No matter how old I get, or how many church services I attend, there is one song that always makes me think of Sunday mornings in the pews of Bush Memorial Baptist Church: the doxology.
Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow;
Praise Him, all creatures here below;
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
The doxology is one of the standard hymns at All Saints Episcopal Church, where Alex and I attended Easter service this morning. At All Saints, we sing the same words to a different tune so it can be difficult to suppress the one from my youth, which plays in my mind as clearly the live church organ.
When the first note of the doxology plays, I envision my regular spot at Bush: second seat from the middle aisle, second row, on the preacher’s right-hand side. I remember wearing the bright ties that Mom picked out for me, the ugly glasses I picked out for myself and the large Bible with the teal green leather cover that I carried to church three times each week.
My faith has changed as much since those days in Troy, Alabama, as my fashion choices. I think both fit me better. But I remain thankful every day for my foundation and upbringing with a spiritual family that cared so much about me and the community in which we lived.
The doxology I sing today may have a different tune but the words remain the same.