You Know What I Just Can't Get Outta My Head Today?
Low in the grave he lay, Jesus my savior
waiting the coming day, Jesus my lord
Up from the grave he arose [he arose]
With a mighty triumph o'er his foes [he arose]
He arose a victor from the dark domain and he lives
forever with his saints to reign
HE AROSE! HE AROSE!
HALLELEUJA CHRIST AROSE!
I was a conflicted child when it came to religion, but that's not really a story because religion is pretty confusing to most children. Come to think of it, most adults in my sphere are still pretty stymied by the whole idea. We're all on the same page when it comes to Easter candy, though. It's good. We like it. People who deny their children candy, at Easter, need to lighten up, unless they have a doctor's excuse or their kids are just too young to get it. That's a good time. You can buy the kids candy and just let them look at it and exclaim over the color and texture and then eat it yourself.
Anyway, back to UP FROM THE GRAVE HE AROSE! and my early exposure to religion.
When in England, I usually attended The Cathedral Church of St. Mary, St. Peter and St. Cedd (Chelmsford)... most definitely an Anglican Church. (In case you're curious about St. Cedd, well...In 653AD St Cedd landed at Bradwell-on-Sea to bring Christianity to the East Saxons. He built his church at Bradwell and it is still there to this day and well worth a visit.) But my church of choice in the UK (due to the cute boys and the youth club) was St. Mary's in Great Baddow. Oh how I loved St. Mary's. It was on Beehive Lane. How could anyone NOT love a church on Beehive Lane?
Unfortunately, I have no memory of the music from these ancient churches. Oh no. You see the music I remember and that is stuck in a forever rewind in my brain is from a SOUTHERN BAPTIST Church in the suburbs of Washington, DC. Yep, a red brick, suburban church, complete with a dunk-tank behind the alter. Montgomery Hills Baptist Church (and it has no website so I can't link it) straddled Georgia Avenue and Forest Glen Road and while my parents weren't big church goers, our kitty-corner neighbors, the Rowes, went...religiously. And they were happy to take me. So every Sunday I'd pile into their Nash Rambler and off we'd go. It was a short ride and that was a good thing since I'd be lumped in the back with their daughter Jere (think Jerry), grandmother Sibyl and great-grandmother Mama Hessie. Seated up front were Gordon and Marylou...
both puffing furiously on their unfiltered Lucky Strikes.
We'd all spill out of the car in the church parking lot, encircled by a cloud of gently wisping smoke, me slightly green with nausea and taking deep lungfuls of the fully leaded, next-to-the Beltway air. Marylou and Gordon would be sucking deeply on their smokes, looking for all the world like they were drawing down some seasoned Acapulco Gold, bibles clutched firmly in the free hand.
So on the one side of the Atlantic I'd have the Baptist Church; Coke machine, Sunday School and smoking only allowed in the basement. Heavy religious stuff, including baptisms, upstairs. In England, the Anglican Church and the cute boys. I adjusted to each, as kids do.
Every year I would flip between countries and churches and it is therefore no wonder to me, whatsoever, that I almost speak in tongues. My accent has been described by some as mid-Atlantic. One minute I sound English, the next American. Don't ask me why, but it's always been like that. I often catch people looking at me strangely and I understand their confusion. One minute I say cahn't and the next can't. I want to tell them. I swear I'm not a phony. I have spoken like this since I was small. It's me. It's weird. It's whacky to you, I'm sure, but you'll get used to it. Then I start singing UP FROM THE GRAVE HE AROSE!
I have more to say, but I cahn't get the UP FROM THE GRAVE HE AROSE! song outta my head.
So, have a good weekend, friends. Eat well and have fun.
Unfortunately, I have no memory of the music from these ancient churches. Oh no. You see the music I remember and that is stuck in a forever rewind in my brain is from a SOUTHERN BAPTIST Church in the suburbs of Washington, DC. Yep, a red brick, suburban church, complete with a dunk-tank behind the alter. Montgomery Hills Baptist Church (and it has no website so I can't link it) straddled Georgia Avenue and Forest Glen Road and while my parents weren't big church goers, our kitty-corner neighbors, the Rowes, went...religiously. And they were happy to take me. So every Sunday I'd pile into their Nash Rambler and off we'd go. It was a short ride and that was a good thing since I'd be lumped in the back with their daughter Jere (think Jerry), grandmother Sibyl and great-grandmother Mama Hessie. Seated up front were Gordon and Marylou...
both puffing furiously on their unfiltered Lucky Strikes.
We'd all spill out of the car in the church parking lot, encircled by a cloud of gently wisping smoke, me slightly green with nausea and taking deep lungfuls of the fully leaded, next-to-the Beltway air. Marylou and Gordon would be sucking deeply on their smokes, looking for all the world like they were drawing down some seasoned Acapulco Gold, bibles clutched firmly in the free hand.
So on the one side of the Atlantic I'd have the Baptist Church; Coke machine, Sunday School and smoking only allowed in the basement. Heavy religious stuff, including baptisms, upstairs. In England, the Anglican Church and the cute boys. I adjusted to each, as kids do.
Every year I would flip between countries and churches and it is therefore no wonder to me, whatsoever, that I almost speak in tongues. My accent has been described by some as mid-Atlantic. One minute I sound English, the next American. Don't ask me why, but it's always been like that. I often catch people looking at me strangely and I understand their confusion. One minute I say cahn't and the next can't. I want to tell them. I swear I'm not a phony. I have spoken like this since I was small. It's me. It's weird. It's whacky to you, I'm sure, but you'll get used to it. Then I start singing UP FROM THE GRAVE HE AROSE!
I have more to say, but I cahn't get the UP FROM THE GRAVE HE AROSE! song outta my head.
So, have a good weekend, friends. Eat well and have fun.
posted by Lin @ 4:53 PM
3 Comments:
Oh, ok, I'm covered in the not-giving-kids Easter candy department. My kids are too young to get it.
I wanted to raise my kids and let them choose their own religion but recently I read that kids raised that way are usually groundless spiritually. So I'm not sure.
I think Beehive Lane is a great address. It sounds like a Beatles song.
Ha! "...buy the kids candy and just let them look at it and exclaim over the color and texture and then eat it yourself."
Have you been peeking in my window?
That happens to me all the time, a tune gets stuck in my head on REPEAT. "Check On It" by Beyonce is kinda like that, very catchy.
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