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About that Prayer-Meeting Thing
An Ulster Scot may come to disbelieve in God, but not to wear his week-day clothes on the Sabbath.
-C. S. Lewis, Surprised by Joy
A body styling its collective self as the Freedom from Religion Foundation recently sent a hissy-fit letter to Newton County, Texas Sheriff Billy Rowles because of his eloquent use of a local metaphor. The words that the foundation found “alarming” were “prayer meeting” (cf. Beaumont Enterprise, KJAS Radio, and The Jasper Newsboy).
Eeeek.
So there we are for the next horror movie: a monster crashes through the woods devouring teenagers and bellowing “prayer meeting!”
A well-brought-up monster would not bellow with its mouth full, of course.
I think “prayer meeting” is one of Grendl’s Dane-ripping cries in Beowulf.
In local usage “prayer meeting” can mean:
1. Denotatively, an occasion on which people with a shared belief system gather informally over coffee or a nice glass of iced tea to discuss theological topics with reference to scripture and ecclesiastical authority, and to pray with and for each other.
2. Figuratively, an occasion when an authority figure sternly reminds someone of his (the pronoun is gender-neutral) responsibilities under the mutual obligations of civilized people.
Similarly, “a come-to-Jesus moment” can refer to a conversion experience, a sudden awareness of a bit of knowledge, or #2 as above.
These colorful and effective expressions are used and understood even by people belonging to other religious traditions or to no religion at all.
Well-read men and women of all cultures understand the concept of colloquialisms, even in Wisconsin where the Freedom from Religion Foundation is, well, foundated.
If one were to visit Israel he would no doubt find there lapsed Jews who still allude to Moses and the Prophets in conversation.
In India, the same for Hindus.
In East Texas the long-dominant Reformation tradition, waning but still significant, presents our common discourse with delightful usages which are celebrated by all.
C. S. Lewis, in his autobiography Surprised by Joy, remembers with great love and respect his old tutor, Mr. Kirk, a lapsed Presbyterian who, despite his professed atheism, put on his best suit to work in his yard on Sundays. Happily for Mr. Kirk, there was no Freedom from Religion Foundation to suffer the Aunt Pitty-Pat vapors about the association between divine services and one’s Sunday-go-to-meetin’ clothes.
I do not know what religion Sheriff Rowles professes (I’m reasonably sure he doesn’t worship trees, but I could be wrong). As St. Thomas More said, I have no window with which to look into another man’s soul. Furthermore, it is not my business, nor is it the business of the Freedom from Rational Thought Foundation. A civilized person’s only concern is that the sheriff is an honorable man.
And beyond all that, the Freedom from Growing Up Foundation is obviously ignorant (and I mean that in the worst possible use of the word) of Mr. Rowles’ service to this nation in Viet-Nam and to civilization in terrible times here twenty years ago.
The Miz Grundies of the Freedom from Religion Foundation appear to be much like Eustace Clarence Scrub in Lewis’ Voyage of the Dawn Treader, obsessed with their sour, parochial (so to speak) self-obsessions and perpetually hurt feelings, and ignoring the joyful sharing of cultures.
They are free to wallow in their fear; the rest of us are free to celebrate life.
-30-
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