Central Baptist Church had its baptistry located in the center front of the sanctuary behind the choir who sat in two rows of chairs immediately behind the pulpit. It was screened by a curtain and to enter it, you had to step in through the choir chairs. The tub was 4 feet deep and was kept dry except when there was a candidate for baptism. Steps led down to the bottom of the tub and a 12-inch shelf ran across the back wall high enough to be seen by the congregation.
The Christmas season of 1937 I was 12 years old, and Mrs. Mott, an artistic lady of the church, had planned a brief manger scene play for the last few minutes of the Sunday morning Worship Service. The usual routine was to be followed, except that Pastor Fred B. Bookter was to end his sermon at 11:50 A.M., at which time the choir was to leave the stage carrying their chairs and the play was to be presented.
The dry baptistry was to be the stable where Jesus was born, with the manger sitting on a high table in the center of the tub, so that it could be seen by the audience. The shepherds and the wise men were to approach the stage down the aisles and gaze into the baptistry at the manger where the baby Jesus was supposed to be. I was selected to be the herald angel and announce the coming of Christ. I had to be in place on the high shelf before the start of the Worship Service at 11:00 A.M. After I was in place, the curtain was closed, and I was to wait alone until time for the play to begin, at which time the curtain would be opened and I was to be a surprise!
I was almost 6 feet tall already. They covered me with a white sheet and used pipe cleaners to construct angel's wings attached to my shoulders. A shining silver crown made of tin foil from old cigarette packages adorned my brow. I was sitting on the 12 inch shelf, my fet propped on the manger table, at least 5 feet above the floor of the tub.
I took my place and after what seemed a LONG time, the service began. The choir opened with"What a Friend We Have in Jesus," and I sang along with then. A dusty hymnal lay on the shelf beside me, and I picked it up. Since I was immediately behind and only a few feet from them, my voice blended well with theirs; I really cut loose!
After the song service, Bro. Bookter began his sermon and I had some time to kill. I thumbed through the songbook reading some of my favorites, like "In the Garden," "Amazing Grace," and "The Old Rugged Cross." Then I came to "Trust and Obey," which had 7 verses in those days and I began humming Then singing...
"When we walk with the Lord, In the light of His Word, what a glory He sheds on our way! While we do His good will, He abides with us still, and with all who will trust and obey."
At first I was unaware of the effect my musical rendition was having outside my little cell, and my voice sounded very melodious to me, so when I came to the chorus, I began singing a little louder---
"T R U S T and obey, For there's no other wa-a-ay To be happy in Jesus, but to trust and obey."
By this time, I began to hear rustling and tittering from the congregation, and the pastor paused in his sermon to collect his thoughts. Then he began to preach louder like he did when a baby started crying.
"NOT A BURDEN W E BEAR>>>>>NOT A SORROW WE SHARE>>>>>BUT OUR TOIL HE DOTH RICHLY REPAY! NOT A GRIEF OR A LOSS----"
By the second or third verse I was getting louder, under the impression that the congregation was enjoying my music, and Bro. Bookter was using his FOGHORN voice, the one he used in preaching a revival.
"THEN IN FELLOWSHIP SWEET WE WILL SIT AT HIS FEET OR WALK BY HIS SIDE IN THE WAY..."
I could hear scratching noises behind me, but I didn't know what they were until later. Poor Mrs. Mott had run out of the church and around to the brick wall behind the baptistry and was trying to claw her way inside, or to attract my attention!
Just about the time I finished the 7th verse, complete with chorus, the pastor gave up and ended his sermon. He signaled the workers to begin the play, and, after the choir left the stage, a lady came on stage and opened the curtain. There I was in the middle of the chorus, singing, "FOR THERE'S NOOOOOOOOOO OTHER WAY TO BEEEEEEE HAPPYEEEEEE IN JEEEEESUSSSSSS..."; the light above me made my white angel outfit shine like the sun on snow. When the crowd saw me, they broke up in a roar that ended all hope of finishing the play. Mama rushed up and yanked me out of the baptistry with a pinch. Mrs. Mott gave up drama and Bro. Bookter had the Building Committee move the baptistry to the floor of the choir loft.
