Cornerstone: Part 2 Growing Up Fundamentalist

Not my Cornerstone, but almost identical. Ours is a Reformed Baptist Church now, and looks way different.

I think I always pictured God as kind of like my Dad, but older and more cosmic and regal-looking, like the old Michelangelo paintings of Moses. Strict, always a little annoyed, I knew he loved me, but was pretty confident he didn’t like me much. Always aware of some reason why I shouldn’t be allowed into heaven. My parents made sure I was hyper-aware of my sin, prompting times of confession regularly, usually right before bed, as regular as teeth-brushing. We had “family devotions” every single morning and every single night, except weekends, since we had church morning and night on Sunday, and Saturday was usually reserved for chores. Family devotions consisted of Mom (in the mornings) or Dad (evenings) reading a chapter of Scripture, giving us some kind of mini-lesson or sermon on it, often reciting a memorized chapter of Scripture together (Psalm 1, Psalm 101, I Corinthians 13, and the Beatitudes were regular staples), and an extended time of prayer, in which all of us were expected to participate — out loud.

Dad was definitely the arch-conservative at Cornerstone. He loved old-fashioned preaching, “preaching on sin,” he called it, and if Brian or Greg wasn’t going to do in on Sunday morning, well, doggone it, he would make sure it got in there either at the Communion table, or else on Sunday nights, which was his preaching domain. He would always use the King…