Sermons Not Profound

July 7, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

During church today, we heard a sermon comparing servicemen entering the military to the Apostles leaving their lives for Jesus. I was horrified. Baby John had the same reaction. His face lost all color. I knew if we made eye contact, we would’ve made a mutual on-the-spot decision to walk out of church.

He sighed and picked up his rosary. Then he prayed, ignoring the rest of the sermon.

I couldn’t stand listening to it, so instead, I looked around at the rest of the parishioners. It was easy to see who they were. They worked in Washington. They have never been to Indiana or Wisconsin or New Hampshire. It made me sad, to think that our country is being held hostage by people who really don’t know us. And we really don’t have much of a say in what happens here.

I remember when I started working for The Senator, how excited Becca and I were. Now, Becca is all but married to Craig. I still go to church, but I’m stuck here wondering if the past seven months wasn’t an exercise in futility. I don’t want to think that.

After church, Baby John and I took a long walk. He began to cry. At first, he didn’t want me to see. He kept turning his head. I told him it was okay. I had the same reaction to the sermon.

He shook his head and said that he was a child of God first; an America second. And there was nothing Christ-like about what is happening to our country.