Gerald Weston is back, regaling us once again on how SINFUL and REBELLIOUS some Living Church of God members are. It seems some LCG members skip church services and watch them at home online, or do something else more enjoyable. Remember, it is always more important to drag yourself untold miles through rain, snow, or soul-crushing traffic just to worship in a rented high school gym or its cafeteria that still smells like yesterday’s mystery meat, or a creaky Masonic/Odd Fellows Hall haunted by the ghosts of 1950s bingo nights. How dare these ingrates tire of the same pre-packaged, formaldehyde-preserved sermons that get exhumed and paraded around every other year like a bad holy day potluck casserole? God forbid a minister stray even an inch from the official approved prepackaged booklet/telecast script—after all, actual original thought might cause the entire fragile ecosystem to collapse. Fresh ideas? Innovative topics? Perish the thought. The pinnacle of excitement is hearing someone mumble, “Hey, that wasn’t completely soul-destroying. Maybe next week won’t feel like a root canal.” Tragically, that never happens.
You shuffle in and are immediately “welcomed” by the elite squad of stealth attendance takers—those smiling hall monitors with clipboards who could give the Stasi lessons in subtle intimidation. Before your briefcase is even opened, you’re conscripted into the unpaid serf brigade: wrestling with wobbly folding chairs and tables, slaving over industrial coffee that tastes like regret, scrubbing bathrooms that see more action on Sabbath than any other day of the week, and performing whatever other menial miracles the deacons demand. Only then do you earn the privilege of enduring the musical portion—those dirge-like Dwight Armstrong hymns celebrating blessed men or soldiers marching off to glorious, bloody war. The opening prayer inevitably balloons into a pre-sermon sermonette, cleverly designed to soften you up for the real punishment ahead.
Then comes the main event: the two-hour (minimum) butt-numbing sermon, a relentless barrage of 40 bullet points on the topic with 4,000,000 cherry-picked Bible verses that you frantically scribble down like a possessed stenographer, all while your inner voice quietly admits you’ll never crack open those notes again. The topic is always a greatest hit you’ve suffered through hundreds of times—how to keep the law perfectly, or an exhaustive catalog of everything fun, normal, or remotely human you must never, ever do. Because clearly, the average COG member is a drooling moron who can’t be trusted to discern good from evil without constant, soul-crushing reminders that they’re lower than the dogs under the table, fighting over scraps—or perhaps mere earthworms, blind and writhing in the filth of their own inadequacy.
And let’s not forget the other beloved COG traditions. There’s the annual Feast of Tabernacles “vacation” where you’re guilted into driving/flying to some overpriced resort in the middle of nowhere, only to sit through eight straight days of the exact same recycled messages while being pressured to “give offerings” that mysteriously fund the minister’s upgraded hotel suite. Or the charming post-service potlucks where the real sermon is delivered via passive-aggressive gossip: “Did you hear Sister So-and-So only tithed two percent last month? Laodicean to the core.” Then there are the holy day services that stretch into eternity, complete with the special music from that one painfully off-key lady who’s been “practicing” since 1987, and the endless parade of announcements about upcoming “youth Bible studies” that somehow always circle back to obedience, tithing, and not dating “worldly” people.
Two and a half hours later, your posterior has achieved total numbness and appears to have permanently bonded with the metal chair in unholy matrimony. Finally, deliverance arrives in the closing prayer, where you’re commanded to “inculcate” every magnificent pearl of wisdom you’ve just endured so you can stay pure and remain a true Church of God member—unlike those disgusting Laodicean riff-raff down the road in the other splinter group who have the audacity to meet in their own building like actual functional adults.
Weston, still whining about COVID, claims some members no longer see the need to show up each week and prefer to watch at home or—God forbid—NOT attend church at all! Oh, the humanity!!!!!!!