The Christmas season of 1937 I was 12 years old, and Mrs. Mott, an artistic lady of the church, had planned a brief manger scene play for the last few minutes of the Sunday morning Worship Service. The usual routine was to be followed, except that Pastor Fred B. Bookter was to end his sermon at 11:50 A.M., at which time the choir was to leave the stage carrying their chairs and the play was to be presented.
The dry baptistry was to be the stable where Jesus was born, with the manger sitting on a high table in the center of the tub, so that it could be seen by the audience. The shepherds and the wise men were to approach the stage down the aisles and gaze into the baptistry at the manger where the baby Jesus was supposed to be. I was selected to be the herald angel and announce the coming of Christ. I had to be in place on the high shelf before the start of the Worship Service at 11:00 A.M. After I was in place, the curtain was closed, and I was to wait alone until time for the play to begin, at which time the curtain would be opened and I was to be a surprise!
I was almost 6 feet tall already. They covered me with a white sheet and used pipe cleaners to construct angel's wings attached to my shoulders. A shining silver crown made of tin foil from old cigarette packages adorned my brow. I was sitting on the 12 inch shelf, my fet propped on the manger table, at least 5 feet above the floor of the tub.
I took my place and after what seemed a LONG time, the service began. The choir opened with"What a Friend We Have in Jesus," and I sang along with then. A dusty hymnal lay on the shelf beside me, and I picked it up. Since I was immediately behind and only a few feet from them, my voice blended well with theirs; I really cut loose!
After the song service, Bro. Bookter began his sermon and I had some time to kill. I thumbed through the songbook reading some of my favorites, like "In the Garden," "Amazing Grace," and "The Old Rugged Cross." Then I came to "Trust and Obey," which had 7 verses in those days and I began humming Then singing...
"When we walk with the Lord, In the light of His Word, what a glory He sheds on our way! While we do His good will, He abides with us still, and with all who will trust and obey."
At first I was unaware of the effect my musical rendition was having outside my little cell, and my voice sounded very melodious to me, so when I came to the chorus, I began singing a little louder---
"T R U S T and obey, For there's no other wa-a-ay To be happy in Jesus, but to trust and obey."
By this time, I began to hear rustling and tittering from the congregation, and the pastor paused in his sermon to collect his thoughts. Then he began to preach louder like he did when a baby started crying.
"NOT A BURDEN W E BEAR>>>>>NOT A SORROW WE SHARE>>>>>BUT OUR TOIL HE DOTH RICHLY REPAY! NOT A GRIEF OR A LOSS----"
By the second or third verse I was getting louder, under the impression that the congregation was enjoying my music, and Bro. Bookter was using his FOGHORN voice, the one he used in preaching a revival.
"THEN IN FELLOWSHIP SWEET WE WILL SIT AT HIS FEET OR WALK BY HIS SIDE IN THE WAY..."
I could hear scratching noises behind me, but I didn't know what they were until later. Poor Mrs. Mott had run out of the church and around to the brick wall behind the baptistry and was trying to claw her way inside, or to attract my attention!
Just about the time I finished the 7th verse, complete with chorus, the pastor gave up and ended his sermon. He signaled the workers to begin the play, and, after the choir left the stage, a lady came on stage and opened the curtain. There I was in the middle of the chorus, singing, "FOR THERE'S NOOOOOOOOOO OTHER WAY TO BEEEEEEE HAPPYEEEEEE IN JEEEEESUSSSSSS..."; the light above me made my white angel outfit shine like the sun on snow. When the crowd saw me, they broke up in a roar that ended all hope of finishing the play. Mama rushed up and yanked me out of the baptistry with a pinch. Mrs. Mott gave up drama and Bro. Bookter had the Building Committee move the baptistry to the floor of the choir loft.
By the way, did I tell you I was appointed the angel part because there was no singing? I am pitch deaf and a monotone singer. Have been all my life........
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