More Church-going Stories

           Anthony and I went to church again on Sunday morning. But we didn’t go to the same church as last week. I didn’t find out till Saturday night he didn’t want to go back there, and I fumed all night. Woke up in the morning, fine with the church change. It’s no big deal. Then Anthony knocked on my door at 9 a.m. and handed me a little piece of paper with a church name and address on it: Fundamental Baptist Church. I said, “Now Anthony, I’m not going to some Holy Roller church. That’s just not my deal.” And I was thinking, how did this guy, born and bred in Brooklyn, become a Southern Baptist? He’s Italian, too!

            On Google Maps the building looked pretty small. We drove there and the edifice looked like the contractors just put in the basement and ran out of money to build the top floor. Two doors were locked on the outside with padlocks, the back door open. Inviting?

I walked through the back door while Anthony pulled out his iPhone and called the pastor. I opened a door that revealed about eight people sitting across the room from me and a man sitting in front of them. Sunday School. No one looked up at me. In the middle of the room were about 15 metal folding chairs set up and a table standing in as an altar with plastic flowers, a Bible and a couple of candles on it. I walked out to report to Anthony who said, “Let’s go.” I do believe we found the smallest church in Denver.

I drove to Riverside Baptist Church next to Mile High Stadium. Anthony liked it all right – it was Southern Baptist – but the service went too long (a preachy preacher). Anthony is diabetic and he has to be careful when he eats, and lunch came too late. So now we’re going to try an early service or … well, we’ll find one. Anthony is a real sweetheart and going to church means a lot to him. God knows – whether he’s a Baptist God or a Presbyterian one or Catholic or Jewish one – Anthony and I are trying!