Sleeping in Church...

I admit it – I have fallen asleep in church.  Never during one of my own sermons, thank God.  Almost all of my sleeping in church was done before the age of six.

 Back then, Baptists had church on Sunday night.  We thought it made us more godly than the Methodists and Presbyterians who only had church on Sunday morning.  For some unknown reason, we had Training Union (sort of a second Sunday School) at 6:00 PM and worship at 7:00.  My bedtime was at 7:30 PM so you can see the time did not work in my favor, especially because Baptist preachers never finish at the appointed time.  About twenty till eight, my eyes would get heavy, and I would lay down on the pew and put my head in my mother’s lap.  There was something hypnotic about the preacher’s voice; I would doze off about as he said, “Secondly…”

 I have memories of being carried to the car and my brother Steve whining about not going out to eat at Knight’s restaurant.  Mama didn’t even make me take a bath but put me to sleep in the bottom bunk bed.

 My Uncle Bud once fell asleep one Sunday night at church.  Being four, he sometimes wet the bed at night.  The pews in the old Venus church were slatted, and Granny noticed an unwelcomed stream of yellow liquid rolling toward the altar.  I wonder if the preacher was preaching “Let justice roll down like a mighty stream…”

 I stopped falling asleep in church around first grade, but there were times as a young adult I was tempted to nod off.  The summer I dated Miss Hardee County meant several late Saturday nights (not what you think: the nearest movie theater was an hour away).  Our pastor spoke in a loud monotone.  I was in the choir one Sunday after a glorious Saturday night date and my eyes would not stay open. I resorted to an age-old trick for choir members: I bowed my head and held my hand up to my forehead as if praying intently.  I was drifting in and out of consciousness when Elmo Roberts, two seats down, clearly his sinuses.  In my state of semi-sleep, I thought I had snored and jolted awake.  People in congregation probably thought I had a revelation from the Spirit.

 Not too long ago, my wife and I were at Duke Chapel, to hear a preacher we greatly admired.  The sermon was direct and held my attention.  But in front of me, a great lesson was unfolding.  On the pew was a family: Mom, Dad, two boys, and a girl.  I guess the girl was about five.  The boys were well-behaved, drawing on the bulletin.  But during the sermon, the girl started to get sleepy.  She crawled onto her Daddy’s lap, turned toward him, and rested her head on his shoulder.  She caught me looking at her and she smiled at me.  Then, with a sigh of deep contentment, she went to sleep. 

 On her face was a smile, something I had never seen on the countenance of a sleeping person.  Everything about her was a picture of trust.  She felt secure, safe in the arms of her Father.

 Yes, the message that day was wonderful, the music was out of this world.  But the best message of the day was that little girl, asleep in her Daddy’s arms.  It was a picture of Deuteronomy 33:27a: “The eternal God is your refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms.”

 When we talk about God being our refuge, it doesn’t mean a place to hide from our enemies.  It means no matter what threatens us, no matter what frightens us, his arms hold us.  The old song said, “Leaning, leaning, safe and secure from all alarms; leaning, leaning, leaning on the everlasting arms.”

 Who is holding you today?

Sleeping in Church …

I admit it – I have fallen asleep in church.  When I was a child, and we had church on Sunday nights, the preacher’s voice seemed hypnotic.  A few minutes into his message, I would be stretched out on the pew, lost in la-la land. 

When I was home from college, late Saturday nights made for sleepy Sunday mornings.  The summer I dated Miss Hardee County, we had been out late courting on Saturday, and I was supposed to sing in the choir the next morning.  I made it in time, did my part for the choir special, and then settled in for the sermon.  I could not keep my eyes open.  I went to the old standby position of folding my hands and bowing my head, hoping people would think I was praying.  I was drifting off when Elmo Roberts, two seats over, cleared his sinuses.  I thought I had snored and jerked my head up.  My mother later told me she thought the Spirit had really spoken to me during the pastor’s message.

People do funny things when they sleep in church.  My Uncle Earl wore mirrored sunglasses in the choir every Sunday.  He did not want people to think he was asleep during the sermon.  No one told him when he fell asleep during the sermon; his head rocked back, and his mouth opened.  He looked like a thirsty man trying to drink the rain.

I have seen more elbows thrown in church than in a roller derby.  Most often, it is women elbowing their husbands who have been lulled to sleep by the sermon.  Sometimes when the elbows are delivered, the men startle awake, look around, and then try to pretend like they were listening the whole time.

There is an old joke about a preacher who was tired of a deacon falling asleep during every sermon.  He decided to make an example of the old man.  During a sermon, the preacher whispered, “Everyone who wants to go to heaven, stand up.”  Of course, the whole congregation stood, except for the sleeping deacon.  The preacher told the congregation to be seated, then he bellowed, “Everyone who wants to go to hell, stand up.”  The old deacon, startled awake, heard the words “stand up” and naturally stood.  He looked around and said, “Preacher, I don’t know what we are voting for, but it looks like you and I are the only ones in favor.”

My Uncle Bud had the best story of falling asleep in church.  He was a little boy, prone to wet the bed.  During one long Sunday night service, Granny stretched him out on one of the slat pews of the Venus Baptist Church.  About halfway through the service, my mother, Uncle Pete, and Aunt Bill noticed a thin trickle of yellow liquid making its way forward on the uneven wooden floor.  A flurry of giggles and pinches broke out until Granny noticed the growing stream.  Then she started to giggle too.  I am sure the preacher noticed the commotion; perhaps he thought that last joke he told was finally getting through.

People ask me from time to time if it bothers me when people fall asleep in church.  I used to say, “No, as long as they are awake for the offering,” but people started to think I was serious.  I know for many people Sunday mornings are the only time in the week they are still.  Sure, I wish people would stay awake while I preach, but I would rather have them sleep in church than be awake in sin. 

People occasionally tell me I am the first preacher who kept them awake.  I used to think it was a compliment until one dear saint elaborated: “Your sermons are like a slow-motion train wreck.  I just can’t look away.”

I was keeping my grandson not long ago.  He was fussy.  His parents instructed me this was a sign he was either hungry, needed a diaper changed, or he was sleepy.  I had taken care of the first two, so I knew he needed sleep.  I put him in his swing, but he was having none of it.  His fussing grew worse.  I picked him up, put his head on my shoulder, and started rocking him back and forth.  His crying grew more intense.  Finally, I put him down on my bed, put my arm under his head, and pulled him close.  He turned to me, and the crying stopped.  His eyes closed, and his breathing became regular.  He needed the safety of his grandfather being close to finally sleep.

It made me wonder about everyone who falls asleep in church.  Are they finally close enough to their Heavenly Father that they feel safe enough to let down and relax in his arms?  Maybe that is how we are supposed to live, asleep or awake.