You shuffle in and are immediately “welcomed” by the elite squad of stealth attendance takers—those smiling hall monitors with clipboards who could give the Stasi lessons in subtle intimidation. Before your briefcase is even opened, you’re conscripted into the unpaid serf brigade: wrestling with wobbly folding chairs and tables, slaving over industrial coffee that tastes like regret, scrubbing bathrooms that see more action on Sabbath than any other day of the week, and performing whatever other menial miracles the deacons demand. Only then do you earn the privilege of enduring the musical portion—those dirge-like Dwight Armstrong hymns celebrating blessed men or soldiers marching off to glorious, bloody war. The opening prayer inevitably balloons into a pre-sermon sermonette, cleverly designed to soften you up for the real punishment ahead.
Then comes the main event: the two-hour (minimum) butt-numbing sermon, a relentless barrage of 40 bullet points on the topic with 4,000,000 cherry-picked Bible verses that you frantically scribble down like a possessed stenographer, all while your inner voice quietly admits you’ll never crack open those notes again. The topic is always a greatest hit you’ve suffered through hundreds of times—how to keep the law perfectly, or an exhaustive catalog of everything fun, normal, or remotely human you must never, ever do. Because clearly, the average COG member is a drooling moron who can’t be trusted to discern good from evil without constant, soul-crushing reminders that they’re lower than the dogs under the table, fighting over scraps—or perhaps mere earthworms, blind and writhing in the filth of their own inadequacy.
And let’s not forget the other beloved COG traditions. There’s the annual Feast of Tabernacles “vacation” where you’re guilted into driving/flying to some overpriced resort in the middle of nowhere, only to sit through eight straight days of the exact same recycled messages while being pressured to “give offerings” that mysteriously fund the minister’s upgraded hotel suite. Or the charming post-service potlucks where the real sermon is delivered via passive-aggressive gossip: “Did you hear Sister So-and-So only tithed two percent last month? Laodicean to the core.” Then there are the holy day services that stretch into eternity, complete with the special music from that one painfully off-key lady who’s been “practicing” since 1987, and the endless parade of announcements about upcoming “youth Bible studies” that somehow always circle back to obedience, tithing, and not dating “worldly” people.
Two and a half hours later, your posterior has achieved total numbness and appears to have permanently bonded with the metal chair in unholy matrimony. Finally, deliverance arrives in the closing prayer, where you’re commanded to “inculcate” every magnificent pearl of wisdom you’ve just endured so you can stay pure and remain a true Church of God member—unlike those disgusting Laodicean riff-raff down the road in the other splinter group who have the audacity to meet in their own building like actual functional adults.
Weston, still whining about COVID, claims some members no longer see the need to show up each week and prefer to watch at home or—God forbid—NOT attend church at all! Oh, the humanity!!!!!!!
The “once saved, always saved” doctrine of mainstream Christianity is easily disproved (Hebrews 6:4–6; 10:26–31). Therefore, we are told, “Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for He who promised is faithful” (v. 23). Note that this warning is in the context of those who forsake assembling together: “And let us consider one another in order to stir up love and good works, not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as is the manner of some, but exhorting one another, and so much the more as you see the Day approaching” (vv. 24–25). The overwhelming majority of us came out of COVID-19 assembling as we always did, but a few have failed to return to their previous pattern of regular Sabbath attendance, thinking they can sit at home and take part online—or, worse, not at all!
3 comments:
Poor Paul....couldn't go anywhere for 2 years (Acts 28)........Spirit Airlines just wasn't available to fly him to the feasts in Jerusalem.........
Considering the number of bad sermons we have had in our church area, we do not go all the time anymore. So, I must be one of the ones he is upset about. We got tired of constantly being told we were always doing something wrong, so we chose to enjoy the time with our family doing things like hiking, visiting museums, the zoo, and other pleasant experiences. It is amazing how much more restful and enjoyable the day is for everyone. No stress getting everyone dressed and out the door on time, driving 57 miles, and then listening to gossip before services and being berated during the sermons. It was tiresome and frankly boring.
A recent report found U.S. church attendance (overall) is increasing for the first time in decades.
If that's not happening in LCG, why not?
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