Home Church Gets Weird

art by the author

by Erin Allen

AND ON THE SEVENTH DAY       of my husband’s business trip, my son asks why we haven’t
been to church in forever, but Lord, I am not ready to go into it, especially with my partner
halfway around the world, so I tell the kids we’re gonna do church at home. I pull out the
Children’s Bible, read the one about three wise men, only I change it to three wise
people because I want so badly for the book to be inclusive that I’ll change the story to get us there. And
right away my son says, You already read that one! So I try to explain
how the stories in this book always have something new to say, but they grow bored so I start to read in my Ada Limón poetry voice:                   

gold …                                    frankincense … 
                                                                                                          myrrh ….                                           they were …

 

And their interest is piqued, but only for a second, so I start to sing like Anna Gasteyer
as

Bobbi Mohan–Culp (operetic to the tune of “If You Think I’m Sexy”) and I sing louder and
louder and the kids grow more hysterical all the way to the last note which I hold until I run out
of breath.

 

Later that night, I am skeptical. I tell myself, That didn’t really count as church. And I look in
every corner and under all the couch cushions for why I feel this way and worry it’s because
we enjoyed it all so much.

 

But the next night, my son asks if we can have church again and he sings about the walls
of Jericho to the tune of “The Ants Go Marching” while my daughter acts out the story in modern
dance and plays a song on cavaquinho (she does not know how to play the cavaquinho).
And while my son attempts Riverdance, my daughter sings, Mom, I may disobey, I may talk back, but
I don’t hate you. AND IT WAS GOOD.

 

 

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