The Sunday Only Christian by E. N. Joy Page A

shouted out again.
    â€œAgain!”
    â€œHe’s worthy!”
    â€œAgain!”
    â€œHe’s worthy!” By now, the woman sitting next to Deborah had taken the liberty of removing Deborah’s son from her lap as Deborah stood up with lifted hands raised in the air. “He’s worthy! God you are so worthy to be praised. Hallelujah. Worthy is the blood of the lamb. Glory.” Tears began to fall from Deborah’s eyes as she looked at the ceiling. “You’re worthy, God. So worthy.” She began jumping up and down, praising God. Two altar workers made their way over to Deborah. “Hallelujah. Glory. You’re worthy. You’re worthy.” The next thing everyone knew, Deborah broke out in tongues. “Ah ba yo se ba ha yo se ye ma ya toe,” she rambled.
    â€œThat’s right, praise Him. Praise Him,” one of the altar workers said as she held her arms out around Deborah, but still giving her room to be free in the spirit.
    â€œThank you, Jesus!” Deborah would shout out every now and then between tongues. “It could have been me. It should have been me.” At that moment, Deborah thought that had it been her and Elton together that deadly day over in Chile when the earthquake hit—had God answered her prayers and given her another woman’s husband—she could be dead and buried right about now. “You thought of me, God. You thought of me.”
    Tears streamed down Deborah’s face as her tongues began to silence and she could only whimper. She let out a couple more thank-yous before she returned comfortably to her seat. It took her a few seconds to recall that her son was no longer in children’s church—that she had retrieved him and brought him back into the sanctuary with her. Just as soon as she began looking around for him, the woman who had been sitting next to her and had taken her son from her arms returned to her seat. She returned without Deborah’s son in her arms.
    â€œI took him to children’s church,” the woman whispered in Deborah’s ear as she sat down. “He seemed a little frightened and I wanted you to be able to be as free in the spirit as you needed to be. Don’t worry; he was glad to be with all the kids. Nearly jumped out of my arms to get to Sister Helen.” The woman smiled. “Must be that warm, sweet spirit of hers. Kids love that.” The woman then turned her attention back to the service at hand.
    Obviously, the Holy Ghost that had touched Deborah was touching a lot of other folks too. There was shouting and running around the church. The saints were just glad to be free. Glad to be free all because their Lord and Savior had laid down His own perfect and sinless life for them. For my jacked-up, sin-filled one, Deborah thought.
    She covered her eyes with her hand and shook her head. She couldn’t understand for the life of her why anyone would be so kind and selfless as to die for her: the woman who had just acted as ugly as anyone could . . . and right in the house of the Lord. She felt she didn’t deserve God’s love, not with how she acted. Never mind her sins of the past. She’d received God’s forgiveness and had moved on without guilt or shame. She wasn’t the person she used to be. But what about the person she was now? Was this person any better?
    â€œNow, now. You just go ahead and release,” the woman next to Deborah said as she patted Deborah’s back, sensing Deborah had a little bit more releasing to do.
    Deborah was crying uncontrollably. She was so upset, so upset, with herself. After all God had done for her, after all God had brought her through, this was how she repaid Him? This was how she showed Him how grateful she was? By yelling, screaming, cursing, and acting out? Not only in God’s house, but in front of her son, in front of other people’s children?
    For a moment, Deborah tried to justify her behavior