yup, all that.  A good, clean, wholesome upbringing.

 

Sunday services were wonderful.  We all dressed nicely in our “Sunday-Goin’-To-Meetin’” duds.  Sermons were captivating.  Singing… when it was time for hymns, some the choir would sing and for some of them the entire congregation would raise our voices in wonderful chorus.  When we sang, we put our hearts into it.

 

And then there was Communion.  I always thought this was a bit mysterious, but enjoyable.  Unlike my Catholic friends (whom I had accompanied to their services a few times), we did not line up and get handed a cracker.  Rather, we would sit and wait patiently and respectfully in our seats, as trays of little wafers (Saltines?) were passed down, followed by trays holding little “shot glass” wine cups.

 

During the Communion ceremony, on cue from the pastor, we’d all munch our crackers and drink our “wine.”  Welch’s grape juice.

 

When done, we would place our empty cups into the little wooden communion cup holders conveniently built into the back of the pew in front.  Well thought out!

 

Okay.  Jump ahead to about 1987.  With the whims of fate, I found myself married to a Catholic girl. 

 

One day she announced that two of her friends were going to get “re-married” for their twentieth wedding anniversary, and we were invited to the ceremony.  Oh good!  I always enjoy a good wedding – ‘specially the reception!  And she tells me, they’re Baptists.  Cool!

 

So on the given day and time, we reported to their church.  Actually a bit early; much better than being late.

 

And then the day got weird – it seems the now-former-Missus-Hardpan had never been to a Baptist church.  When we walked in, she looked about with some bewilderment.

 

“Where’s the Holy Water?”  she asked.

 

“Why… we Baptists don’t do that Holy Water thing,” I advised her.

 

Continuing her confused lookabout, she asked “Well… where are the confessionals?”

 

“We don’t need ‘em.  We are allowed to talk to God directly – and if we mess up, we can ask for forgiveness without a mediator.”

 

She seemed surprised, then followed me into the sanctuary, where we found ourselves a pew.  A very nice, very comfortable pew… a thickly padded and upholstered pew, as it was.  Much different from the hard oaken seats in her church.

 

I plucked a hymnal from the rack on the back of the pew in front of us, and began leafing through it, enjoying finding some of my old favorites, as she gazed about, visually exploring the strange setting.

 

“So where’s the baptismal font?” she suddenly asked.

 

“Oh, we don’t do it that way here,” I explained.  “See that curtain up there?  Behind it is like a giant aquarium.  When baptizing time comes, the pastor takes the candidate in there for a full immersion.  We're dunkers, not sprinklers.”

 

“Really??” she asked with astonishment.

 

After a bit, she asked “Where’s the altar??”  Obviously, she was used to seeing an ornate station with statuary and such.

 

“Nope.  We don’t do that either.”

 

A few minutes later:  “Who’s that guy up there wearing a suit?”

 

“That’s undoubtedly the Pastor.”

 

“What??  Where’re his robes and stole and such??”

 

Again… nope.  Our guy doesn’t need that.

 

Then, looking down, “Wait!  There’s no kneeler!”

 

“Nope. We don’t kneel.  We might stand for some prayers and songs, but nix on the kneeling.  We can kneel at home, but don’t have to here.”

 

“Um… no statues or paintings or stained glass windows of saints?”

 

“Nooooo.  But ya might see St Nick at the Christmas potluck!”

 

And so it went.  On and on; I was starting to get a little annoyed.  Maybe even a little more than a little.

 

Just as I was really getting in to “How Great Thou Art” in my hymnal, singing robustly in my head, she discovered the wooden communion cup holders on the back of the pew in front of us.

 

“What on Earth are THOSE?” she demanded, pointing to the li’l holders.

 

Okay.

 

That does it.

 

I turned to her and, after taking a deep breath, asked “So, have you noticed any sort of a different theme between our churches?”

 

“Whaddaya mean?”

 

“Okay.  Have you noticed that the pews are more comfortable than those at Saint Basil’s?”

 

“Why, yes!  They are MUCH more more comfortable!  I’m actually impressed!”

 

“Well, there’s a reason for that.”

 

“Oh?  Really?  Uh… like what?”

 

“Well!” I continued. “When Church is in service, we Baptists like to be able to focus on the pastor, and give him our undivided attention without any distraction from being uncomfortable.”

