I try to attend church as regularly as possible. Staying in a campus which is 14 km say from the town, I attend our campus service which is held in the college auditorium. Today the service was a short one, started with praise and worship songs none of which I know, followed by bible reading ,an offeratory hymn, I did not know , a sermon, prayer of intercession ,closing hymn(this I knew) ending with benediction. The whole thing happened in 35 minutes.
I was suddenly taken back to my childhood, we used to attend the English service in St.Pauls church in Vijayawada . The pastor was Rev.Muthyalu . He was the one who confirmed me. Must have been around 65 to 70 at that time. A baritone. He had a wonderful voice. His service was so structured. We used to sing beautiful hymns. Accompanied by a organ , it had to be pedalled to get sound out of it. What beautiful sound it was. The hymns were sung in such a beautiful Unhurried manner soaking all their essence. I get upset these days when I have to sing hymns to a guitar , they rush the hymn. Loses its beauty. Why the guitar has to be at such high volume I don't Understand. And then those loud clapping and action songs, what's with that? ,Sunday school is in the other room people.
Praise and worship? more like noise and mayhem.
I am not against all this but there is time and place for everything. I find these services don't give the peace that I go looking for, instead I get a headache with that loud guitar.
I wish I was back in that church with that wind organ playing and my favourite hymn ' O God our help in ages past and our hope for days to come' is sung by a hundred voices , their voices echoing against that wooden ceiling with those rafters shaped like a funny cross. Those plaques of stone adorning all the walls remembering a loved one, some as old as the First World War .
When the service was over we would walk out to the lawn and linger around a while, Our father would have met with some friends and we would see the cricket game which had started in the school ground opposite the church.
There used to be this old man who used to come to church with his grand daughter , we nicknamed him George Bush, he looked like him ,the senior bush .back then we had not even head of the junior Bush.
I later found out from my mother that we were related to Rev. Muthyalu, how exactly I don't recollect now.
Those beautiful Sunday's will never come back. Those moments of peace and quiet , wonder where they have gone?
I was suddenly taken back to my childhood, we used to attend the English service in St.Pauls church in Vijayawada . The pastor was Rev.Muthyalu . He was the one who confirmed me. Must have been around 65 to 70 at that time. A baritone. He had a wonderful voice. His service was so structured. We used to sing beautiful hymns. Accompanied by a organ , it had to be pedalled to get sound out of it. What beautiful sound it was. The hymns were sung in such a beautiful Unhurried manner soaking all their essence. I get upset these days when I have to sing hymns to a guitar , they rush the hymn. Loses its beauty. Why the guitar has to be at such high volume I don't Understand. And then those loud clapping and action songs, what's with that? ,Sunday school is in the other room people.
Praise and worship? more like noise and mayhem.
I am not against all this but there is time and place for everything. I find these services don't give the peace that I go looking for, instead I get a headache with that loud guitar.
I wish I was back in that church with that wind organ playing and my favourite hymn ' O God our help in ages past and our hope for days to come' is sung by a hundred voices , their voices echoing against that wooden ceiling with those rafters shaped like a funny cross. Those plaques of stone adorning all the walls remembering a loved one, some as old as the First World War .
When the service was over we would walk out to the lawn and linger around a while, Our father would have met with some friends and we would see the cricket game which had started in the school ground opposite the church.
There used to be this old man who used to come to church with his grand daughter , we nicknamed him George Bush, he looked like him ,the senior bush .back then we had not even head of the junior Bush.
I later found out from my mother that we were related to Rev. Muthyalu, how exactly I don't recollect now.
Those beautiful Sunday's will never come back. Those moments of peace and quiet , wonder where they have gone?
