The Passing of the Lifesaver

This post started as one thing and morphed into another.
Please excuse the resultant, disjointed excursion into memory.

I found this graphic on FB; it is something else that, once again, takes me back to my childhood church days.

I never received lifesavers in my stocking, so I guess my childhood wasn't awesome. In fairness, it would have been hard to get them into my Christmas stocking for I didn't get a Christmas stocking. Later, in married life with Sue, the stuffed stocking did become part of my Christmas experience.

Back to the lifesavers: Mom would pop out one for me in church on Sunday mornings. I do mean pop; she would slide her thumbnail under one to lift it and make it easy for me to take.  I expect this occurred subsequent to the march-around [Jericho] offering and before the sermon. I liked the Wild Cherry best or Five Flavors if I could nab the red one, but I think I can remember mint and butterscotch too. Anything was fine, but some were finer than others.

This would have been once I graduated from Junior church at the age of 8 to be part of the adult service. I was not a squirmer, and even at that young age, I could listen to and understand the grown-ups sermons. So, I would have been fine without the sugary sop, but it was something that I did look forward to.

Speaking of sermons, I remember one illustrated sermon by Pastor Argue. The title was something like, Why Not, You've Got it Made. As memory serves, he would pull out props to make his point. I think one was probably a new car flyer. But also, if memory serves, one was a bottle of booze.

Now, this was a non-drinking, holiness type of church. My mother later told me that some folk were rather affronted by the presence of the bottle, which I expect was empty. He didn't leave it out long, quickly putting it away saying something like it was too odious (my word) to leave on display. That's the only sermon that I remember from those days, or any days really, although I do recall another when the same pastor visited our church in Toronto, perhaps 10 years later. He preached from Psalm 84:6: Who passing through the valley of Baca make it a well; the rain also filleth the pools. 

I recall that one because our church was going through troubled times, and he brought an appropriate message about digging deep in the faith in difficult times. How interesting that the only two actual sermons that  I seem to recall in my whole life were by the same preacher.

As my mind continues to wander disjointedly, I now I remember another pleasant passing of candy  related to our offering march that sometimes occurred. A man by the name of Danny Pazutto would, on occasion, offer me a treat when I marched by him as he sat adjacent to the centre aisle. 

Pazutto was a taxi driver and once drove us to our destination for a holiday week, so I had had a little extended contact with him. I was a nice boy, and he probably took to me. Who knows? He may have even felt sorry for me because we did not exactly live in the lap of luxury. 

Now another memory surfaces that involves Mr Pazutto.

One night he drove my parents and me to a little church on the Indian* reserve. Danny played the accordion, and my dad delivered the message, or started to. I can't remember if my mother did anything in particular although she sometimes tried to sing** a bit or even play the piano. While my dad was still in the middle of his sermon, a lady had a fit, and the evening was brought to a premature end. We piled back into My Pazutto's taxi cab and drove home.

I think that will probably be a wrap on my church recollections from those early days, but who knows for sure.

* In those times, we used the word, Indian, to refer to native or indigenous peoples.

** When we were in our little church, Mom sang one or two solos. I remember her voice breaking once, which embarrassed her. I think it was Stranger of Galilee. I once sang a solo at our little young people's meeting: When the Roll is Called Up Yonder. As an adult, I can appreciate how awful it was, especially unpractised and in any random key. They certainly didn't ask me again and were likely wishing that I would be called to yonder long before the trumpet of the Lord might sound..