 

Her eyebrows ratcheted upward a notch at this hitherto unknown nugget of knowledge.

 

“Okay,” she asked, “so what about those things?” pointing again at the “holey” wooden fixture.

 

“Okay.  So, look around.  Do you see how everyone is dressed?”

 

“Well, yes!  Everyone is dressed very nicely.  After all, we ARE here for a wedding.” She said with decisiveness. 

 

“Okay.  Well, here’s the thing.  You see… this is how we Baptists dress for services EVERY Sunday,” I told her.

 

Wide-eyed, she blurted “What!  Really?  EVERY Sunday?”

 

“Of course!  Haven’t you heard the phrase ‘Sunday-Goin’-To-Meetin’ duds?’” I asked.  Then I continued, “THAT is what the phrase refers to.  Unlike YOUR church, we dress respectfully.” 

 

She pondered for a moment, undoubtedly thinking of her church’s congregation, where on any Sunday you’d see plenty of people dressed in shorts, T-shirts, sandals and flip-flops.

 

 I suspect that by now she might be approaching comparative religion overload. 

 

Finally, her mind seemed to complete its circuit, and she pointed again to the communion cup holders.

 

“So what’s all this have to do with THAT thing?” she demanded.

 

“Okay,” I said with a sigh.

 

“What are you wearing on your feet?”

 

“Why, heels, of course!” with a quick, involuntary glance at her feet.

 

“And the other women here?”

 

She covertly glanced about, and noted that most of the other ladies were similarly shod.

 

“But what about THOSE?” tapping the holder.

 

“Okay.  Dear, we’ve established that the Baptist Church has the parishioner’s comfort in mind, as they want no distraction from DIS-comfort.  Right?”

 

She nodded her comprehension.

 

“So. Would you say that your heels are particularly comfortable?”

 

She admitted that they were not.

 

“Well, with that in mind, the thoughtful Baptist church designers have provided these nifty racks.  You can simply slip your shoes off, and hang them from these racks.  Just slip the heels into the holes, and they’re handy to slip back on when it’s time to leave after services.  This way, the ladies don’t have to grovel around on the floor looking for ‘em under the pews!”  I returned to my hymnal, as she literally gaped at the fixture with an expression of sheer amazement.

 

There are many things that I could say about the Former Missus Hardpan, especially at this time of my life.  But one thing that nobody could ever say about her is that she was stupid.  She may have been uninformed, perhaps, but definitely not stupid.

 

I do not know when realization hit.  I do not know how realization hit.  But it did.  And when it did, she did.  And everybody within a three-pew radius looked up at my yelp of pain when her bony little fist nailed my right bicep.  Hard.

 

At least she let me alone after that; fortunately, the wedding ceremony and reception were pretty up-beat, and for once there was no “carry-over” punishment for me.  Yippee!

 

   

  image.png.b9e3a8e2291811199a3e252671011eee.png

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Sir,

 You appear to  be something of an evil man .......... no wonder I like you so much ....   ;)

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Thank you for gently pointing out that Baptists seem to focus on the here and now, and what others may think of them, than Catholics (and Orthodox) do.

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55 minutes ago, Wallaby Jack, SASS #44062 said:

And then there was Communion.  I always thought this was a bit mysterious, but enjoyable.  Unlike my Catholic friends (whom I had accompanied to their services a few times), we did not line up and get handed a cracker.  Rather, we would sit and wait patiently and respectfully in our seats, as trays of little wafers (Saltines?) were passed down, followed by trays holding little “shot glass” wine cups

It's not a cracker it's a thin wafer and for years you weren't allowed to chew it you let melt in your mouth. Now I guess you can chew it but It's not a cracker.

I saw how the communion wafers were made at a convent called The Sister's of Poor Clare. It was a large belt like machine with wafer material about 3' x6' and as it went through the feed it was stamped and made about 100 hosts or more. The nuns then stood at the end of the belt and checked for cracked ones. When that process was done they were packaged up and sent to the parishes where they were opened and blessed by the priests.

