Fellowship of the Saints

“We will start tonight first with Bill Smith, then Bill Jones, followed by Bill Williams,” the music director said, giving the lineup for singers at our monthly singspiration at church. “The three Bills,” she went on, lightly, “B-B-B-Bub-Bub.”

“The Three Bubbas!” I couldn’t resist interjecting from the second row amid the laughter of the congregation.

Pastor heard my remark from the platform where he sat along with three others playing guitars. “The Three Bubbas!” he exclaimed, repeating it. “I like that! Who nicknamed them that?” he asked as he looked questioningly over the crowd. Some said this one and some said that one, but I just smiled. The affable older men ate it up and were dubbed that the rest of the evening.

Many were smiling at this light-hearted meeting. Although attendance was small, it seemed almost everyone had a song, even a visitor who had come for the first time last Sunday. He was from Mississippi, here on a short-term work assignment. A songbook was pushed in front of him, and as he got up to sing, he prefaced his selection with remarks of what a kind and friendly church this was, then sang a hand-clapping rendition of “Try a Little Kindness,” from the spiraled notebook of someone’s favorites.

My favorite was when my husband sang a wonderfully anointed version of “Sweet Anointing”. At least I thought that was my favorite until a 12-year-old girl sang every verse of “Jesus Loves Me”, moving me to tears with her clear, sweet voice, not only because of the tender words, but also because it reminded me of the innocence and sweetness of my own 12-year-old granddaughter. She had asked my opinion earlier, and I thought the song was too young for her, but I was so glad she chose to sing it.

Besides singing songs, people were also invited to do readings of poems or other inspirational writings. Since I don’t like to sing in public, I read an article from one of my books, as I do from time to time. They all seemed to enjoy it, and at the fellowship meal following the service, our visitor approached me. “I didn’t know you wrote a book!” he said, “I would like to buy it for my mother.” I told him I would bring him one Wednesday night!

What a close-knit, enjoyable evening this had been. And what a blessing to know that our visitor will take the memories of our church home with him, and also that my book will carry my words back to Mississippi (or Alabama, where the visitor is from originally). As my husband is fond of saying, “God knows how to put a service together.”