9-7-20<\/p>\n
I have told this story before. On this Labor Day weekend, I remember a simple BBQ, but one of the most profound days of my life. A holiday far away from my home\u2026 but very close to my heart. It happened on a Summer holiday more than 20 years ago.<\/p>\n
Is this an America that is disappearing?<\/p>\n
I was working on a book back then, a three-part biography of rock \u2018n\u2019 roll pioneer Jerry Lee Lewis; evangelist Jimmy Swaggart; and country-music superstar Mickey Gilley, all first cousins to each other. My good friend Maury Forman offered me his unused condo in Montgomery, Texas to get away for a bit of a personal research and writing. Since Lewis lived in Mississippi, Swaggart in Louisiana, and Gilley in nearby Pasadena Texas, it made geographical sense.<\/p>\n
Once settled, I took out the Yellow Pages (remember them?) to chart the location of nearby Assembly of God churches, intent on visiting as many as I could through the summer. East Texas was in every way new to me, and I wanted to experience everything I could.<\/p>\n
Well, the first one I visited was in Cut and Shoot, Texas. That\u2019s a town\u2019s name; you can look it up. A small, white frame AG church was my first stop that summer\u2026 and I never visited another. For one thing \u2013 coincidence? \u2013 I learned that a member of the tiny congregation was the widow of a man who had pastored the AG church in Ferriday, Louisiana, the small town four hours away<\/em> where, and when, those three cousins grew up in its pews. She knew them all, and their families, and had great stories. Beyond that, the pastor of the church in Cut and Shoot, Charles Wigley, had gone to Bible College with Jerry Lee Lewis and played in a band with him, until Jerry Lee got kicked out. Some more great stories.<\/p>\n But there was more than that kept me there for that summer. In that white-frame church and that tiny congregation, it was, um, obvious in three minutes that I was not from East Texas. I was born in New York City. Yet I was treated like family as if the folks had known me three decades. A fellow named Dave Gilbert asked me if I\u2019d like to go to his farm for a barbecue where a bunch of people were just going to get together and \u201cdo some visitin\u2019.\u201d<\/p>\n I bought the biggest watermelon I could find as my contribution to the pot-luck. Well, there were dozens and dozens of folks. I couldn\u2019t tell which was family and who were friends, because everybody acted like family. When folks from East Texas ask, \u201cHow are you?\u201d they really mean it. There were several monstrous barrel BBQ smokers with chimneys, all slow-cooking beef brisket. (Every region brags about its barbecue traditions, but I\u2019ll fight anyone who doesn\u2019t admit low-heat, slow-smoked, no sauce, East-Texas BBQ the best) There was visitin,\u2019 surely; there were delicious side dishes; there was softball and volleyball and kids dirt-biking; and breaks for sweet tea and spontaneous singing of patriotic songs.<\/p>\n I sat back in a folding chair, and I thought, \u201cThis is America.\u201d<\/p>\n As the sun set, the same food came out again \u2014 smoked brisket galore; all the side dishes; and desserts of all sorts. Better than the first time. Then the Gilberts cleared their house\u2019s porch. People brought instruments out of their cars and trucks. Folks tuned their guitars; some microphones and amps were set up; chairs and blankets dotted the lawn. Dave Gilbert and his brothers, I learned, sang gospel music semi-professionally in the area. Pastor Wigley, during the summer, had opened for Gold City Quartet at a local concert, playing gospel music on the saxophone. But everyone else sang, too.<\/p>\n In some churches, in some parts of America, you are just expected to sing solo every once in a while. You\u2019re not expected to \u2013 you want to. So into the evening, as the sun went down and the moon came up over those farms and fields, everyone at that picnic sang, together or solo or in duets or quartets. Spontaneously, mostly. Far into the night, exuberantly with smiles, or heartfelt with tears, singing unto the Lord.<\/p>\n I sat back in the folding chair, and I thought, \u201cThis is Heaven.\u201d<\/p>\n I have grown sad for people who have not experienced the type of worship where singers and people who pray do so spontaneously. From the congregation. Moving to the front. Sharing their hearts. Crying tears of joy or conviction. Loving the Lord, freely. If you have not\u2026 then visit a church where this is commonplace. Even witnessing it is an uplifting balm to the soul, where there is freedom and joy in singing spontaneously.<\/p>\n I attach a video that very closely captures the music, and the feeling \u2013 the fellowship \u2013 of that evening. A wooden ranch house, a barbecue picnic just ended, a campfire, and singers spontaneously worshiping, joining in, clapping, and \u201ctaking choruses.\u201d Smiling, hugging. There were cameras at this particular get-together, but it took this city boy back to that holiday weekend, finding himself among a brand-new family, the greatest barbecue I ever tasted before or since\u2026 and the sweetest songs I know.<\/p>\n And I think to myself, nervously shedding a tear\u2026 \u201cTHIS is the America we are losing.\u201d<\/p>\n + + +<\/p>\n