Greetings!
Kevin Horn, sinner. Checking in.
Happy Holy Week, fellow sinner. Okay, maybe you’re a saint. This newspaper has a variety of readers.
Holy Week church services certainly become even more meaningful when joined by family. Such was the case this past Sunday when my daughter, Kacey, and her husband, Jason, joined us from Omaha for the Palm Sunday service at St. John’s Lutheran in Alliance.
St. John’s is the church where I met my wife in 1991. We were married there in 1993. Kacey was baptized at St. John’s in 1995 and Christa was then christened in 1997. Kacey and Christa both attended its’ preschool and both are St. John’s confirmands. Kacey and Jason shared their wedding vows there in 2016 and Christa and her beau, Andy, will do so this September.
There is also my attendance at a few hundred worship services, funerals, weddings, concerts, and dinners (we Lutherans like to eat). The big brown church by the little lake on north Emerson Avenue certainly has provided the seeds for the sprouting of my faith and spiritual growth.But my spiritual journey actually began in August, 1959 when my parents had me baptized at a church in Lincoln.
That followed Sunday School attendance for three years at a small church located in Lincoln’s North Bottoms about five blocks north of Memorial Stadium. My grandparents resided two blocks from the church so Dad would visit with his parents while my brothers and I attended Sunday School. On a summer morning in 1963, much to my grandmother’s shock, I showed up at her front door long before Sunday School was dismissed. I had gotten bored, walked out of Sunday School, and strolled to her home. Dad laughed. Grandma, not so much. She took over the discipline that I’m told was needed, which resulted in a stern lecture and no candy treats for that week.
Since we lived on a small acreage outside of Malcolm, NE (about 12 miles northwest of Lincoln), my parents began attending worship services at St. Paul’s Lutheran Church (Missouri Synod) in Malcolm. I attended church and classes there from 1964 to 1972. The only problem with the church (a classic white, wooden structure with the good old bell tower) was that an enticing creek flowed only two blocks away. One hot summer morning in 1969, I blew off Sunday School to play in the creek. I almost got away with it. If one of my older brother’s stool pigeon friends hadn’t ratted on me, I’d have been Huck Finn instead of Tom Sawyer. When my mother found out, she became Aunt Polly. I would have loved it if her discipline would have simply included whitewashing a fence. But a leather strap was used to whitewash my behind.
Like many junior high and high school boys, I stopped attending church for many years. On occasion, I would attend a Catholic service in Valparaiso, Touhy, Dwight or Brainard with some of my UNL college buddies – which usually served as a prelude to a night in the bar.
I resumed attendance in 1983 when a good friend convinced me to attend services at Cozad’s American Lutheran Church. I was working at the radio station in Cozad at the time. Since I was a radio man, some of the church members felt it be best if I served as a lay reader. God only knows how many of those Old Testament names I flubbed.
Life’s journey brought me to Alliance in 1986 and for the first five years here, I was churchless. Then, on a beautiful August morning in 1991, I stumbled through the doors of St. John’s and immediately spotted the young organist.
It’s been nearly 30 years. The organist isn’t so young, but her shared talents continue to grow. The promises we made to God during our wedding vows and children’s baptism ceremonies have been kept.
I have visited many churches during my 61 years on God’s green earth. Including, but not limited to, different flavors of Lutheran, Catholic, Episcopalian, Presbyterian, Methodist, Baptist, Indian Mission, Berean, First Christian, Seventh Day Adventist, and others.
I can best sum up my faith journey like this: Church denominations are apples. They come in colors of red, yellow, and green, with names like Jonathan, Fuji, Honeycrisp, Mcintosh, Granny Smith, Golden Delicious and Gala. All apples have a core and seeds.
At its core, the church has seeds, too. Seeds of faith. Mine are still growing. If you have helped nurture that growth, my thanks.
Until next time, this is Kevin Horn. Sinner. Checking out.