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Hardpan,

You just brought back precious memories of my childhood.  Also,  made me remember one of the funniest times in church.  An elderly gentleman, who was by now almost deaf, was at one time the song leader.  "Eston" was asked to get up and lead the congregation in a song.  As most portly gentlemen do, upon rising from the front row pew, he tried to adjust his pants.  What he didn't realize, is that instead of pulling on his trousers, he grabbed the waist-band of his boxers, and stood for four verses, facing the congregation with his colorful shorts pulled up to mid-chest.   The song was great, but hard to sing with everyone trying to suppress the giggles.......

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Funny, I was raised reformed Baptist and am now a member of a non-denominational church that follows reformed Baptist doctrine.  My wife is also a recovering Catholic.  I don't have a funny story like you do, but I personally believe in the doctrine of "sola scriptura" -- by scripture alone.  In other words, the bible is divinely inspired, perfect, and complete, and none of our beliefs or traditions come from any other source.  The Catholic church violates scripture at every turn, and has created beliefs and traditions from two other sources:  man-made, and the Roman pagan religion that was the official religion of the Roman empire before the emperor Constantine converted to Christianity.  The robes, hats, etc. of the priests, for example, come from the pagan tradition.  The idea of "saints," or humans that achieve a level of creation higher than an average human by performing miracles, etc., also comes from the pagan tradition.  It is not found anywhere in the bible.  Relics and holy water are man-made ideas. 

 

I could go on and on for hours, but at the very heart of the issue is the matter of salvation:   The idea of mortal and venial sins is counterbiblical and leads people to believing they are saved when they may or may not be.  This leads to the second major departure from the Catholic church:  The bible teaches (remember sola scriptura?) that salvation is "by faith alone, through Christ alone," and is not tied to one's "works," or good deeds, "so than no one could boast."  Works are the evidence that salvation has occurred (vis a vis a heart change), but they do not save a person.  To claim it does means Christ's death on the cross and resurrection were not good enough. 

 

The Catholic church, contrary to scripture, believes Christ's death and resurrection are only part of the equation, and must be supplemented by good works, and good works can be countered by mortal and venial sins.  So Catholics are in a constant state of trying to earn their way into heaven, but the bible teaches that without God, the BEST works we can muster are "as filthy rags."  Simply put, no one is ever "good enough" to earn their way into heaven.  It is impossible.  God forgives sin and allows some to be saved (and thus, into heaven upon their death), DESPITE themselves BECAUSE of Christ's death on the cross and resurrection having paid the price on their behalf.    

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1 hour ago, Cyrus Cassidy #45437 said:

So Catholics are in a constant state of trying to earn their way into heaven,

I went to 12 years of Catholic school, not once was I told I had to "earn" my way into Heaven. Heaven , I was told, was gained thru the grace of God, sins removed us from the grace of God and could keep us out of Heaven.

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3 minutes ago, Crooked River Pete, SASS 43485 said:

I went to 12 years of Catholic school, not once was I told I had to "earn" my way into Heaven. Heaven , I was told, was gained thru the grace of God, sins removed us from the grace of God and could keep us out of Heaven.

 

Then explain mortal and venial sins...

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9 minutes ago, Crooked River Pete, SASS 43485 said:

Mortal sins just remove you farther from the grace of God.

Venial sins remove you farther from the grace of God.  Mortal sins mean you automatically go to hell if you die with them unforgiven.  But scripture says if your sins are forgiven, they are all forgiven, past, present, and future.  

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Boy, I'm glad to be Buddhist.

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Posted (edited)

Hardpan, I enjoyed your story very much. But, and there is always that ugly but, you were denied the 

pleasure of going to a Catholic school, and receiving your basic education from a Catholic Nun. 

 

They came in different  packages. Sister Mary Techla was as strict as they came.  Sister Mary Edna was a gentle soul, Sister Mary Luewelyn was no nonsense but  kind, Sister Claudia was the boss, and she could hit a baseball better than any student on the field.. 

 

Packaged up, they gave this lad a lot of fond memories. I have forgotten the TERROR of having "forgotten" my friday's assignment for Monday. 

Edited by Badger Mountain Charlie SASS #43172
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St. Peter talks of past sins being forgiven.  Christ tells people "Go and sin no more."

