Going To Church, by Invitation

THE INVITATIONS TO CHURCH keeping coming in over at the senior center, where I, aged sixty, am the newbie, the baby. Its great to be young again. Over at the university, where I'm taking classes for free, I'm too old: life has a way of balancing. Seven invitations to church, and counting. Methodist, Baptist, Episcopalian, Presbyterian, Pentecostal, and a church of Christ or two. Seven, in all, and this in a very small southern American town from a few dozen senior center members. How many churches are there around here, anyway, I ask? Many, is always the answer. How large are the various congregations, I wonder. Small groups, I am told. Makes you wonder why they don't all just get together, and go to the same church, and do away with the fragmentation. Or perhaps maybe we should all realize that we all have different religious views, and worship at home, alone, but in comfort. Admit that we all have a unique religiosity, and all go home, and worship alone. Perhaps they enjoy the small fragmented groups, with their slightly different ways of doing things. But why all the invitations for me? Its as if they take one look at me, decide I must be a heathen, and need saving. Either that, or they invite everybody, trying to bolster their membership in the face of fierce competition. Have any of them ever considered the possibility that a man, at the age of sixty, probably already has his personal religious house in order, to his satisfaction? Probably not. Maybe they don't expect me to join or convert, but only to visit, and give it some thought. They always tempt me with food. I never mention that food seems a bit beside the. I'm easy. See you Sunday!