As we walked in, it felt like we stepped back in
time.
The church nestled in a quiet neighborhood of
St. Louis was found by a towering steeple under a full moon. As we followed the people in, we
anticipated some delicious fish by the amount of people were crowding in the entrance
of a bowling alley door located on the side of the church building.
My husband and I felt an old school church atmosphere
walking down the hallway to the gymnasium. We were met at the door by a kind
gentleman wearing a Vietnam Veteran hat, inviting us to join his game of
chance. He handed us a small menu and pointed the way to two different food
lines. One line for takeout and other to dine in.
We looked around to see the tables were filled
with hungry people but we were destined to be there even if we got into the
wrong line.
Settling in to our spot, we were ready to polish
off our fish treat. As we looked around, we couldn’t help but notice the
history around us. The old signs of yesteryear sports’ banners hanging on the
weathered walls and the pull-out bleachers resting within the wall enclosures
held a sacred honored space.
The people were hometown friendly. I struck up a
conversation with a lady at our table about my error in choosing wrong
dine-in/take-out line selection. Gerry was a parishioner who takes prides in
her church and shared some insights of her gratitude. She introduced Sharon,
who was volunteering at the event, a former principal, who explained the story
of closing down the church school. Gerry shed some light on how Sharon affectionately
called each of her students by name. The stories were heartwarming.
Sharon brought Monica to our table. Monica
brought over some delectable gooey butter cookies she baked. She went on to
explain that she manages the bowling center next door, as well. We chatted how
the church helped each other over the years and continue its close family
fellowship today. I listened intensely,
infatuated by the camaraderie I discovered in this loving community.
Joe and I were taken back how comfortable this
down home experience was for both of us and we reminisced about our adventures
when our own young family attended church and school and the loving
relationships we created back in those days. We agreed that there must be a
deeper reason that all of this is happening. It sure felt surreal.
My husband pondered,”how none of this was
supposed to happen.” He doesn’t necessary enjoy going to fish frys and working
long hours all week, he would rather be comfortable in front of the television.
He continues, “It was comfortable, the building, the food, the people and then
strangers making you feel comfortable, doesn’t happen like that. And none of it
was supposed to happen, the whole experience, by accident.”
I asked him, “Then why did it happen?” He
replies, “Makes you think of a slight possibility of getting involved with the
church again.”
We’re going back next week.
And this all happened at Epiphany Church.