I don't find anything that says  "Don't worry,  sin all you want,  it doesn't matter. "

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2 minutes ago, Abilene Slim SASS 81783 said:

Hmmm, this thread contains matches, gasoline and gun powder in close proximity. What could go wrong? :rolleyes:

 

As long as no booze is involved  .....:D

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Raised Catholic and attended catholic schools till they asked me not to return to a catholic high school. Went to public high school.

I married a Baptist

End of story

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I was raised in the Baptist Church....I go to the Cowboy Church now...but...

 

The story went around as to why the Baptists do not believe in drinking alcoholic beverages, or fooling around on your spouse.. 

The answer was...it might lead to dancing!!!  

 

W.K.

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Also....from one of my Catholic friends:

What is the difference between a Catholic Nun teacher, in a Catholic school, and an Islamic terrorist???

 

Answer: you can reason with a terrorist.

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Interesting that a grown woman had never before been to a Protestant service, not even a wedding or funeral. I don't think I've ever encountered that. That's truly amazing in itself. Makes for an interesting tale, though.

 

I was raised a Presbyterian, with services very much like that described, including communion, but without the prohibitions on alcohol and such. Though real wine was not used in communion, and wedding receptions held in church could not serve alcohol, this was a remnant of prohibitionist days, and there was no expectation that members would not drink. Therefore there was no 'sneaky' drinking (which still seems strange to me).

 

I first went to Catholic services with my (future) wife in high school in the mid-'60s. Then, the churches were full. Men and women were very well dressed, just as they were in any Protestant church. All women wore head coverings. I was powerfully struck by the beauty and dignity of the Latin Mass . (Vatican II was new and the vernacular mass had not yet reached the churches.)

 

We were married in the Catholic church, and while I never even considered becoming Catholic, I respect the Catholic church, and find anti-Catholic statements, particularly in a forum not dedicated to religion, to be ridiculous.

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5 minutes ago, Red Gauntlet , SASS 60619 said:

Interesting that a grown woman had never before been to a Protestant service, not even a wedding or funeral. I don't think I've ever encountered that. That's truly amazing in itself. Makes for an interesting tale, though.

 

I was raised a Presbyterian, with services very much like that described, including communion, but without the prohibitions on alcohol and such. Though real wine was not used in communion, and wedding receptions held in church could not serve alcohol, this was a remnant of prohibitionist days, and there was no expectation that members would not drink. Therefore there was no 'sneaky' drinking (which still seems strange to me).

 

I first went to Catholic services with my (future) wife in high school in the mid-'60s. Then, the churches were full. Men and women were very well dressed, just as they were in any Protestant church. All women wore head coverings. I was powerfully struck by the beauty and dignity of the Latin Mass . (Vatican II was new and the vernacular mass had not yet reached the churches.)

 

We were married in the Catholic church, and while I never even considered becoming Catholic, I respect the Catholic church, and find anti-Catholic statements, particularly in a forum not dedicated to religion, to be ridiculous.

 

Red, my story - which did happen - was presented in a humorous light.  There was no intent to cast aspersions on any religion; if I did, it was not intentional.  If you found it offensive, you have my apologies.  -_-

 

 

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Hardpan, first, I'm not offended. And your story is amusing in fact and that's the spirit I took it in.

 

Subsequent comments by some about Catholicism I think are rather preposterous. They don't offend me, because almost nothing offends me, and besides, I'm not Catholic. But they do mildly irritate me!^_^

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2 hours ago, Subdeacon Joe said:

St. Peter talks of past sins being forgiven.  Christ tells people "Go and sin no more."

I don't find anything that says  "Don't worry,  sin all you want,  it doesn't matter. "

 

Read Romans 6.  It literally says you cannot continue sinning despite being forgiven.

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7 minutes ago, Abilene Slim SASS 81783 said:

Aannd we're off...

 

I'm gonna go have a sacramental beverage.  Bye bye!

 

Make it Welch's~!!   ^_^

 

    5fc62584-a022-4874-ae32-5224df519ad9_1.b1b0446a91789b7c40080454c84e7530.jpeg?odnWidth=undefined&odnHeight=undefined&odnBg=ffffff

 

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20 minutes ago, Abilene Slim SASS 81783 said:

Aannd we're off...

 

I'm gonna go have a sacramental beverage.  Bye bye!

 

Mavrodaphne?

