Victory Church for everyone
I don’t usually go to church. If I’m on holiday or in a strange town I may well take a quick trip round the local church, cathedral, priory or minster just to look at the architecture.
It was a Sunday. I had taken a different route to my class because a large gang of what looked like ne’er do wells were hanging around a street corner which I had to pass. I wasn’t in the mood for confrontation so I decided to circumnavigate. The route I chose was no longer than my usual one, it just seems less direct, and in the morning I’m usually on autopilot.
Advancing down my alternative route I could hear music. Not the usual guitar and off beat drumming I usually hear when I pass the rehearsal studio, well garage, but something a bit more refined.
As I approached a building that was painted bright yellow I could see people entering. Above the door the sign proudly proclaimed that it was the ‘Victory Church for everyone’. Everyone? Well, I’m someone and I’m a bit early and have time to kill, so shall I?
I decided to put my head round the door. Mainly because I was curious. A church, well the building is usually defined by its architecture, vaulted ceilings, stained glass and carefully worked stone. This place was an industrial unit.
Industrial strength Christianity for those that are really in need.
As I looked across the room I could clearly see that I was underdressed. Not that I was totally scruffy, but on Sunday morning I do my best not to make an effort. I could see people looking at me. Their eyes indicating that I wasn’t welcome. A sinner in their warehouse of God. That’s rich I thought. A church for everyone, except me. I retraced my steps, left the building and carried on my way. To be honest it didn’t bother me. I don’t believe in their imaginary friend. I have my own who are much more fun. They like fire. Or perhaps they are actually real?
The ne’er do wells were probably harmless. Kids hanging out because they have nowhere to go on a Sunday morning, or maybe a bunch on nuns on a day trip around Sheffield. I didn’t get close enough to ID them. I just made an assumption.
So next week if they are there I will walk past them. What’s the worst that can happen? A beating, a preaching, or they may just want to make me a nice cup of tea. Whatever happens they will probably be more friendly than the congregation of that church.
It was a Sunday. I had taken a different route to my class because a large gang of what looked like ne’er do wells were hanging around a street corner which I had to pass. I wasn’t in the mood for confrontation so I decided to circumnavigate. The route I chose was no longer than my usual one, it just seems less direct, and in the morning I’m usually on autopilot.
Advancing down my alternative route I could hear music. Not the usual guitar and off beat drumming I usually hear when I pass the rehearsal studio, well garage, but something a bit more refined.
As I approached a building that was painted bright yellow I could see people entering. Above the door the sign proudly proclaimed that it was the ‘Victory Church for everyone’. Everyone? Well, I’m someone and I’m a bit early and have time to kill, so shall I?
I decided to put my head round the door. Mainly because I was curious. A church, well the building is usually defined by its architecture, vaulted ceilings, stained glass and carefully worked stone. This place was an industrial unit.
Industrial strength Christianity for those that are really in need.
As I looked across the room I could clearly see that I was underdressed. Not that I was totally scruffy, but on Sunday morning I do my best not to make an effort. I could see people looking at me. Their eyes indicating that I wasn’t welcome. A sinner in their warehouse of God. That’s rich I thought. A church for everyone, except me. I retraced my steps, left the building and carried on my way. To be honest it didn’t bother me. I don’t believe in their imaginary friend. I have my own who are much more fun. They like fire. Or perhaps they are actually real?
The ne’er do wells were probably harmless. Kids hanging out because they have nowhere to go on a Sunday morning, or maybe a bunch on nuns on a day trip around Sheffield. I didn’t get close enough to ID them. I just made an assumption.
So next week if they are there I will walk past them. What’s the worst that can happen? A beating, a preaching, or they may just want to make me a nice cup of tea. Whatever happens they will probably be more friendly than the congregation of that church.
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