When I was growing up, most in my family were fundamentalist. Generally Baptist or Methodist. This was the strand of Christianity that frowned on drinking, smoking, dancing, playing cards and generally anything thought to be fun. People wore conservative clothes, and church services were somber. Even the hymns were often inspired by the idea that life is a struggle that one must endure. I think this attitude probably reflects the extreme poverty of the area. You couldn’t waste your money or your time. You needed to work hard every day just to get by, and you couldn’t expect to be rewarded in this life.
Then in the ’70s and ’80s a more emotional and, I think, self-indulgent expression of Christianity became popular in West Virginia. It was about that time when my grandparents joined a more evangelical church. We always said grace when we went to my grandparents’ house for dinner. It had always been a rather straightforward thing. Grandpa would always thank God for the food, Grandma for preparing it, thank us for our company, and end by saying we were praying in Jesus’ name. We would all say “amen” and then we could eat.
When they started going to the new church, we were expected to hold hands, the prayers become longer and more colorful, often strange, almost like free association, and Grandmother would repeatedly cry out “praise Jesus.” About the same time the Prosperity Gospel became popular, and the same people who thought it was their Christian duty to expect no earthly rewards a decade before were suddenly convinced that they deserved to be rich if they had enough faith.
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