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Posted (edited)
4 hours ago, Hardpan Curmudgeon SASS #8967 said:

 

Red, my story - which did happen - was presented in a humorous light.  There was no intent to cast aspersions on any religion; if I did, it was not intentional.  If you found it offensive, you have my apologies.  -_-

 

 

That is a funny story Hardpan.  I've got a few I could also tell.  I have been a Baptist all my life and am today because I agree mostly with Baptist doctrinal teachings.  I also believe that Christians come from many different denominations and that we believers in Christ all make up Christ's Church.  Paul wrote to Timothy a verse that I hold near to my heart.

 

2 Timothy 1:12b (KJV)

...for I know whom I have believed, and am persuaded that he is able to keep that which I have committed unto him against that day.

 

What we Christians believe makes us of different denominations.  In Whom we Christians believe makes us all brothers and sisters in Christ.

 

P.S.

I also believe that SASS should approve a Baptist Category!!!!;):P^_^  By golly!!

 

 

 

.

 

Edited by Birdgun Quail, SASS #63663
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I was raised Lutheran, don't get me started. Dated a Baptist in college.  Thought she was the one.  WRONG!  Been in Presbyterian services, Episcopalian, non-denominational.  I've tried to keep an open mind and learn the nuances from each.  Try to keep an open mind.  I'm a Christian first.  The rest is academic. to me.  Married a Catholic and there are a lot of differences in this group as well.  One the surface they don't bicker but after you get through the smoke and mirrors, they water each others boots as well.

 

I have learned there are three immutable laws of religion.

1.  Jews do not recognize Jesus as their savior.

2.  Protestants do not recognize the Pope as the leader of the Christian church.

3. Baptists do not recognize each other in a liquor store.

 

Hardpan, you crack me up.

 

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A Baptist boy and a Catholic boy were best friends, and they decided they would go to each other's church, to see how they differ.

They went to the Catholic Church first.  The Baptist boy asked all kinds of questions.

Next week they went to the Baptist Church. The Catholic boy asked all kinds of questions.

Then the preacher walked up to the podium, and carefully removed his wristwatch, and positioned it carefully on top of the podium, so he could clearly see it.

The Catholic boy asked, "what does that mean?"

The Baptist boy said: "not a da*** thing!"

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Posted (edited)

A joke.

 

A BAPTIST DOG?

A young Baptist preacher and his wife decided to get a new dog. Ever mindful of the high standards of the congregation, they knew the dog must have at least some Baptist characteristics. They visited kennel after kennel and explained their needs. Finally, they found a kennel whose owner assured them he had just the dog they wanted. The owner brought the dog named “Abraham” to meet the pastor and his wife.

"Abraham!  Fetch the Bible." he commanded. Abraham bounded to the bookshelf, scrutinized the books, located the Bible, and brought it to the owner.

"Abraham!  Find Psalm 23," he commanded. Abraham dropped the Bible to the floor, and showing marvelous dexterity with his paws, leafed through the Bible finding the correct passage and pointed to it with his paw. The pastor and his wife were very impressed and purchased the dog.

That evening, the pastor called each of the deacons to come to his home and see his new dog. After all the deacons arrived, the pastor and his wife began to show off the dog, having him locate several Bible verses.

The deacons were very impressed. The oldest deacon asked, "Pastor, can Abraham do regular dog tricks, too?"

"I haven
't tried yet," the pastor replied.

The pastor stood up, pointed his finger at the dog and commanded, "Abraham! HEEL!" Abraham immediately jumped up on a chair, placed one paw on the pastor
's forehead and began to howl. The pastor's wife in shock screamed, "Good Lord! That dog’s Pentecostal!"

 

 

:o

 

 

Edited by Birdgun Quail, SASS #63663
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Posted (edited)

True story.  Another church bulletin blooper.

 

One Sunday, I was passing out the church bulletins as the folks entered the sanctuary.  I began hearing giggles and chuckles coming from the people in pews.

Then I read at the bottom of the bulletin, "Trinity Baptist welcomes our visitors who have come to worship us."

 

:unsure: Oops.  Only one little word was left out.  Chuckling myself, I showed the blooper to the pastor.  The pastor was not amused.

 

 

:rolleyes:

Edited by Birdgun Quail, SASS #63663
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