On 9/7/17, Carl Jarvis <carjar82@xxxxxxxxx> wrote:
We lived in a two story shack on a switchback path on the East side of
Queen Anne Hill, in Seattle. From the time I was two and a half until
I was past thirteen, and had graduated from the eighth grade. That
little house, a tiny kitchen with an old wood burning stove and a
small bathroom and just enough space for a small dining table, a small
living room with a coal burning stove, a tight spiral staircase that
led up to three cramped bed rooms. Five of us lived closely together
under the heading of, "The Jarvis's".
On Sunday's Mother would feed us a good breakfast of waffles and tuna
gravy or homemade maple syrup, and wipe the sticky off our faces and
hands and send us off up the steep hill to Sunday school. I think
that without ever saying so, Mother welcomed the break from three
young children in a house built for one. But I became a Baptist. No
particular reason. It was the closest to our house, and I could spell
Baptist. Then my best friend of all time, Richard Kephart, told me
that he and a couple of other boys were switching to the Queen Anne
Presbyterian Church, which I could not spell. But they had a youth
choir and the children all met at the Kipper home. That home was on
Queen Anne Boulevard, overlooking downtown Seattle and all the way to
Mount Rainier. A mansion, to a boy who shared bunk beds with his
younger sister. And in front of the house was an iron fence with an
ornamental iron gate. Inside the front door was a foyer with a
walk-in cloak closet, and stepping into the arched entry to the living
room a spiral staircase wound up the wall to a landing, where a person
could stand and survey the entire living room. Windows, so clear that
birds constantly flew into them, rose two full floors, offering that
amazing view I mentioned. The "mansion" set on a slope and so the
lower level was a finished daylight basement. In their game room
there was a raised stage where we boys...did I mention that this was
an all boy's choir?...where we all stood in three neat rows. Richard
was always in the front row because he was the shortest boy in our
class. And I was always in the back row, because I was the tallest
boy in the school. That house, along with the very kindly Missus
Kipper and the magnificent old Gothic looking Presbyterian church,
told me that here was a winner. So, even though a mere year earlier,
I had been Baptized by having water poured over my head, and became a
"Card Carrying" Baptist, still and even so, I was sprinkled and
accepted into my new church. I learned to spell, Presbyterian, and
sang my young lungs out as a member in good standing of the Youth Boys
Choir.
At 14, in 1949, the Jarvis's packed it in and finally bought a house.
It had taken several years for my mother's job to bring in enough for
a down payment on a real house in a real neighborhood. A big old home
in Ballard, in the North end of Seattle. Paved streets with cement
sidewalks and grass parking strips, and paved alleys in the back. We
even had an entry hall. Not as fancy by a long shot as the one in
Missus Kipper's mansion, but we could talk to people at the front door
and by closing the doors into the living room and the hall way, all
they could see was the staircase going up to three very large bed
rooms and a bath room. In fact, the back bedroom had been made into
an apartment, with the back porch being enclosed and turned into a
cheery, light kitchen. And North of us, all the way to the end of our
extra long block and across the street that was the Seattle city
limits at the time, there, just over into King County, stood the Crown
Hill Methodist Church. It was a very long walk to any other church,
the next closest was a drab Lutheran church. So my sisters and I
headed off to the Methodist church to see what sorts of people
Methodists were. And there before my lusting eyes, was the MYF, the
Methodist Youth Fellowship. And the overwhelming numbers of these
young people were lovely young girls. Now this was my kind of crowd!
I should also say that the Pastor, Reverend Lukins knew how to
organize young people. So one fine day I changed into my swimming
trunks and went up on a platform and stepped into a tub of
water...called a Baptismal, and Reverend Lukins dunked me and I turned
into a Methodist before my very eyes.
Despite all the water sprinkled, poured and dunked, I never was a
Christian at that time. Later I would compare it to my experience in
rehabilitation. That is, I had the veneer, but it had not yet
internalized. Although I attended church over the next few years, it
was not until several events in 1960 that was my personal, "Come to
Jesus" experience. And once again I was Baptized by dunking. But
this time, and for the last time, it was as an Evangelical United
Brethren Church member. Later they left the group and became the
Evangelical Church of North America. But the messages were pretty
much the same from church to church. And all of these protestant
churches kept a steady hand on their congregations, not allowing
members to become too enthused whenever the Holy Spirit moved them.
Sort of like the Democratic Party's central committee.
All of these Seattle churches seemed quite similar, they presented the
same messages which they all read from the King James Bible. They all
let their children go Trick or Treating on Halloween, and pretend that
there was an Easter Bunny who laid colored eggs and even talked, and a
fat little Elf dressed in red, who knew when you had been naughty or
good. And of course my aforementioned Tooth Fairy. All of them
seemed as real as did the little Jesus in the manger, his Virgin
Mother, the Angels with huge wings coming down to sing to the babe.
Noah and his huge Ark. Adam and Eve and their two sons who, despite
good upbringing, fought and left to go to the Land of Nod to look for
wives...Hadn't God let them know that there were only four people in
the Garden of Eden?
It was all so strange, and a little exciting, and had very little
practical application in our day to day lives. I have probably told
my stories of my own visions, and other strange happenings, but
eventually I came to believe that these were, while certainly out of
the ordinary, were not inspired by an unseen God. So I became and
Agnostic. And even now I am cautioned that my belief in Agnosticism
is misguided, and that I am really an Atheist. A guy just can't win
for losing.
But another time I'll go back to this topic of what rehabilitation
is...according to Saint Carl.
Carl Jarvis
On, On 9/7/17, Bonnie L. Sherrell <blslarner@xxxxxxxxxx> wrote:
Also, the fact that I identify myself as an Episcopalian means little in
terms
of my spiritual health or relationship with what I call God, the Father,
or
the
Creator. In the end my religious affiliation is merely the particular
form
for
belief that I find best suits my personality, upbringing, intellectual
level,
and cultural identity. I have found spiritual brotherhood with others
who
have
identified themselves as Muslim, Southern Baptists, Hindu, Jewish,
Lutheran,
Roman Catholic, Evangelicals, and Buddhists, while one of the most
hateful
and
small-minded individuals I have ever met was an Episcopal priest with a
large
congregation in Virginia. I defy any one religion to hold all of the
answers,
and admit that my own denomination has committed atrocities in its past
that
were anything but Christian or spiritually sound. The same can be said
for
every spiritual path, however. All are equally capable of being as wrong
as
any
other, and all equally capable of being as right as any other.
But if I have a choice between the spiritual health of Jimmy Bakker or
Jimmy
Carter, I'll put my faith in that of the latter any day over that of the
former.
Bonnie L. Sherrell
Teacher at Large
"Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement. For even the
very
wise cannot see all ends." LOTR
"Don't go where I can't follow."
We gave the Goblin King control of our nation!
